“We want this to be over,” she said with dignity, then placed their hats on a sideboard before leading them to the living room where Donner’s wife sat in a chair, sobbing. Adele Donner lowered herself to a sofa, looking every one of her ninety years.

“He had a brain tumor,” Adele said. “The doctors gave him less than a thirty percent chance. All my son wanted was to see his work published one more time.” She took a sealed envelope from the table beside her and gave it to Noah. “He wrote you a letter, Detective. He told me to give it to you.”

“He never would have hurt anyone,” Donner’s wife said. “He couldn’t live with knowing that his study… That all those women died.”

“When did he shoot himself?” Noah asked softly.

“About eight o’clock last night,” Adele answered. “That bench was his favorite spot.”

Eight o’clock, Noah thought. Before the last call from his home phone went to 411.

“You heard the shot?” Abbott asked.

Both women nodded. “And we knew it was over,” Adele said. “It was what Donald wanted. He’d suffered so much, I couldn’t tell him no.”

“Why didn’t you call 911?” Abbott asked, more gently.

Adele Donner cast a quick look at her daughter-in-law. “I don’t drive at night, and last night she… well, she just couldn’t drive. We decided that we’d drive into town this morning, to see the sheriff.”

Donner’s wife closed her eyes. “My mother-in-law wanted to call 911. But I didn’t want to be here when they took him away.”

Noah stood, his shoulders heavy. “We’ll get someone out here to take care of him.”

In the car Abbott was grim. “He still could have done all five murders, you know.”

“I know. But do you think he did?”

“No. What does the letter say?”

Noah scanned its contents. “What you’d expect. He does give his regards to Eve.”

Abbott started the car. “I’m sure you won’t mind passing that on.”

Noah’s jaw tightened. “Why are you being like this? We wouldn’t have a case if she hadn’t come forward.”

“She didn’t come forward, Noah. We had to drag her in here.”

“Not true. You’ve always been reasonable before. What’s the problem now?”

“The problem is that she continues to be a distraction.”

“She’s a target.”

“Then put her in a safe house. You know I’m right.”

Abbott was right. Then again, so was Eve. But Abbott’s order would keep her safe.

“If you don’t, then I will,” Abbott said quietly. “I mean it, Noah.”

Noah nodded. “Okay. I’ll take her back to Brock. Will that work?”

“I’ll take her,” Abbott said, irritated. “I want you focused. And I swear, if I have to tell you that one more time… Well, I won’t tell you. I’ll just yank you from this case.”

“Okay,” Noah said, teeth clenched. “I hear you.”

Thursday, February 25, 10:45 a.m.

“I’m not going to Brock’s,” Eve said, putting her laptop in her bag. “His kids can’t stay away forever and I will not put this target I’m wearing on their heads.” She looked at Abbott, resigned. “I’ll take the safe house.”

“Eve,” Noah started, but she lifted her hand to stop him.

“Do safe houses have cable?” she asked Abbott, and to Noah’s surprise, he smiled.

“All the channels you can surf,” Abbott said, “and free wi-fi to boot.”

Her lips curved. “Can I order any takeout I want?”

“Don’t push it, Eve,” Abbott said dryly. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” she said. “Noah, what about David? Who’s going to take care of him?”

“His brother Max,” Noah said. “He’ll stay with David until he can go back to Chicago.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You called Max?”

Noah shook his head. “No, I called David. Apparently Tom called his stepfather last night and told him the whole story. Max left Chicago a few hours ago.”

She looked up with a forced smile and he knew how much this pseudo-incarceration was costing her. “Will you come to see me?”

He kissed her brow, not caring who saw. “You bet. Now go.” He helped her with her coat and watched her walk away, chin lifted in the gesture he’d come to expect.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked up, his eyes still on her. “Webster.”

“My name is Natalie Clooney. T-the officers l-last night… Th-they said to call you.”

Noah cupped the phone, dread pooling at her hysterical stutter. “Eve. Tell Abbott to come back.” Dropping his hand, he answered the call. “What happened, Miss Clooney?”

“My f-friend. Virginia. She’s d-dead.”

Noah sank into his chair as Abbott approached grimly, Eve following behind. “How?”

“Sh-she’s hanging.” Natalie was sobbing. “Her eyes… They’re gone.”

Thursday, February 25, 11:10 a.m.

Noah had tried to mentally prepare himself for what he’d find in Virginia Fox’s house, but there was no way he could have. He looked up into her hollow eye sockets and it was all he could do to keep his stomach in check.

“Donner didn’t do this,” he said hoarsely.

“No, he couldn’t have,” Abbott said, his voice dull.

“Why not?” The question came from Carleton Pierce, who had just arrived behind Ian Gilles and the ME techs. Carleton stopped dead in his tracks as he entered the room. “Holy God.”

Noah stepped back as Micki snapped pictures of the scene. “Donald Donner committed suicide last night. Sometime around eight o’clock.”

Carleton did a double take. “He did what?”

“He killed himself, okay?” Noah snarled, then forced himself to calm. “I’m sorry. It’s been a bad day. Donner was dying. He shot himself last night.”

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering to photograph this scene,” Micki muttered. “It looks like all the others.”

“Except the victim,” Noah said. She was dressed like the others. Same dress, same shoes, same makeup. Everything except the eyes. “Virginia was not on Eve’s list.”

“What? How do you know?” Carleton asked.

“Because Eve just called me. She’s sitting at my desk, checking the damn list, and this woman is not on it. And if we don’t find him, she could be next.”

“She won’t be next,” Abbott said. “Kane’s taking her to a safe house as we speak.”

Noah turned to Carleton. “Virginia wasn’t on the list, but she was a close friend of Natalie, who’s been one of Eve’s red-zone cases for weeks. Why did he change now? Every victim had been on that list. Why choose one who was not?”

“I don’t know,” Carleton said tersely. “Maybe just to throw us off.”

“Well it did.” Noah went to the living room where Natalie sat on the sofa, rocking herself, her face dangerously pale. “Miss Clooney, I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” Natalie said through bloodless lips.

“You said Miss Fox was a programmer.”

“Office assistant, actually, She and I started out at the company together.”

“In the same office?”

“No. I got my certifications and was promoted a few years ago. I’m the director of our department. Virginia reports… reported to one of my people.”

“Did she mention any boyfriends, any new relationships?”

“No. Well, yes, but not in the real world.”

“In Shadowland, then.”

“Yes. She met this guy at the poker table. Oh God.” She started to cry again. “I told her about the warning I got from Captain Abbott. She said that I was just trying to keep her from having a life. Now she’s dead.” She covered her face and rocked.

“I know this is hard, but stay with me. You two played in Shadow-land together?”

Natalie lowered her hands and drew a breath. “She loved to gamble in Vegas, but she lost a lot when the market crashed so she started virtual gambling. It was cheaper.”

“You’re doing great. Now, how did you come to be part of the Shadowland study?”

“She saw the ad in the paper and said I’d enjoy the game. I asked her if she was going to do the study, but she said she got enough of shrinks in therapy. But it seemed important to her that I play, so I joined.”