Monday, January 29, 7:50 a.m.

He’d expected the call ever since he’d picked his paper up from his front porch this morning. Still, when the phone rang, he was angry. Angry and afraid. He snatched the receiver, his hand trembling. But he kept his voice neutral. Even a little bored. “Yeah.”

“Did you see?” The voice on the phone was as unsteady as his own hand, but he wouldn’t allow the others to see his fear. One sign of weakness and the others would fall like dominoes, starting with the one who’d taken a stupid risk in calling him like this.

“I’m looking at it right now.” The headline had grabbed his attention. The article had grabbed his gut and squeezed, leaving him nauseated. “It’s nothing to do with us. Say nothing and it will just go away.”

“But if somebody starts asking questions…”

“We say nothing, just like we did then. This is just some copycat. Act naturally and everything will be fine.”

“But… this is really bad, man. I don’t think I can act naturally.”

“You can and you will. This has nothing to do with us. Now stop whimpering and get to work. And don’t call me again.”

He hung up, then read the article again. He was still angry and afraid. He wondered how he could have been so very stupid. You were just a kid. Kids make mistakes. He picked up the photo on his desk, staring into the smiling face of his wife with their two children. He wasn’t a kid any longer. He was an adult with far too much to lose.

If one of them broke, if one of them told… He pushed away from his desk, went to the bathroom, and threw up. Then pulled himself together and got ready to face his day.

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 7:55 a.m.

“Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

Daniel smelled the coffee and looked up as Chase Wharton sat on the corner of his desk. “Thanks. I’ve been looking at these missing persons printouts for an hour and I’m starting to see double.” He gulped down a swallow, then winced when bitter dregs slid down his throat. “Thanks,” he repeated, far less sincerely, and his boss chuckled.

“Sorry. I had to clear the bottom of the pot before I made a fresh one and you really did look like you needed it.” Chase looked at the stack of printouts. “No luck?”

“No. We got no hits on her prints. She’s been dead two days, but that doesn’t mean that’s when she disappeared. I’ve gone back two months and nobody stands out.”

“She might not be from around here, Daniel.”

“I know. Leigh’s requesting missing person reports from departments in a fifty-mile radius.” But so far their clerk hadn’t found anything either. “I’m hoping she’s only been gone the two days and nobody’s missed her, since it was the weekend. It’s Monday morning. Maybe somebody will report her today when she doesn’t show up for work.”

“We’ll cross our fingers. Are you going to have an update meeting today?”

“At six tonight. By then Dr. Berg will have done the autopsy and the lab will be finished with the crime scene.” He drew a breath. “Until then, we’ve got other problems.” From under the stack of printouts, he pulled the three pages that had been waiting for him on the fax machine when he’d arrived that morning.

Chase’s face darkened. “Sonofabitch. Who took that picture? What paper is this?”

“The guy that took the picture is the same one that wrote the article. His name is Jim Woolf and he owns the Dutton Review. You’re looking at today’s headline.”

Chase looked startled. “Dutton? I thought this victim was found in Arcadia.”

“She was. You might want to sit down. This could take a few minutes.”

Chase sat. “All right. What’s going on, Daniel? Where did you get this fax?”

“From the sheriff in Arcadia. He saw it when he stopped to get his coffee this morning. He called at six a.m. to let me know, then faxed me the article. From the angle of the picture, he’s thinking Jim Woolf was sitting in a tree watching us the whole time.”

Daniel studied the grainy photo and his anger surged again. “Woolf has got all the details in there that I would have held back-the victim’s broken face, her being found wrapped in a brown blanket. He didn’t even have the decency to wait until they’d finished zipping her body bag. Luckily Malcolm’s blocking most of his shot.” Her body was hidden, but her feet were visible.

Chase was grim. “How the hell did he get through your barricade?”

“I don’t think he got through, not if he was sitting in the tree Corchran thinks. There’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him climbing that tree.”

“So he was there before you got there.”

Daniel nodded. “Which at a minimum means that somebody tipped him off. Worst case, it could mean he tampered with the scene before we got there.”

“Who called this in? I mean initially?”

“Biker in the race. He said he called 911 without ever getting off his bike. I already filed a warrant to check his cell phone records to see if he called anyone else first.”

“Vultures,” Chase muttered. “Call this Woolf guy. Make him tell you who told him.”

“I’ve called him four times this morning, but there’s no answer. I’ll drive to Dutton today to question him, but I’m betting he’ll hide behind the First Amendment and won’t reveal his source.”

“Probably. Hell.” Chase flicked the fax like it was a bug. “This Woolf guy could have been the one to put her there.”

“That’s occurred to me, although I have to doubt it. I went to high school with Jim Woolf and knew his family. He and his brothers were always quiet, nice kids.”

Chase glared at the photo. “I think it’s safe to say he’s changed.”

Daniel sighed. Hadn’t they all? There was something about Dutton, Georgia, that brought out the worst in people. “I guess so.”

Chase held up his hand. “Wait. I still want to know why Dutton? If this crime happened in Arcadia, why tip off this Woolf guy in Dutton?”

“The victim yesterday was found in Arcadia, in a ditch, wrapped in a brown blanket. A similar crime happened in Dutton thirteen years ago.” Daniel showed him the article on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. “Her killer is now serving life in Macon State.”

Chase grimaced. “God, I hate copycat killers.”

“I don’t like the original ones too much either. At any rate, I’m thinking somebody saw the body earlier, remembered the Tremaine connection, and leaked the Arcadia story to Jim Woolf. It could have been the biker or anybody else on that race course. I talked to the race officials when I was trying to figure when the body had been put in the ditch to begin with and one of them said he’d ridden the course Saturday and hadn’t seen anything. I believed him because the guy wore glasses with Coke-bottle lenses.”

“But if he was riding earlier, others might have been, too. Dig deeper.” Chase frowned. “But what’s this about the Tremaine connection? I don’t like you being on a case that involves Dutton. Not right now.”

Daniel had been ready for the argument. Still, it left his palms clammy. “Simon didn’t kill this woman, Chase. There’s no conflict here.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Hell, Daniel. I know that. I also know the names Dutton and Vartanian together make the brass real nervous.”

“That’s not my problem. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And maybe someday he’d believe his own words. For now, he just needed Chase to believe them.

“Okay. But as soon as you hear a whisper of a bad Vartanian, you’re gone, okay?”

Daniel smiled wryly. “Okay.”

“What are you going to do next?’

“Identify this woman.” He tapped the photo of the victim. “Find out who told Jim Woolf what and when, and… follow up on Alicia Tremaine. I’ve left a few messages with the sheriff down in Dutton. I want to get a copy of the police report from the Tremaine case. Maybe there’s something in it that can help me now.”