Daniel frowned and crouched at the ditch’s edge. “How old is she?”

“Fifties, maybe,” Malcolm said. He pulled the blanket away. “You know her?”

The woman had well-teased yellow-blond hair. “No. I don’t think so anyway.” Daniel looked up at Ed in consternation. “He broke pattern. Why?”

“Maybe he tried to get at all the younger ones and they were too careful to be caught alone. Or maybe she’s important to him.”

“Or both,” Daniel said. “Go ahead and bring her up, Malcolm.”

“Daniel?” Alex asked from behind him.

Daniel abruptly turned. “You don’t want to see this, honey. Go back to the car.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse. You look upset and… I got worried.”

“It’s not Bailey,” he said, and she relaxed a little. “It’s an older woman this time.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know. Stand back, they’re bringing her up.”

Malcolm and Trey lifted the stretcher out of the ditch and laid the body on the open body bag they’d stretched on the gurney. Behind him, Alex gasped.

Daniel and Ed turned in unison. Alex was standing rigidly still. “I know her. It’s Delia Anderson. She rented me the bungalow. I recognize her hair.”

“At least we know where to deliver the bad news.” He looked at Marianne Woolf. She’d once again lowered her camera, but this time in shock. “And we need to keep Marianne quiet.” He lifted Alex’s chin and studied her face. “Are you all right?”

She nodded brusquely. “I have seen worse, Daniel. Not often, but I have. I’ll go back to the car and wait for you. See you later, Ed.”

Ed was thoughtful as they watched Alex walk back to Daniel’s car. “I’d ask if she had a sister, but that would be in really bad taste.”

Daniel managed to choke back what would have been a startled laugh. It was one of those moments civilians didn’t understand. When the burden got so heavy, dark humor was the only nonaddictive, non-destructive release. “Ed.”

“I know.” Ed glanced at Marianne. “You deal with the bitch, I’ll deal with the ditch.”

This time Daniel couldn’t hold back the chuckle, but dropped his head so nobody could see him smile. When he looked up he was serious.

“I’ll go deal with Mrs. Woolf.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed was muttering when Daniel walked away.

Marianne was crying. “Marianne, what the hell are you doing here?”

Marianne’s eyes flashed fury despite the tears. “That’s Delia Anderson.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve sat next to her at Angie’s Beauty Shop every Thursday for the last five years,” Marianne snapped. “Nobody has a bouffant like Delia.”

“We’ll have to confirm her identity,” Daniel said. “Why are you here, Marianne?”

“I got a text tip on my cell.”

“You’ve been in communication with a killer.” Daniel said the words slowly, hoping by some miracle they’d sink in. “The killer of your husband’s sister.”

She sneered. “I don’t know that. He never said, ‘I killed them, go see.’ ”

“Just ‘Go see where there happens to be a freshly killed body.’ ” Daniel rolled his eyes. “I don’t see the difference, Marianne.”

Her chin lifted. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Why are you and Jim doing this? Please help me understand.”

Marianne sighed. “Jim’s dad ran that paper for years. It was his life-a sweet little small-town paper where the biggest news was the high school football scores. Jim always dreamed it could be more, but his father wouldn’t let him try. When his father died, Jim took over, retooled everything. I know you think it’s stupid…” Again her chin lifted. “But it’s his dream. He got offers from some big-city papers for this story, and it’s a story that needs to be told. He’s in jail, so I’m telling it until he’s out.”

Daniel wanted to shake her. “But you’re letting a killer use you.”

She lifted her brows. “Aren’t you? You can’t say that this case and this killer haven’t gotten even more attention because you’ve been investigating.” Her voice became grand. Mocking. “The great Daniel Vartanian, son of a judge, brother of a serial killer. But Daniel has risen above it all, sworn protector of truth, justice, and the American way.” She cocked her jaw. “It’s enough to bring a tear to your eye.”

Daniel stared at her, stunned. “What about Lisa? Don’t you think she deserves more than this?”

Marianne actually smiled. “Lisa would be the first one cheering me on, Daniel.”

He stared, completely taken aback. “I don’t understand you.”

“No, I suppose you don’t. I guess that’s why it’s a good thing we still have the Bill of Rights.” She popped the memory card from her camera and glanced up at the barrel-chested agent who’d been her tail. “I’ll go with Tiny here and make you guys a copy of the pictures. It’s what Jim told me to do if I got caught.”

“Can you at least refrain from printing anything until we’ve notified the Andersons?”

Marianne nodded, her disdain gone for the moment. “Yes. On that we can agree.”

Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 8:50 a.m.

“So how does this woman connect?” Chase demanded. Ed had stayed at the crime scene, Talia was interviewing rape victims, and Hatton and Koenig were still at Peachtree and Pine searching for Crighton. Luke sat next to Daniel at the team room table, absorbed in whatever was on the screen of his laptop.

“She used to work at the Davis Bank in Dutton,” Luke said. “It’s on her real estate website. She lists Davis Bank as a lender for qualified home buyers.”

“That doesn’t seem motive enough to kill her,” Chase said doubtfully. “What have you found out about Jared O’Brien’s family?”

“Only what I was able to glean from the Internet,” Luke said. “But you’re gonna like it. The O’Briens used to own the Dutton paper mill. Larry O’Brien had two sons. Jared was the oldest and went to Bryson Academy. He was the same age as Simon. From the yearbooks it appears Jared was quite the ladies’ man. He was homecoming king and prom king during his graduation year.” Luke passed them a copy of Jared’s yearbook picture. “He was a handsome guy. Jared’s younger brother was Mack. Mack was nine years younger.” He paused and lifted his brows.

Daniel sucked in a breath. “Then he went to high school with Janet and the others.”

“At the beginning, yes,” Luke said, “but if you check the yearbooks, Mack transferred to the public school some time between his junior and senior years. He was too young to be on any of the lists of males Simon’s age and he didn’t go to Bryson Academy during the years we checked on the murdered women. Larry O’Brien, the father, died of a heart attack about a year after Simon died the first time. Jared, as the oldest son, took over the mill. There aren’t a lot of public records, but there seem to have been a lot of people out of work, so it doesn’t seem like Jared was a stellar businessman.”

“Kate said he was a drunk,” Daniel said. “I know he had a record. I had Leigh run him-Jared O’Brien was arrested for DUI twice in Georgia.”

“Jared disappeared the year Mack was a junior in high school,” Luke said. “The mill goes belly-up because Jared spent all the money, and the mill gets bought out by guess who?”

Chase sighed. “Who?”

“Rob Davis.”

Daniel’s mouth opened. “No way.”

“Way,” Luke said. “The father’s widow, Lila O’Brien, declares bankruptcy a few months later.”

“And Mack transfers to the public school.” Daniel lifted his brows. “The timing works. The O’Briens must not have gotten much from the sale if Mack had to transfer.”

“The mill’s privately owned, so the terms aren’t in the public record,” Luke said, “but I’d say that assumption is fair.”

“So we may have a motive for revenge against the Davises,” Chase said, “but the rest of this? How would Mack even know about the ‘club’? He would have been nine years old at the time. And what about Jared? He disappeared, but nobody’s found a body. For all we know, Jared could have come back and started all this.”