“I think Stucky may have taken my neighbor, too.”

“Come on, Maggie. Now you’re just sounding paranoid.” Gwen sat in Maggie’s recliner, sipping wine and petting Harvey’s huge head, which filled her lap. The two had become instant pals. “By the way, this wine is very nice. You’re getting good at this. See, there are things other than Scotch.”

However, Maggie’s glass of wine remained full to the rim. She rummaged through the files Tully had given her on Jessica’s and Rita’s murders. Besides, she hadn’t waited for Gwen to arrive before she drank just enough Scotch to settle the restlessness that seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside her. She had hoped target practice would have helped dislodge it. But even the Scotch had not done its usual job of anesthetizing it. Still she was having trouble reading her own handwriting through the blur. She was pleased, though, that she had finally been able to choose a wine that Gwen liked.

A gourmet cook, Gwen enjoyed fine food and wine. When she had called earlier, offering to bring over dinner, Maggie had rushed out to Shep’s Liquor Mart to search the aisles. The clerk, an attractive but overly enthusiastic brunette named Hannah, had told Maggie that the Bolla Sauve was “a delicious semi-dry white wine with touches of floral spiciness and apricot.” Hannah assured her that it would complement the chicken and asparagus en papillote that Gwen had promised.

Wine was much too complex. With Scotch she didn’t need to choose from merlot, chardonnay, chablis, blush, red or white. All she needed to remember was Scotch, neat. Simple. And it certainly did the job. Though not this evening. The tension strangled her muscles and tightened her rib cage, squeezing and causing her chest to ache.

“What do the police say about Rachel’s disappearance?”

“I’m not sure.” Maggie flipped through a file folder with newspaper clippings, but still couldn’t find what she was looking for. “The lead detective called Cunningham and complained about me barging in on his territory, so it’s not like I can just call him up and say, ‘Hey, I think I know what happened with that case you want me to keep my nose out of.’ But my other neighbor gave me the impression everyone, including the husband, is treating it as though Rachel just decided to leave.”

“That seems odd. Has she done this sort of thing before?”

“I have no clue. But doesn’t it seem odder that the husband wouldn’t want the dog?”

“Not if he thinks she ran off with someone. It’s one of the few ways he has left to punish her.”

“It doesn’t explain why we found the dog in the condition we did. There was a lot of blood, and I’m still not convinced it was all Harvey’s.” Maggie noticed Gwen stroking Harvey’s head as though administering therapy. “Who names a dog Harvey?”

He looked up at Maggie’s mention of his name, but didn’t budge.

“It’s a perfectly good name,” Gwen declared as she continued her generous strokes.

“It was the name of the black Lab that David Berkowitz believed was possessed.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Now, why is it that you think of that immediately? Maybe Rachel is a Jimmy Stewart fan or a classic-movie buff, and named him after Harvey the six-foot invisible rabbit.”

“Oh, right. Why didn’t I think of that?” It was Maggie’s turn for sarcasm. The truth was, she didn’t want to think of Harvey’s owner and what she believed may have happened to her, or was still happening to her. She returned her attention to the folders. She wished she could remember exactly what it was that Agent Tully had said. There was something nagging at her. Something that connected Rachel’s disappearance to Jessica’s murder. Not just the mud. Yet she couldn’t remember what it was that made her think that. She was hoping one of the police reports would trigger her memory.

“Why the hell isn’t the husband the prime suspect?” Gwen suddenly sounded irritated. “That would be a logical explanation to me.”

“You’d need to meet Detective Manx to understand. He doesn’t seem to be approaching any of this logically.”

“I’m not so sure he’s the only one. The husband does seem to be the logical suspect, and yet here you are jumping to the conclusion that Stucky kidnapped her because…let me get this straight. You think Stucky kidnapped Rachel Endicott because you’re sure he killed this pizza delivery girl and you found candy bar wrappers at both scenes.”

“And mud. Don’t forget the mud.” Maggie checked the lab’s report on Jessica’s car. The mud recovered from the accelerator contained some sort of metallic residue that Keith was now going to break down. Again she remembered the mud with sparkling flecks on Rachel Endicott’s stairs. But what if Manx hadn’t bothered to collect it? And even if he had, how would she be able to compare the two? It wasn’t like Manx would easily hand over a sample.

“Okay,” Gwen said. “The mud I can understand, if you can make a match. But finding candy bar wrappers at both houses? I’m sorry, Maggie, that’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Stucky leaves body parts in take-out containers just for fun, to toy with people. Why wouldn’t he leave candy bar wrappers, sort of his way of thumbing his nose at us? Like he was able to commit this inconceivably horrible murder and then have a snack afterward.”

“So the wrappers are part of the game?”

