Jeffrey resisted the urge to shudder. He took out a pen to go through the contents of the drawers, not wanting to get stuck with a needle or anything sharp, not wanting to get a venereal disease. Jeffrey was about to close one of the drawers when something changed his mind. He was missing something. Moving aside a pair of dark green lace panties, he saw what he was looking for. The newspaper lining the bottom of the drawers was from the special Sunday section of the Grant County Observer. He had recognized the masthead.

Pushing aside the clothes, Jeffrey took out the sheet of newspaper. The front page showed a slow news day. A picture of the mayor holding a pig in his arms beamed back at Jeffrey. The date put the paper at more than a year old. He opened the other drawers, looking for more Observers. He found a few, but most of them carried innocuous stories. Jeffrey found it interesting that Jack Wright subscribed to the Grant County Observer.

He went back into the living room, checking out the stacks of papers on the floor with renewed interest. Brenda Collins, one of Wright's other victims after Sara, had been from Tennessee, Jeffrey remembered. A copy of the Monthly Vols, a newsletter for University of Tennessee graduates, was tucked in with some newspapers from Alexander City,

Alabama. In the next stack, Jeffrey found more out-of-state papers, all from small towns. Beside these were postcards, all from Atlanta, all showing different scenes around town. The backs were blank, waiting to be filled in. Jeffrey could not imagine what a man like Wright would be doing with the postcards. He did not strike Jeffrey as the type of person to have friends.

Jeffrey turned around, making sure he had not missed anything in the cramped room. There was a television set tucked into the old fireplace. It looked fairly new, the kind you could buy on the street for fifty bucks if you did not ask too many questions about where it had come from. On top of the set was a cable converter box.

He walked back toward the front window to leave but stopped when he saw something under the couch. He used his foot to tilt the couch over, sending cockroaches scurrying across the floor. A small black keyboard was on the floor.

The converter box was actually a receiver for the keyboard. Jeffrey turned the set on, pressing the buttons on the keyboard until the receiver logged on to the Internet. He sat on the edge of the upturned couch as he waited for the system to make a connection. At the station, Brad Stephens was the computer person, but Jeffrey had learned enough from watching the young patrolman to know how to navigate his way around.

Wright's E-mail was easy enough to access. Aside from an offer from a Chevy parts dealership and the requisite hot young teens looking for college money, the kind of E-mail that everyone in the world got, there was a long letter from a woman who appeared to be Wright's mother. Another E-mail had a photo attachment of a young woman posed with her legs wide open. The sender's E-mail address was a series of random numbers. Probably, he was a prison buddy of Wright's. Still, Jeffrey wrote down the address on a scrap piece of paper he had in his pocket.

Using the arrow keys, Jeffrey went to the bookmarks section. In addition to various porn and violence sites, Jeffrey found a link for the Grant Observer on-line. He could not have been more shocked. There, on the television screen, was todays front page announcing the suicide of Julia Matthews last night. Jeffrey punched the down arrow, skimming the article again. He went into the archives and performed a search for Sibyl Adams. Seconds later, an article on career day from last year came on-screen. A search for Julia Matthews brought up today's front page, but nothing else. Over sixty articles came up when he typed in Sara's name.

Jeffrey logged off and turned the couch right side up. Outside, he pressed the window back into the hole he had made. It did not want to stay, so he was forced to drag one of the chairs over to prop it in. From his car, it didn't look like the window had been tampered with, but Jack Wright would know as soon as he walked on his front porch that someone had been in his house. As security conscious as the man seemed to be, this would probably be a good way to push his buttons.

The streetlight over Jeffreys car came on as he got in. Even on this hellhole of a street, the sunset dipping into the Atlanta skyline was something to behold. Jeffrey imagined but for the sun setting and rising, the people on this block wouldn't feel human.

He waited for three and a half hours before the blue Chevy Nova pulled into the driveway. The car was old and dirty, flakes of rust showing through at the trunk and taillights. Wright had obviously tried to make a few repairs. Silver duct tape crisscrossed the tail end, and on one side of the bumper was a decal that said GOD is MY copilot. On the other side was a zebra-striped sticker that said I'M GOING wild at the ATLANTA ZOO.

Jack Wright had been in the system long enough to know what a cop looks like. He gave Jeffrey a wary glance as he stepped out of the Nova. Wright was a pudgy man with a receding hairline. His shirt was off, and Jeffrey could see he had what could only be described as breasts. Jeffrey guessed this was from the Depo. One of the main reasons rapists and pedophiles tended to go off the drug was the nasty side effect that caused some of them to put on weight and take on womanly attributes.

Wright nodded to Jeffrey as Jeffrey made his way up the driveway. As neglected as this area of town was, all the streetlights were in working order. The house was lit like it was broad daylight.

When Wright spoke, his voice was high-pitched, another side effect of the Depo. He asked, "You looking for me?"

"That's right," Jeffrey answered, stopping in front of the man who had raped and stabbed Sara Linton.

"Well, damn," Wright said, pursing his lips. "I guess some girl done got snatched up, huh? Y'all always come knocking on my door when some young thing goes missing."

"Let's go into the house," Jeffrey said.

"I don't think so," Wright countered, leaning back against the car. "She a pretty girl, the one missing?" He paused, as if he expected an answer. He licked his tongue slowly along his lips. "I only pick the pretty ones."

"It's an older case," Jeffrey said, trying not to let himself get baited.

"Amy? Is it my sweet little Amy?"

Jeffrey stared. He recognized the name from the case file. Amy Baxter had taken her life after being raped by Jack Wright. She was a nurse who had moved to Atlanta from Alexander City.

"No, not Amy," Wright said, putting his hand to his chin as if in thought. "Was it that sweet little-" He stopped himself, looking over at Jeffreys car. "Grant County, huh? Why didn't you say so?" He smiled, showing one of his chipped front teeth. "How's my little Sara doing?"

Jeffrey took a step toward the man, but Wright did not take the intimidation.

Wright said, "Go on and hit me. I like it rough."

Jeffrey stepped back, willing himself not to punch the man.

Suddenly, Wright scooped his breasts into his hands. "You like these, daddy?" He smiled at the look of disgust that must have been on Jeffrey's face. "I take the Depo, but you know that already, don't you, honey? You know what it does to me, too, don't you?" He lowered his voice. "Makes me like a girl. Gives the boys the best of both worlds."

"Stop it," Jeffrey said, glancing around. Wright's neighbors had come out to see the show.

"I got balls the size of marbles," Wright said, putting his hands to the waist of his blue jeans. "You wanna see 'em?"

Jeffrey lowered his voice to a grumble. "Not unless you want to take the word 'chemical' out of your castration."

Wright chuckled. "You're a big, strong man, you know that?" he asked. "You supposed to be taking care of my Sara?"