Even though it was a Sunday, the crime lab was crammed with technicians assembled to process the evidence found in the Hayes basement the day before. Peggy Calhoun presided over everyone with a calm confidence. No one would make the mistake of rushing a procedure under her watch. No one would make a mistake at all. The air in the room pulsated with curiosity as man and science came together in a delicate choreography of molecular exploration.

But I was more interested in phantasm than protoplasm. I wondered if the victims might appear again, as they had in the basement of the Hayes house. But the crime lab was not a place for ghosts. This was a place for man and man’s machines, contraptions that hummed and crackled and analyzed and deconstructed matter down to single molecules. No, this was a place for the living, for thoughts that sparked from synapses to synapses, forming theories, verifying ideas, gathering facts, chasing down conclusions. This was home to science. The unexplainable would not be welcome here.

Peggy had called in the entire staff. The overtime would be astronomical, but I knew that the one force greater than Maggie’s resolve in this matter was the commander’s desire to offer the public an antidote of competence to counteract the department’s role in putting an innocent man in prison.

Evidence from the Vicky Meeks and Alissa Hayes murders was cataloged on separate ends of a central table. The items retrieved from the compartment in the Hayes basement had already been parceled out for processing. Not a soul in the room was conscious of anything other than the microscopic world they had entered into in their quest to link Alan Hayes to the murders of both girls. The technicians worked in silence, focused on the minute mysteries before them. Peggy hopped from station to station, conferring, whispering advice, steering her crew in other directions whenever a method failed to produce results. But I sensed a growing current of distraction in Peggy as the phone rang at intervals, disrupting her concentration. When Maggie finally arrived, she gave rise to her frustration.

“Maggie,” Peggy began. “You have to get everyone off our backs. And you can’t stay here.”

“I know. I just stopped by to tell you that I don’t think they’ll find a thing at this girl’s house. Hayes is too smart. They’ll be bringing stuff in, but it’s not a priority. I need a direct link between Hayes and the Meeks murder. You have to concentrate on that.”

Peggy nodded. “It’s going to take a while yet.”

“Is there anything?” Maggie asked, her voice hopeful. “Anything at all?”

Peggy shook her head. “We can link the silt and rock residues, but that won’t get you far in court. Both substances are indigenous to this area. Anyone could pick them up walking around. The lapidary residue links him to what we found near the body, but that won’t be enough, either. He’s a geology professor. He gets around a lot of labs at the college. It could be explained away.”

“What about the items we found in his basement?”

Peggy bit her lower lip, aware she was about to disappoint Maggie. Her teeth scraped off tiny bits of orange lipstick. Some things never changed—and I found the thought comforted me. “I don’t think we’re going to get much off them. They’ve been laundered with a bleach substitute. My guess is repeatedly.”

“That bastard.” Maggie steadied herself against the table. “His memories are what he hoards, those trophies are just a catalyst for his sick memories.” She looked down, considering what she was about to say. “If I bring you something from my car, a yellow dress, can you test it?”

“For what?” Peggy asked.

“To see if it’s been laundered in the same bleach substitute.”

Peggy looked wary. “Is this off the record?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes. I can’t tell you where I got it, but I need to know if Hayes had the dress in his possession.”

“Okay,” Peggy agreed. “But can I make another suggestion?”

“Of course.” Maggie was smart enough to take her advice.

“Put the clothing you found in context. How many women of college age have gone missing from this area since he’s been here?”

“Only one that hasn’t been found either alive or dead,” Maggie said. “Not enough to account for all that clothing.”

“Some of the articles look pretty old to me.” Peggy said. “The fabric has deteriorated, especially the natural fibers. I think he’s had a couple of those things for as long as twenty years. Those earrings shaped like feathers? Everyone was wearing them in the mid-nineties. I even had a pair.”

“You’re saying most of the killings didn’t occur around here?”

“I’m saying he’s been building his collection since before he moved to town.”

“I could call around again to all the places he’s lived,” Maggie said, thinking aloud. “I’ve already started a list of incidents in places where he’s been, but I could ask to see the actual reports on missing persons or unsolved murders. If a roommate or family member was specific enough about what the girl was wearing when she was last seen, I might get a hit on some of the items.”

“Garnet earrings,” Peggy said.

“What?”

“His box held a pair of custom-made garnet and silver earrings. Nice workmanship. One of a kind. Heavy silver crosses inlaid with perfectly matched garnets of an unusually deep purplish red. If anything is in a report, it’ll be those earrings.”

“That’s it?” Maggie sounded disappointed.

“It might be enough. The garnets are exceptional. That’s probably why he couldn’t resist keeping them. Find the jeweler who made those earrings and they’d remember the stones and setting. My guess is they were made in the early nineties, post Madonna’s Like a Prayer.”

Maggie looked at Peggy incredulously. “I can’t believe you know that. What are you doing when you’re not at work?”

Peggy was pleased at being suspected of a secret life. “They would be distinctive enough to tie him to another murder victim. I’m certain of it.”

“Thanks.” Maggie hugged the older woman. “You’d make a great detective.”

“Oh, no.” Peggy’s laugh was wry. “I don’t like the big, wide world at all. My preferred world is much, much smaller.”