“None of us were,” Hal nodded solemnly. “For any number of reasons…”

Beck walked up behind him and put a hand on Hal’s shoulder.

“We’re just about to start,” Beck said. “Either of you have any last-minute thoughts?”

“Just that you might want to ask the TV cameramen if they’d scan the crowd from time to time.” Mia suggested. “We can borrow the tape later and see if anyone stands out in any way.”

“I thought I’d ask both of you to keep an eye on the crowd. I think you both know what to look for.”

“I’ll take the right side of the room, Agent Shields can take the left,” Hal offered.

“Fine with me,” Mia agreed.

“Let’s get this moving, then.” Beck made his way back to the podium, stopping to talk to each of the cameramen he passed on the way.

By the time he reached the front of the room, Mia had wandered to the front left side where she had a good view of the crowd, as well as the door leading to the hall.

“Good evening, thanks for coming,” Beck was saying. “You all know why we’re here, but for those of you who may not have heard the whole story, or who may have only heard rumors, let me start at the beginning. Last Sunday night, the body of Colleen Preston was found on her parents’ front porch…”

Beck began to recite the saga, from the time Colleen’s body was found. Mia turned her attention to the crowd. She felt certain the killer would be here tonight-no way would he miss out on this-and she knew, too, there was only a fair chance his behavior might call the attention of even a trained eye. She knew the basics-he’d be a white male in his early to mid-thirties. She guessed he’d be well-dressed-he had the means to have a vehicle to transport his victim in, and access to some place secluded enough to keep her for a period of time, where he knew she wouldn’t be discovered. He’s going to be very interested in the proceedings tonight, and he’s going to be hanging on Beck’s every word. But at the same time, he’s going to be feeling very smug. After all, he knows what no one else in the room knew. He knew who he was, what he’d done, and how. She hoped his smugness might manifest itself in some discernible way, but knew better than to bet on that.

Mia’s eyes scanned row to row, front of the room to the back. There were more than enough white males in their mid-thirties, none of whom appeared to be reacting in an untoward manner. She strolled along the side of the room slowly, hoping to get a better look at the small group standing along the wall. She thought there was a good chance that the man they were looking for would select such a vantage point rather than a seat. Standing along the side would offer him the opportunity to watch the faces of the people in the audience. He’d get to see the looks of horror and fear on their faces as Beck laid out everything that had happened over the past week, and their fear would give him power over the entire room.

She smiled at the members of the St. Dennis police department who ringed the room. On her side of the room, Duncan Alcott leaned against the wall, halfway between the first row of chairs and the last, his arms folded. He stole an occasional glance at the crowd, but for the most part paid more attention to Beck than to his surroundings. Mia watched him pull a stick of gum from his pocket, unwrap it, and fold it slowly into his mouth, never taking his eyes off Beck. Behind him stood a group of seven or eight girls who appeared to be of high school age. Behind them, Lisa Singer stood next to a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man-her husband, Todd? Further back, Mia saw Vanessa Keaton standing with Mickey Forbes.

Mickey’s eyes were shining with excitement, and a chill went up Mia’s spine. She realized he wasn’t the only man in the crowd who was tantalized by the whole bondage and rape scenario Beck had laid out, but he was the only man in the crowd who was spending a lot of time with the police chief’s sister. She knew the killer would want to keep his finger on the pulse of the investigation. What better way to do that than to wine and dine Beck’s sister? Then again, he could probably learn all he wanted to know from his mother.

She wondered if Mickey owned any property that neither Hal nor Beck knew about. Did his father own abandoned buildings that his son had access to?

And there was Lisa Singer’s husband. How much closer to the investigation could you get without actually being a part of it?

Then again, as she’d said before, there were a lot of potential suspects here in St. Dennis.

There’s the balding man there in the back of the room, by the door. And that guy standing there at the end of the last row, watching the crowd instead of Beck, his face void of expression.

And who knows how many possible suspects Hal was mentally lining up on the opposite side of the room?

“…and take some questions, if anyone has any,” Mia heard Beck say, as she tuned back in.

There were the usual questions. Did the police have any suspects? Did they think he was going to strike again? What could the people of St. Dennis do to protect themselves? How was this going to affect the tourist business?

“You don’t really think this killer is someone from St. Dennis, do you?” a man in one of the middle rows asked.

“Actually, we do.” Beck nodded. “Everything points to him being local. He knows the area, he-”

“A lot of people know the area.” The man stood, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. “You’re telling us this killer-this fiend-is one of us? I want to know how you can make a statement like that. Some of us are more than a little upset that you think one of us could be a deranged killer.”

The room went very still.

“Jack, the facts are what they are,” Beck told him.

“So we have to look at everyone with suspicion? Our neighbors, our friends, our sons, our brothers? He was growing increasingly agitated.

“Until we bring him in, yes.” Beck nodded. “Within reason, of course. Jack, no offense, but the killer is probably about twenty years younger than you, and probably in a little better shape. We’re pretty sure he’s in his early to mid-thirties, and he’s strong enough to overpower these women and carry them as dead weight to the places he chooses to dispose of them. Which he’s done with apparent ease, by the way. He didn’t seem to have much trouble carrying a victim through the yards on my street to my driveway.”

“How do you know he carried her through the backyards?” someone asked.

“Because one of my neighbors is an insomniac who was sitting on his front porch all night and never saw or heard a thing. So we know nothing passed by the front of the house,” Beck explained. “Then again, there’s a good chance he could have come in by boat, tied up at the dock at the end of the street, and walked along in the shadow of the back fence until it ended. From there, he would have been walking behind the garages, so he could be fairly certain he wasn’t going to be seen at that hour of the night.”

“Well, mid-thirties and strong could apply to a hell of a lot of men around here,” another man in the crowd said. “How can you tell who’s a likely suspect and who’s not?”

Beck reiterated Annie’s profile to the crowd.

The group had grown very quiet once again. Beck looked across the room to her and said, “Agent Shields from the FBI is here with us. Agent Shields, is there anything you want to add?”

“There is.” She stepped forward, gathering her thoughts as she walked to the front of the room. Maybe there was a way to get the killer’s attention.

“I agree with Chief Beck that the man we’re looking for is from St. Dennis, as does one of the FBI’s best profilers.” Mia took the microphone from the stand and walked slowly around the room. “But I’d go one step further and say that I believe he’s in this room.”

A loud angry buzz seemed to flow from the front of the room to the back. Mia held up one hand.