“Sorry?”

“Possessions, Talia.”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“The guys I profile are sociopaths, and they share characteristics. No conscience. Above the rules. They’re smug and have overblown egos.”

“I overheard you describing that to the detectives last night.”

He nodded. “They’re also compulsive collectors.”

“Collectors?”

“They take souvenirs.”

He watched her face as she reasoned out what he was saying. Her gaze dropped to the file. “What were they missing?”

“We don’t know, and that’s been damn frustrating. None of the women had the same body type, no common feature like blue eyes, crooked teeth, long hair, short hair, a beauty mark. They were physically different, and lived different lifestyles. No common hobby.

“Nothing alike except healthy bank accounts that were emptied within days of their disappearances. He could collect safe deposit box keys, ballpoint pens, locks of hair, fingernails. We don’t know. But I would bet my career that there’s something he takes from them. And saves. And takes out on occasion and fondles. Possibly masturbates.”

She looked nauseated at the thought.

“Does he have a safe, sealed packing box, tool box, tackle box, anything that he asked you not to open?”

She was shaking her head before he finished. “He told me he had sold everything when he moved to Savannah.”

“From Florida.”

“He said Minnesota. He told me he no longer needed heavy clothing and cold weather gear, so he had disposed of everything.”

“A logical lie. But didn’t he have any personal items? Photographs? Memorabilia? Stamp collection? Coins? A cigar box of postcards?”

“Nothing, Drex.”

He looked at his wristwatch. “Think, Talia.”

“He had his car, his clothes, some cookbooks.”

He shot to his feet. “Where are they?”

“They’re cookbooks.”

“Where are they?”

But by the time he had repeated the question, he had remembered the shelf above the stove. He went over to it and picked one of the books at random. It was a two-year-old edition with a glossy cover. The spine was unbent. The pages were so new and unused, some stuck together. He remarked on its newness.

“When we met, he hadn’t been a foodie for long,” she said. “It was a hobby he began after his retirement.”

“Books are good hiding places. I’ll have Gif tear into them.” She seemed on the verge of protesting, and he pounced on that.

“Do you want him caught, Talia?”

The file held her interest for a ponderous moment, then she looked up at him. “If he did what you allege, then, yes, of course. Those women deserve justice.”

He said nothing, just looked at her.

“You don’t believe I’m sincere?”

“You married him, Talia, and shared all that the state of matrimony implies. I think you’ll have a difficult time convincing Rudkowski, et al., that you never felt something was off about your husband.”

“I felt he kept secrets,” she said softly and with reluctance. “More lately than at first. I attributed it to an affair.”

“Had you ever accused him prior to night before last?”

“No.”

“You showed your hand with that accusation. You’re lucky he went after Elaine first. When I came tearing down here to South Carolina, I thought I was rushing in to save you. You’re loaded. All of us figured you were next. But you weren’t.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, I just want you to understand what that means to you. If the authorities don’t find his body, and they won’t, they’ll keep their eye on you. They may not call you a suspect, but there’ll always be that shadow of doubt as to what you knew or didn’t know, what your level of participation was, if you had any compliance whatsoever.”

“I didn’t!”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me,” she exclaimed. “What do I have to do to prove I’m innocent?”

“Die.”

She slumped against the back of her chair and looked at him with incredulity over his bluntness.

He said, “If you turn up dead, the authorities will reason that he killed you to shut you up, whether or not you were culpable. If you go on living, untouched, there’ll forever be that question mark beside your name.”

She looked around her, taking in various perspectives of the room as though it had become alien territory. When she came back to him, she said, “I realized this last night, although I didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

“Realized what?”

“That no matter how this ends, I’ll never regain the life I lived before. Will I?” He didn’t say anything, but she got the message. She nodded, then straightened her spine and asked, “Will they hold me in jail?”

“I don’t know.”

“If it were up to you?”

“It won’t be. Not entirely.”

“If it were. Entirely.”

“I would rather have your full cooperation with the investigation. I’d want your input, your gut instinct, your recollections, your unconditional help in catching him.”

“What if I offered my unconditional help?”

“That would go a long way with them.”

She looked down at her lap in which her hands rested. “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

“At what?”

“Manipulation. Bending people to your will.”

“Yes. I’m very good at it. But I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m telling you like it is.”

“Why should I trust that that’s true?”

He couldn’t come up with an answer. “The clock is ticking, Talia.”

She looked at him with appeal. “Are you a good guy?”

“I could tell you I am. I could cross my heart and hope to die. Swear to my goodness on a stack of Bibles. But you’d be crazy to take my word for it.”

“Who was Weston Graham to you?”

The question took him aback, but he answered without pause. “Not was, is.”

“Who is he to you?”

“The man who killed my mother. Lyndsay Cummings.” She registered wordless shock. He let it sink in before adding, “That’s why I want him, Talia. I want to see him burn. And whether that makes me a good guy or a bad one, I really don’t give a shit.”

He was aware of the seconds passing as she stared into his eyes. Finally she said, “I offer my unconditional help.”

He pushed out of the chair. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to have it.”

“I don’t offer it to them. I offer it to you.”

Mike, Gif, and the two young cops trooped single file up the exterior stairs to the apartment. The patrolmen took turns using the bathroom, then Mike and Gif doled out bottles of water from the refrigerator. They raided the cabinet and found an unopened box of Nutter Butters, which the cops took with thanks. The four trooped single file down the staircase. Mike and Gif waved the officers back to their squad car and started toward the house.