Not doubting for a moment that a Providence cop would run them over, the reporters finally dropped back. Fitz pulled away from the curb while simultaneously digging around his feet for a bottle of Tums. Griffin amused himself by picking up the newest edition of People magazine from the dash. Sure enough, Fitz had already inked in half of the crossword.

“You're fucked,” Griffin said conversationally.

Fitz had gotten his Tums open. He started chomping. “At this rate, we're all fucked.”

“I'm not fucked. I just have a dead rape suspect. Same as yesterday.”

“Don't kid yourself. Eddie turns up innocent, we're all fucked. The women'll get heat for applying pressure. We'll get heat for making the arrest. DA'll get heat for building the case. State marshals will get heat for not better protecting one of their transports. And you, the lucky state, will get heat for not stepping in and keeping the rest of us from fucking up. So there.”

“You're an optimist, aren't you, Fitz?”

“Tried and true. Goddamn case.” Fitz's features grew more haggard. “Goddamn case…”

Griffin understood. He lapsed into silence, giving Fitz a chance to pull himself back together as they drove aimlessly around Federal Hill.

“Dr. No,” Griffin said finally.

“Dr. No?”

“Forty-eight down. A four-letter James Bond movie. Dr. No.”

Fitz grunted, felt around his shirt pocket, then handed Griffin a pen.

“I'm honored,” Griffin assured him, and filled in the spaces.

“You went to the Hayes residence,” Fitz said. “Last night.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“A uniform caught the report on the scanner and let me know. I figured anything happening at Jillian's place the same day as Como was shot couldn't be good.”

Fitz looked at him. “You just called her Jillian.”

“Mmmm, yes.”

“I haven't met a statey yet who doesn't use formal address when working a case. For God's sake, you guys don't even refer to each other by first names. You're like a bunch of friggin' Marines.”

“I'm the black sheep?”

“Don't go getting any ideas, Griffin. This case is messy enough.”

“You like her that much, Fitz?”

For his answer, Fitz growled and flexed his hands on the wheel. “I am having a really bad day.”

“We're both barking up the wrong tree,” Griffin told him lightly. “Have you ever asked Jillian Hayes what she thinks of men in our profession? She's not exactly an aspiring groupie. In fact, from what I can tell, she pretty much considers us incompetent morons who are at least indirectly responsible for her sister's death. Hence her total openness and willingness to cooperate with us now.”

Fitz grunted, which Griffin took as at least partial acknowledgment of Jillian's point.

“Serial crime is the worst,” Fitz grumbled after a moment. “Longer it goes on… more victims the perp claims… Yeah, maybe I should just be happy I can still find my pants in the morning, 'cause these days I'm sure as hell not finding much else.”

“You're riding the case hard,” Griffin said. “It's the most a detective can do.”

Fitz grunted again. “That incident at Jillian's house, you think it was a prank? Some teenage kid armed with a can of red spray paint and up to no good?”

“It's East Greenwich 's call.”

“Don't fuck with me, Griffin. Not after the night I've had.”

Griffin was silent for a moment. “I don't know,” he said finally, then held up a hand to ward off Fitz's snarl. “Honest. The spray paint, graffiti, yeah that fits with a teenage kid. But loosening the bulbs in the motion-sensor lights…”

“I wondered about that.”

“When you were a kid going to egg someone's house, did you unscrew the outdoor lights?” Griffin shrugged. “Couldn't have done it at night either. The minute someone approached in the dark, the lights would go on. So that means it was done before, during the day, when no one would notice the lights being activated.”

“Premeditation.”

“Seems very thoughtful. For a kid.”

“Ah shit…”

“My turn. Off the record, just you and I. Last night, what are you thinking?”

“Christ, I haven't had enough sleep to think.” Fitz rubbed his face wearily, then belatedly grabbed the steering wheel as the car swerved across the street.

“There's still the DNA evidence.”

“Yeah, that's what bothers me so much. If it had been merely a circumstantial case, just the fact that he worked for the Blood Center and knew the victims, well then…”

“You might have jumped too soon.”

“Maybe.”

“But you got DNA.”

“We got good DNA. I went back after our little discussion yesterday evening. Grabbed the report. Given the high-profile nature of the case, we sent the samples out to an independent lab in Virginia in addition to the analysis done by the Department of Health. Both agree. DNA samples from Eddie Como match DNA samples taken from the sheets and the women in all fourteen sites tested. Meaning the likelihood of another person being responsible for the DNA present at the rape scenes is one in three hundred million times the population of the entire earth. That's pretty damn conclusive if you ask me.”

“Sounds pretty good to me, too,” Griffin agreed. “Do the women know this?”

“D'Amato knows this. He's the one who sent it out for the independent analysis, plus it was gonna be the linchpin of his case. He probably went over it with them.”

“Meaning they must really, truly feel that they know Como was the attacker.”

“Hey, I know Eddie was the attacker.”

“Meaning we're back to a very good motive for murder.”

Fitz blew out a breath. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“What kind of fucking case is this, anyway? You got me doubting my own victims, and the press has me doubting my own perp. I don't like this. This is not what police work is supposed to be about. You gather the evidence, you put together a theory, you build a case, you nail the SOB. End of story. Eddie Como lives. Christ, it's like being in the middle of a freak show.”

“I'm not a big fan of it either.”

“I think it's an accomplice,” Fitz said abruptly.

“Eddie talked?”

“Yeah. Makes the most sense. Maybe in her own way, Tawnya's right, and all she's ever seen of him is good-boy Eddie. But we know for a fact that there's also a bad-boy Eddie who was running a few more errands than returning a movie to Blockbuster's one night. Now bad-boy Eddie has a need to live on the edge, explore the wild side. And maybe bad-boy Eddie also needs to talk about it later. To some other bad-boy friends that I'm betting Tawnya doesn't even know about.”

“Eddie Como led two lives.”

“Wouldn't be the first time. And it fits.”

Griffin nodded his head. “True.”

“Now consider this. Maybe one of those bad-boy friends has spent the last year fantasizing about all those stories he heard from Eddie. Maybe he's even bought a few bondage magazines and gotten heavy into the darker side of porn. But twelve months later, none of it gives him that same secret thrill. Then one day, he turns on the news and lo and behold, Eddie Como is dead. And it comes to him. He could do it. He knows everything from Eddie, so why not? He'll become the College Hill Rapist and nobody will suspect a thing. The MO points to Eddie and Eddie can't deny it because he's dead. Eddie can't even say, well I told everything to so-and-so, because again, Eddie's dead. It's the perfect cover.”

Griffin regarded him steadily. “Why stop there, Fitz? Maybe the other guy has been fantasizing about the rapes for a year. Maybe he's been thinking he'd like to try that. Except rather than wake up one morning and discover Eddie Como is dead, maybe he decided to ensure the perfect cover, by arranging Eddie's death.”

“Shit!” Fitz pounded the steering wheel, and very nearly drove them into a streetlight. “Of course! It's Single White Female, except with, well, Freaking Violent Rapists. Why didn't I think of it?”