“There’s no sign of the window being jimmied, and the lock seems real secure,” Mitch told them. He turned to Regan and added, “Maybe you were dreaming.”

“Maybe you ought to sleep in Uncle Will’s room one night,” she smiled sweetly, “and we’ll see who’s dreaming.”

He smiled in return. “Anytime.”

“Okay, so we’ve established that Mitch is a nonbeliever and Regan and Lorna believe. Truthfully, I’m still on the fence,” T.J. announced. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“Where were we?” Regan shuffled the notebook pages that lay on the table in front of her.

“We were talking about the responses we’ve gotten to our request for information on missing persons-specifically young men-over the past thirty years,” Mitch said.

“From this area?” Lorna asked.

“Right. Southern New Jersey, the entire state of Delaware because it’s small, northeastern Maryland, and southeastern Pennsylvania, from Harrisburg to Philadelphia, including the southernmost area from Lancaster straight on over to the Delaware River.” Mitch held up a sheet of paper. “Guess how many responses so far?”

“I have no idea.” Lorna shook her head. “Three?”

“Nine.”

“Nine!” she exclaimed.

“Which tells me what the police have found is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“But they wouldn’t necessarily all be buried on my property, right?”

“Not necessarily, but I think there’s a damned good chance there may be more out there. He’d have felt confident here, he’d met with success here. He’d never been discovered here.” Mitch turned to T.J. “Which in itself should tell us something about him, right?”

“It tells me he’s probably local. Probably grew up here, may still be living here.”

“Why would he still be here?” Lorna asked. “Wouldn’t he be afraid that the remains would be found and he’d be caught?”

“No one’s come close to catching him. For twenty-five years, no one even caught on that the crimes were committed. He’s obviously in his comfort zone. He’s killed here, he’s buried his prey here, and he’s gotten away with it for a very long time. And as Mitch just pointed out, he feels secure here. I don’t see him having ever left. It probably gives him great comfort to have his kills close by.”

“Well, if we assume you’re right, and he’s still living around here, what do you suppose he’s thinking now?” Lorna asked.

“That’s absolutely the question to be asking.” T.J. turned to her. “And it’s the one question no one else has asked.”

Lorna felt her cheeks tinge pink. Nancy Drew, indeed.

“I think if he hasn’t already begun to panic over the last few days, he’s going to start very soon. I think he was okay when Jason’s body was found. Okay, maybe a little tense, watch and wait, but in the end, the police blamed Billie for that. So I doubt he had much of a reaction other than maybe to feel the loss, that something has been taken from him. But it wouldn’t really have affected him, I don’t think, because he knew there were others, and he probably thought they were safe.”

“But then the others were found,” Regan pointed out. “Maybe not all of them, as Mitch noted, but enough to turn the national spotlight on the farm.”

T.J. nodded. “Right. I think every day this week, things have gotten more and more tense for him. We don’t know how many bodies were buried here, so we don’t know if he’s anticipating more discoveries-hoping, I’m certain, that no more are found. He’s already upset, I believe, that four have been taken from him. He wants them here, nearby, needs to know they’re there, under the ground, right where he left them. It has to be a torment for him to watch them exposed and removed.”

“So what do you think he’s going to do?” Lorna asked.

“I think he’s going to be looking for replacements,” T.J. told her.

The four fell silent for a moment, then Lorna asked, “So unless you find him, he’ll start killing again?”

“If he’s ever stopped-and we don’t know for certain that he has-yes, I expect him to look for victims here. Remember that he could well have been killing elsewhere, but I think he needs to keep his victims close to him.”

“That would involve a lot of travel on his part, though, wouldn’t it? As large an area you’ve already canvassed for victims, and found nine, wouldn’t he go beyond that to find future victims?” Regan asked.

“Possibly. Of course, there’s always the chance that he stopped. The last victim we identified was reported missing in 1995.”

“Ten years ago.” Lorna looked pensive. “That means he was actively killing and burying his victims here for at least fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years that we know of. As I said earlier, don’t be surprised if there are still some surprises out there,” Mitch told her.

“God, I hope not.” Lorna shivered. “I’ve had enough surprises for one week.”

“So, what’s our game plan for today?” Regan stacked her notes neatly in front of her.

“Our game plan?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you don’t expect to exclude me.”

“Surely you don’t expect to tag along while I visit with the families of some of the victims.”

“The Bureau permitted me access to interviews on previous cases, as a consultant,” Regan reminded him.

“You had already shared information from your father’s files on a similar case,” he countered, “and you were permitted to accompany me to look over police files to see if you could spot similarities.”

“Well, you don’t know that I might not have some insights into this one as well.”

“I don’t know how welcome a civilian is going to be to a family whose long-missing son has just been identified.”

“How ’bout we let John decide?” Regan smiled. John had been a big fan of her father’s true crime series, and had authorized her involvement in cases in the past. She opened her bag and took out her cell phone. “That number again, Agent Peyton?”

Mitch recited the number and she dialed it, then got up and walked to the window.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Mitch asked T.J.

“I’m going to meet Danielle Porter at three,” T.J. replied.

Lorna stood and collected the empty coffee cups.

“I was wondering if you’d come along, Lorna,” he said. “I think you could be helpful, maybe get her to talk a little more than she might to a stranger.”

“I’m pretty much a stranger, too, remember.”

“Yes, but you’re a local. And a woman. She might feel a little more comfortable talking to you.”

“Where is she living now” Lorna called from the kitchen, where she was rinsing the cups.

“She gave me the address, let me get it.” T.J. went through his briefcase and located the slip of paper on which he’d written the number and address. He took it into the kitchen to show Lorna.

“Hmm, 724 Old Anderson Road.” Lorna nodded. “That’s off State Road, about two, three miles past Callen. There’s no town there, per se, just a bunch of farms. I know the area. It should only take us about ten minutes to get there.”

She looked at the kitchen clock, the face of which was set into the body of a black cat, a relic from her grandmother’s day that Mary Beth had loved. It was just a little after one-thirty.

“Well, then, it looks as if we all have our work planned for us this afternoon.” Mitch stood in the doorway. “Regan’s been given the green light to come along with me-as a consultant,” he emphasized, apparently for Regan’s benefit. “And since we have appointments with three families today, I think we need to get going.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Regan told him from the dining room, where she was sliding her reading glasses into their case and hunting for her sunglasses.

“How about if we regroup later this afternoon?” T.J. suggested. “Lorna, do you mind if we use your home for our unofficial headquarters?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest that Mitch feel free to use the dining room if he needs a place to work. If the weather cools off, we can clear some space from the table in the living room’s front window to give you a bit of privacy, Mitch.”