Nick hung up the phone and sat back in his office chair, rubbing the sting of anger from his eyes. He realized that Maggie must have seen how badly he wanted to hit something, maybe even Ray Howard. How could she remain so cool and calm?

He couldn’t stop thinking about Timmy. He felt as though a time bomb had been planted inside his ribs, the ticking getting faster and faster, drumming against his chest. The ache was unbearable. It didn’t help matters that he couldn’t erase the image of Danny Alverez. That small body lying in the grass. Those vacant eyes staring up at the stars. He had looked so peaceful. That is if you didn’t notice the red-raw slash under his chin and gouges in his small, white chest.

They were running out of time.

Aaron Harper and Eric Paltrow had been murdered less than two weeks apart. Matthew Tanner was taken exactly a week after Danny Alverez. It was only several days since Matthew, and now Timmy. The timetable grew shorter. Something was making the killer explode, sending him over the edge. And if they didn’t catch him, would he simply disappear again for six years? Or worse, would he melt into the woodwork of the community just as he had before? If it wasn’t Howard or Keller, who the hell was it?

Nick grabbed the crumpled paper from his desktop. The obscure schedule he had found in the pickup’s glove compartment had a strange grocery list scrawled on the back. He scanned the items one more time, trying to make sense of them: wool blanket, kerosene, matches, oranges, Snickers bars, SpaghettiOs, rat poison. Perhaps it was a simple camping-trip list, yet something told Nick it was more.

There was a knock on the door, and Hal came in without waiting for an invitation. The big shoulders slumped from exhaustion. His normally well-groomed hair stuck to his head from too many hours stuffed in his hat. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and his coffee-stained tie was twisted loose and at an odd angle.

“What do you have, Hal?”

He sank into the chair opposite Nick on the other side of the desk. “The empty glass vial you found in the pickup contained ether.”

“Ether? Where in the world did it come from?”

“More than likely the hospital. I checked with the director, and he said they have similar vials down in the morgue. They use it as some sort of solvent, but it could be used to knock someone out. All it takes is a couple whiffs.”

“Who would have access to the morgue?”

“Anyone, really. They don’t lock the door.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Think about it, Nick. The morgue’s hardly ever used, and when it is, who’s gonna want to mess around down there?”

“When there’s a criminal investigation, it should be locked, with only authorized personnel allowed in.” Nick grabbed a pen and started tapping out his anger. The desire to hit something still raged inside him.

Hal didn’t respond, and when Nick glanced up at him he wondered if even Hal thought he was losing it. “Were you able to get any prints off the vial?”

“Just yours.”

“What about the matchbook?”

“Well, it’s not a strip joint. Get this—the Pink Lady is a small bar and grill in downtown Omaha, about a block from the police station. Evidently a lot of police officers hang out there. Eddie says they serve the best burgers in town.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, Gillick was with the OPD before he moved here. I thought you knew that. ‘Course, it’s been a while…six or seven years now.”

“I don’t trust him,” Nick blurted out, then regretted it as soon as he saw Hal’s face.

“Eddie? Why in the world wouldn’t you trust Eddie?”

“I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

Hal shook his head and pushed himself out of the chair. He started for the door then turned back as if he had forgotten something.

“You know, Nick, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but there’s a lot of people in this department who feel the same way about you.”

“What way is that?” Nick sat up. The tapping stopped.

“You have to admit, the only reason you got this job is because of your dad. What experience do you have in law enforcement? Look, Nick, I’m your friend, and I’m with you every step of the way. But I have to tell you, some of the guys aren’t too sure. They think you’re letting O’Dell run the show.”

There it was—the slap he had been expecting for days. He wiped a hand across his jaw as if to erase the sting.

“I guess I figured as much, especially since my dad seems to be running his own investigation.”

“That’s another thing. Did you know he has Eddie and Lloyd tracking down this Mark Rydell guy?”

“Rydell? Who the hell’s Rydell?”

“I think he was a friend or partner of Jeffreys’.”

“Jesus. Doesn’t anybody get it? Jeffreys didn’t kill all three—” He stopped when he saw Christine standing in the doorway.

“Relax, Nick. I’m not here as a reporter.” She hesitated, then came in. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes red, her face tear-stained, her trench coat unevenly buttoned. She looked like hell.

“I need to do something. You have to let me help.”

“Can I get you some coffee, Christine?” Hal asked.

“Yes, thanks. That would be nice.”

Hal glanced back at Nick as if looking to be excused, then left.

“Come, sit down,” Nick said, resisting the urge to go to her and help her walk across the room. It unnerved him to see her this way. She was his big sister. He was the one always screwing up. She was the one who always held it together. Even when Bruce left. Now she reminded him of Laura Alverez—that unsettling quiet.

“Corby gave me a temporary leave of absence with pay from the newspaper. Of course, that was only after he made sure The Journal would have the exclusive on whatever happens.”

She struggled out of her coat, tossing it carelessly onto a chair in the corner and only staring at it when it slid to the floor. Then she paced in front of his desk, though she didn’t seem to have the energy to even stand.

“Any luck tracking down Bruce?” She avoided his eyes, but he already knew it was a touchy subject that his sister had no clue as to where her ex-husband was.

“Not yet, but maybe he’ll hear about Timmy on the news and get in touch with us.”

She grimaced. “I need to do something, Nick. I can’t just sit at home and wait. What are you doing with that?” She pointed at the grocery list of items, which he’d turned over so that the strange schedule with its bizarre codes faced up.

“You know what this is?”

“Sure, it’s a bundle label.”

“A what?”

“A bundle label. The carriers get one each day with their newspapers. See, it shows the route number, the carrier’s code number, how many papers there are to deliver, what inserts—if any—and the starts and stops.”

Nick jumped out of his chair and came around to her side of the desk.

“Can you tell whose it is and what day it’s for?”

“It looks like it was for Sunday, October 19. The carrier’s code is ALV0436. From the addresses listed on the starts and stops, it looks like…” The realization swept over her face. She looked up at Nick with wide eyes. “This is Danny Alverez’s route. It’s for the Sunday he disappeared. Where did you find this, Nick?”