He knelt down beside her, laid his palm on her forehead. His hand felt warm and soft. She whispered, “I’m sorry, Thaddeus, I’m feeling really sick.”

He stroked her forehead. “That’s all right, Alana. I’m the one who made you sick, and now it’s time to end it.”

“You made me sick? But how? Why?” She saw him twist a loop of wire in his hands, saw him reach down over her as she vomited again, beer and peanuts all over the front of him. She heard him curse as the wire went around her neck.

CHAPTER 3

Washington, D.C.

Hoover Building, Criminal Apprehension Unit

Thursday morning, two days later

Lucy Carlyle addressed the group of five agents seated with her around the CAU conference table. “Her name was Alana Rafferty, age thirty-one, divorced, no children. She was a graphic artist for Bloomfield Designs in Cleveland, Ohio. She was outgoing, loaded with talent, and just plain old nice, according to her coworkers and friends, and she met the wrong person at Nielson’s Bar and Grill on West Blake Street Tuesday night. The bartender, who’s also the owner, said she left with a guy all duded up in black, even a black beret, said he looked sort of gay, at about nine o’clock Tuesday night. Another couple saw the guy wave down a taxi, but the cabbie was off duty. Then the guy yelled out an insult, even kicked the tire. The couple said Alana looked a bit tipsy, and when they walked away, the guy was holding her arm because she wasn’t all that steady on her feet. They walked west, toward her apartment, two blocks farther on, at the corner of Hudson Avenue.” She nodded a bit unwillingly at Agent Cooper McKnight, wanting to continue and not turn it over to him, but she said, “Coop.”

Coop said, “Her body was found in her apartment at noon yesterday by the manager and a coworker from Bloomfield Designs. The Cleveland PD put a rush on the autopsy since the murder bore some similarities to four recent murders, two in San Francisco and two in Chicago. This was the first victim in Cleveland.

“The bartenders in all three cities describe the guy as looking arty, maybe gay, in his late twenties, early thirties, with longish black hair under a black beret, tall, thin to gaunt. Two of the bartenders said he looked like he’d dusted his face with white powder, and he had long white hands that he seemed to like to show off, you know, picking out individual pretzels or nuts from a bowl.

“The bartenders told police none of the women seemed to know him, but they all appeared to hit it off with him quickly. He always bought them beer or wine or whatever, and after about an hour or two, they all left with him.

“In each instance, the women were murdered in their apartments. Each had ketamine and Rohypnol in her bloodstream, probably due to spiked drinks. As you know, ketamine is an anesthetic and now a street drug known as Black Hole or Special K that’s become popular at raves. Rohypnol is your classic roofie, the date-rape drug. Together, they’re a potent cocktail. One Chicago detective said it looks like the guy uses a roll of common wire, impossible to trace, and he unrolls the length he wants and snips it off before strangling them.”

Lucy said, “There’s more information in the folders I handed out, photos of the crime scenes, copies of all the interviews, autopsy results, but those are the high points.” She nodded to Savich.

Savich said to the group, “Mr. Maitland wants us to handle the case now that this guy’s crossed state lines several times and is killing every few days.

“Look through the packets and familiarize yourselves with the cases in San Francisco and Chicago. All major police departments across the country have been alerted about this guy and are already on the lookout.

“Cleveland Police Chief Aaron Handler has moved fast. He compared the sketch their own police artist made from the bartender’s description to the other police sketches made in San Francisco and Chicago.” He held up the sketch. “This is a composite sketch, based on the descriptions provided by the three bartenders. Chief Handler had the sketches posted prominently in every neighborhood bar in Cleveland, and they’re running the sketch on local television channels. You can see the guy has a distinct look—dressed all in black, with his black beret and black jeans, boots, T-shirt, and leather jacket—and he’s kept to his initial pattern—always a neighborhood bar, always choosing a young woman who’s alone. He drugs her, and garrotes her in her own home or apartment, which means all of the women let him take them home.”

Ruth Warnecki-Noble said, “Well, if they were all feeling ill from the drug he fed them, I guess it makes some sense they would accept some help. Plus, if they think the guy is gay, they probably wouldn’t see him as a sexual threat.”