“The Sheriff’s Office should be ashamed of how they done Celesta,” he said. “If they had caught her killer, then Skye and Marissa would still be alive.”

Kendall could feel her blood pressure rise, but she took a deep breath and tried to reason her way out of her anger. She’d done the best she could. There was no reason in the beginning of the case to think a serial killer was on the loose. There is no pattern to discern when there is only a single body. It is hard to make a case for a serial murderer when there are two dead, unless the cause of death and the victims’ profiles are a clear match.

“When we return, we’ll talk to the journalist who has been on top of the case from the very beginning. She’ll reveal information that she’s held tight to the vest. Stay close. You won’t want to miss it.”

Kendall dialed Josh’s number, but this time it went to voice mail.

Damn him! she thought.

She fumed through four commercials, wishing that she wasn’t watching the show live and could fast-forward to the information that Serenity Hutchins was about to reveal.

When the show resumed, Serenity had been reseated next to the host. She wore a celery green suit jacket with khakis and open-toed shoes. She looked older on TV than she did stomping around the courthouse. Jerry Porter started to cover some of the story’s background and how Serenity had been reporting the case for the small-town paper, but in the middle of his introduction he abruptly stopped.

“Just a moment,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he listened to his earpiece. “We have a caller.”

Serenity didn’t say anything, though she appeared a little unnerved.

“Go ahead,” Jerry said.

“Hello, Serenity,” the familiar voice began, its odd cadence and timbre filling the studio and sending a chill down her spine.

“Yes,” she said, looking at the host.

“You know who this is,” the voice said. “This is your friend calling to say how lovely you look on TV today.”

Serenity locked eyes with the host. “Jerry, this isn’t what we discussed.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Jerry shot back, clearly enjoying live TV. “He called in. He’s the guy, isn’t he?”

Serenity reached for the tiny microphone that a production assistant/intern had clipped to her lapel. Livid at being blindsided, she said to Jerry, “If this is the guy, he’s doing this for attention.” She stood to leave, but the host motioned her to sit down.

The family members who thought they were there to tell their stories sat in stunned silence.

“Let’s hear him out,” Jerry said, his face lit up with the excitement of the call and the idea that it was frazzling the young reporter.

This makes for Emmy TV, he thought.

“Serenity, I’m surprised you didn’t correct the producers and that insufferable host,” the caller said. “You know that there have been more than three victims.”

Serenity slid back into her seat, frozen, her mic dangling.

“What do you mean?” Jerry Porter asked, looking out into the studio audience as the phantom voice came from a wall-mounted speaker. The dozen or so tourists were perched on the edges of their seats. The Cutter had been news outside of his own area, as serial killers almost always are.

“Serenity will have to tell you. I tell her all my secrets,” he said.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she said, glaring at Jerry.

“Oh, but you do,” the caller said.

“I thought there were three victims,” Jerry said, his eyebrows lifting as he looked questioningly back at the young reporter.

“There are,” she answered, bewildered. “At least, as of this morning, there were.”

“Caller, are you there?” Jerry asked, looking straight in the camera.

A short pause followed, and once more the voice crackled into the air-conditioned chill of the studio. “I’m here. I’m surprised that the reporter didn’t fill you in. I’m guessing she likes to keep details to herself.”

Josh Anderson stood in front of the monitor in the Seattle TV station’s green room, flirting with a pretty brunette production assistant named Ellen, who was doing her best to concentrate on what she was doing: wiping the counter where someone’s guest had splashed coffee. She wasn’t interested in the Kitsap County detective, but what was unfolding on TV got her attention.

“Wow!” she said, turning her attention to the monitor. “I didn’t know they were going to drop this kind of bomb on the show.”

The Kitsap County detective, his phone buzzing with another call from Kendall Stark, looked at the young woman gaping at the TV screen and shook his head.

“I didn’t, either,” he said.

The TV was a distraction on her day off. Jamie Lyndon had cocooned herself in a fluffy eiderdown most of the morning and, although she would never admit it, well into the afternoon. She surfed the channels, letting the various programs take her mind off the CENCOM office, where she fielded desperate call after desperate call.

She clicked on Seattle Now just as a caller was speaking to the young woman reporter.

The voice was mechanical, strange, and unforgettable.

Without a beat, she threw off the covers and dialed the direct line for the investigative unit of the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Office. She got Kendall Stark’s voice mail.

“Detective Stark, Jamie Lyndon, CENCOM operator. I’m at home watching TV, and I hear this voice. The same voice of the creep who called in to say he was the Kitsap Cutter. I’m sure of it. Call me back.”

Serenity scurried down the TV station’s corridor, her heels smacking against the high gloss of a polished tile floor like machine-gun fire. Josh Anderson was right behind her. He implored her to slow down, but she kept going.

“What was that all about?” he called out.

“I don’t know,” she said, not turning around.

He grabbed her by the shoulder, but she twisted away and kept moving.

“Don’t do this, Josh. I don’t want to go into this.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

“It was him,” she said.

“What do you mean him?”

“I don’t know who he is. He’s the guy that’s been calling me.” Serenity stopped and spun around. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, as if holding her frame could slow the pounding of her heart. Her eyes were filled with terror, not tears. Serenity fought the urge to fall apart. Too much was at stake.

Josh was so enraged he didn’t care that his voice carried into the sales and production offices that lined the corridor. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wasn’t sure if he was the real deal or just a creep,” she countered. “But he is. I know he is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He told me who was next.”

Josh’s anger turned to confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Carol Godding.”

Josh shrugged it off. “She doesn’t fit the profile,” he said, slightly annoyed that they were having this conversation. “She’s too old-the others were in their twenties. Kendall and I went over that ground, believe me.”

Serenity’s eyes pleaded. “It doesn’t matter. He told me that he was going to ‘change it up’ and go for someone older. He told me that he likes to break the rules, Josh.”

“‘The rules’?”

“Yes, as if there are goddamn rules for serial killing.”