“Yes.” She glanced up. Gwen didn’t buy it. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Did you ever consider they could be a necessity? Maybe the killer or even the victims have an insulin deficiency. Sometimes people with diabetes keep candy bars to prevent fluctuations in their insulin intake. Fluctuations possibly caused by stress or an injection of too much insulin.”

“Stucky’s not diabetic.”

“You know that for sure?”

“Yes,” Maggie said, quite certain, then realized their lab analysis of Stucky’s blood and DNA had never been tested for the disease.

“How can you be so certain?” Gwen persisted. “About a third of people with Type 2 diabetes don’t even know they have it. It’s not something that’s routinely checked unless there are symptoms or some family history. And I have to tell you, the symptoms, especially the early ones, are very subtle.”

She knew Gwen was right. But she would know if Stucky had diabetes. They had his blood and DNA on file. Unless this was some recent development. No, she couldn’t imagine Albert Stucky being susceptible to anything other than silver bullets or maybe a wooden stake through his heart.

“How about the victims?” Gwen suggested. “Maybe the candy bars belonged to the victims. Any chance they’re diabetic?”

“Too much of a coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“No, you’d much rather believe that Albert Stucky has kidnapped your neighbor, who by the way wasn’t your neighbor yet, and took a real estate agent simply because you bought a house from her. I have to tell you, Maggie, it all sounds a bit ridiculous. You have absolutely no proof that either of these women are even missing, let alone that Stucky has them.”

“Gwen, it’s no coincidence that the waitress in Kansas City and the pizza delivery girl had both come in contact with me only hours before they were murdered in the same manner. I’m the only link. Don’t you think I want to believe that neither Rachel nor Tess were taken by Stucky? Don’t you think I’d rather believe they are both on some secluded beach sipping piña coladas with their lovers?”

She hated that her voice could get so shrill, that her hands could shake and her heart pound in her ears. She went back to the pile, shuffling through the folders and trying to make sense of Tully’s attempt at order, or rather his disorder. She could feel Gwen’s eyes examining her. Maybe Gwen was right. Perhaps the paranoia skewed her rationality. What if she was blowing all this out of proportion? What if she was slipping over some mental edge? It certainly felt like that.

“If that’s true, then it would mean Stucky is watching you, following you.”

“Yes,” Maggie said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible.

“If he’s choosing women he sees you with, then why hasn’t he chosen me?”

Maggie looked up at her friend, startled by the flicker of fear she thought she saw in the otherwise strong and confident eyes. “He only targets women I come in contact with, not women I know. It makes his next move less predictable. He wants me to feel like an accomplice. I don’t think he wants to destroy me. And hurting you would destroy me.”

She went back to her search, wanting to close the subject and dismiss the possibility. Fact was, she had thought about Stucky moving on to those who were close to her. Nothing would stop him from doing so if he wanted to up the ante.

“Have you talked to Agent Tully about any of this?”

“You’re my friend, and you think I’m nuts. Why in the world would I share any of it with him?”

“Because he’s your partner, and the two of you should be working through this mess together, no matter how crazy every tidbit appears to be. Promise me you won’t be checking out stuff on your own.”

Maggie found a new set of documents and began flipping through the pages. Was it possible she was only imagining that there was something else that linked Rachel Endicott to Stucky?

“Maggie, did you hear me?”

She glanced up to find Gwen’s normally smooth forehead wrinkled with concern, her warm green eyes filled with worry.

“Promise me you won’t go off on your own again,” Gwen demanded.

“I won’t go off on my own again.” She dug out a brown manila envelope and started extracting its contents.

“Maggie, I mean it.”

She stopped and looked up at her friend. Even Harvey stared at her with sad, brown eyes. This from the same dog who had spent the last two nights going back and forth, checking the front door and each of the windows, looking for and waiting for his master to pick him up as though he couldn’t stand to spend one more moment with Maggie.

“Please, don’t worry, Gwen. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” She unfolded several copies and immediately found what she had been searching for. It was the report from the airport authority and a police impound notice for a white Ford van. “Here it is. This is it. This is what’s been nagging at me.”

“What is it?”

Maggie stood and began pacing.

“Susan Lyndell told me that the man Rachel Endicott may have run off with was a telephone repairman.”

“So what’s your proof? Her phone bill?” Gwen sounded impatient.

“This is an impound notice. When the police found Jessica Beckwith’s car at the airport, they found a van parked alongside it. The van had been stolen about two weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie, but I’m lost. So Stucky stole a van and abandoned it when he was finished with it. What does that have to do with your missing neighbor?”

“The van that was recovered belonged to Northeastern Bell Telephone Company.” Maggie waited for Gwen’s reaction, and when it was less than satisfactory, she continued, “Okay, it’s a long shot, but you have to admit, it’s too much of a coincidence and—”

“I know, I know.” Gwen raised her hand to stop her. “And you don’t believe in coincidences.”