As they neared the door, Hotchner said, “Prentiss, you and Reid go around back. Make sure no one gets by you.”

They nodded and trotted off.

Morgan and Hotchner gave them thirty seconds, then went to the front door and Hotchner rang the bell.

They waited quietly for an endless moment before the door swung open and they were greeted by a strikingly pretty woman of thirty-five or so. Her eyes were bright blue, her smile wide and friendly, her cheekbones high, her nose straight. Her blonde-highlighted brown hair curled softly onto the shoulders of her a sleeveless blue blouse; she also wore jeans and open-toed sandals, and was both slender and shapely.

Former model is right,Morgan thought.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Hotchner displayed his credentials. “Mrs. Dryden?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice rather musical.

“I’m Special Agent In Charge Hotchner, and this is Supervisory Special Agent Morgan.”

“With the FBI, yes,” she said, the smile fading. “You must want Daniel. Something to do with his work? But I’m afraid he’s not here.”

Hotchner said, “Would you know where he is?”

“I’m sorry, no, not exactly where. He’s on the job.”

The team leader nodded. “May we come in?”

Her head tilted to one side, giving Hotchner an odd look; but nonetheless she said, “Of course,” and stepped aside to allow them in.

Morgan followed Hotch.

The entryway was Spanish tile but the carpeting began almost immediately, the great room stretching out to the right, the kitchen straight ahead, the dining room just to the left.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “May I use your bathroom?” The request was one he assumed the middle-class housewife could not refuse.

“Why, of course,” she said. “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

He made the trip quickly, doing his best to see into the other rooms and listening intently for any sound that indicated they were not alone. He ducked into the bathroom, counted to twenty and flushed the toilet. He washed his hands quickly so she could hear the sink running, then rejoined her and Hotchner near the door.

He flashed his patented smile. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Dryden gave him a half smile, a quick nod, and waved a hand for them to enter the great room.

The picture window dominated the west wall, and an entertainment center complete with a plasma TV engulfed the north wall. Along the south wall was a long beige sofa with two brown swivel rockers set out on either end as if standing guard, a small coffee table in front.

Hotchner got out his radio and instructed Prentiss and Reid to join them.

While they waited for the other agents, Hotchner asked, “Mrs. Dryden, are your boys at home?”

“No,” she said, puzzled. “They’re at the mall with friends—why do you ask?”

“Actually, I’m relieved. We need to talk to you about some things, and it’s better done with your boys not around.”

Reid and Prentiss came in and Hotchner made brief introductions. Morgan and Reid stood while the others sat, Mrs. Dryden and Prentiss on the sofa, Hotchner in one of the swivel chairs.

“I must say you’re… frightening me,” Mrs. Dryden said. “Is it something about Danny?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so.”

“Oh my God, is he all right?”

“As far as we know, he’s fine physically.”

“Far as you know… ? Fine physically… ? What—”

“Mrs. Dryden, I’m afraid your husband is a person of interest in an ongoing FBI investigation.”

“My husband?” Her smile was half-amused, half-horrified. “ Whatkind of person? Is this some kind of joke—you work with Danny, right?”

“You’re aware of these murders the media’s been covering lately? Really they’ve been taking place since spring.”

Mrs. Dryden nodded. “The copycat killings. Danny’s mentioned them in passing.”

“Would you happen to know if he’s worked all the crime scenes?”

“I have no idea,” she said. She was frowning. “Why aren’t you asking himthese questions?”

“We will be,” Hotchner said, “when we locate him. Mrs. Dryden, I hate to have tell you this, but he may prove to be more than just a person of interest. Right now, he’s our chief suspect.”

Mrs. Dryden’s eyes were wide though the skin around them was tight. “What? No… no, that’s not possible.”

Hotchner said, “He’s been identified by an eye witness.”

“The witness is mistaken.”

“Perhaps you can help us clear up our thinking, then,” Prentiss said quietly. “You see, in addition to this witness, Mr. Dryden strongly fits the profile we’ve developed.”

“ Whatprofile?”

“We’re part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Hotchner said. “And we’ve developed a profile of this suspect. Your husband fits it.”

“You’re wrong!” She was on her feet.

Prentiss stood, touched the woman’s shoulder, but their reluctant hostess lurched away and held up her index finger like it was a knife she could use to defend herself.

“Stay away from me!” she said.

“Mrs. Dryden,” Hotchner said, his voice calm. “I know none of this seems to make sense, but please listen to us.”

“No,” the woman said, backing away. “I… I don’t want to.…”

Hotchner asked, “Does your husband leave at all hours?”

Reid asked, “Is he secretive about his work?”

Prentiss asked, “Has he had problems with depression?”

The woman continued to back slowly away from them, her finger wilting now, tears starting to overflow.

Morgan asked, “Does he have a place he won’t let you go, no matter what? A… fiercely private place?”

Mrs. Dryden was at the front door now. She said nothing, but her eyes cut toward that door… or something beyond it.

“He does,” Morgan pressed, “doesn’t he?”

Her voice was a sort of wail: “The… garage…”

Prentiss enfolded the woman in her arms and held her while Mrs. Dryden wept. Finally gaining a small measure of composure, the woman said, “His… his darkroom. It’s just his darkroom—upstairs, garage.”

Hotchner asked, “May we have a look?”

She frowned; for the first time, something like fear could be seen there. “Danny… he never lets anyonein his darkroom. But there’s a, you know, practical reason—you could ruin something he’s working on. Screw up a crime scene photo, you can screw up a case.”

The words were clearly an echo of what her husband had said to her.

Hotchner said, “We can get a warrant, Mrs. Dryden. But the faster we move, the sooner this will be cleared up. And if we’re wrong about your husband, all of us want to know, sooner than later. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Her face was frozen in confusion. The world had just opened up beneath her feet and she was having trouble not getting swallowed up.

Morgan said, “People will be looking to arrest your husband, Mrs. Dryden. And something could go wrong, and someone might get hurt. If there’s nothing up there to tie him to the crimes, we may be able to eliminate him as a suspect. Wouldn’t you want to help him if you could?”

She considered that for a long moment. What she decided here could be vital—one way or another, they would be getting into that garage today, yes. But getting that warrant could give Dryden just enough time to practice his deadly performance art once again.…

“If it might help clear him,” she said, as if talking to herself, “I suppose I should do it.” She gazed at Hotchner, her face streaked with tears. “But be very careful, won’t you? Danny wouldn’t want any of his work spoiled.”

I’m sure he wouldn’t,Morgan thought.

“We will,” Hotchner said. “May we have the key?”

She went to a side table near the door, picked up her purse and withdrew a ring with half a dozen keys. She singled one out and handed the key on the ring to Hotchner, who passed it on to Morgan.

“That’s to the garage,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have a key for the upstairs. Danny has the only one.…"