Washington, D.C.

Gwen ran her fingers through her hair, resisting the urge to grab at it and pull.

“Tell me again how this little game worked?”

Just when Gwen thought Racine couldn’t get any angrier, her tone turned up a notch and so did the sarcasm.

“It wasn’t a game,” Gwen explained, trying to keep her calm despite the cockroaches invading her insides. It had to be all the caffeine that was ripping away at her stomach, two days’ worth of caffeine and no food. Maybe that’s why she felt so light-headed.

“He thought it was a game,” Racine almost hissed at her. “Believe me, this psycho thought it was a game, no matter what you think.”

The detective paced back and forth in front of the sofa where Gwen sat. How many times had Rubin Nash sat in her office, in this very spot, and ranted about “having himself yet another pretty, little coed?” Gwen thought it was all about sexual conquests, asserting himself and his manhood. The movies made it out to be a sexual odyssey from boyhood to manhood when an older woman seduced a young boy. But if the woman purposely emasculated him, as in Nash’s case, the damage could be irreparable. Should Gwen have seen the signs for his violent behavior? Should she have figured out months ago that he could and would kill?

Racine stopped every once in a while to look over the notes, the map, the earrings, everything that Gwen had received. She had scattered them on her desktop, each piece encapsulated in its own Ziploc bag, labeled like crime scene evidence. Everything except the last manila envelope and the water glass, failing to explain her unsuccessful attempt at matching Nash’s prints.

“None of this proves your patient is the killer,” Racine said. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and pull a print off something he sent you. But I’m guessing he’d be more careful than that.” She turned to look at Gwen. “When do you see him again?”

“We recently moved his weekly sessions to Saturday mornings to accommodate his travel schedule.”

“He travels?”

“Yes, I believe he sells computer software. He’s mentioned that his sales region extends as far north as Boston, I think, and as far south as the northern part of Florida.”

“By car or by plane?”

“Excuse me?”

“When he travels for his job,” Racine said, slowing down her words as if addressing a child. “Does he drive or fly?”

“I have no idea.” Gwen frowned, trying to remember if he had mentioned it. “Why would it matter?” she finally asked.

“We’ve never found the torsos,” Racine said, expecting it to be all that was necessary for Gwen to understand. Her face must have showed her confusion, because Racine continued. “If he drives, it might explain how or if he dumps the torsos somewhere else.”

“Was the rest of Dena’s body…was she left anywhere else in the brownstone?” Gwen asked.

She thought she saw Racine soften, as if the reminder of what Gwen had been through in the last twenty-four hours had brought a fleeting moment of compassion, and even her answer came in a quiet, almost apologetic voice when she said, “No. We haven’t found anymore of her.”

Gwen rubbed her hands over her face again, this time digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, hoping to get rid of the image. She’d never be rid of it.

“The notes, the messages,” Racine started in at her again, “all of them have been delivered to your office?”

“Yes. Either dropped in the mail slot in the lobby after hours or delivered to the main desk downstairs. One of the earrings was left on Saturday in a manila envelope. Dena said she found the envelope on the reception desk after Rubin Nash’s appointment.” Gwen paused. “Do you think he expected me to recognize it as hers?”

“If he did, he may have wanted to taunt you with it,” Racine said and Gwen could feel the detective’s eyes on her as if expecting some reaction. “You know, to show you how close he could get. If you’re right about him being Dena’s new boyfriend, that could explain how he got the key to her brownstone and knew where she lived. Although there’s no evidence that he killed her there.”

Then Racine hesitated, but she was still watching Gwen, studying her. “If you had recognized the earring, would you have done anything about it? Would you have called the cops?” The harsh tone returned, cold and unsympathetic.

If Racine thought she could possibly make Gwen feel any more responsible for Dena’s death, she was wrong. Gwen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive herself for Dena’s death.