Lucy said, “If he’s from Florida, then why is it the Texas Range Bar and Grill? Why not something with Florida, like the Florida Swamp?”

“Now, aren’t you the cleverest girl?” Kelly beamed her brilliant smile on Lucy. “I like that. The thing is, when Gator bought the place it was already named and famous for the Texas Espresso we serve. And we’ve still got Ivan the Bull for people to ride, so we gotta stay the Texas Range. Where was I? Oh, yes, last night—it was eight on the button when she waltzed in. She was alone at first, sat in a booth with a clear view of the bar and ordered fizzy mineral water. Then a guy came in and walked over to her, sat in the same booth, and they had their heads together, talking. I still wasn’t sure, you know? But then Linda came in—she’s a hairdresser from down the street, a really nice girl. She’s a regular, in three or four nights a week, to socialize, you know? And that’s when I really noticed her, because she was looking at Linda real close. Then she smiled, said something to the guy. She got up, ready to come over, I think, but Linda had to leave, had to get gas in her mama’s car, and she was out the door. She sat back down, and the two of them talked some more. I remember they left at nine o’clock or thereabouts.”

Coop said, “Mrs. Spicer, we brought you all the way here to Washington because of all the people who thought they’ve seen Kirsten, you were the only one who saw her in the company of a man, and described him.”

Coop pulled out photos of Kirsten and Bruce Comafield, slid them in front of Kelly Spicer. “Are you sure these are the people you saw?” She looked down, then up at them, and beamed. “Yep, that’s them, although, truth be told, I nearly didn’t recognize her at first, since her hair was bright red, short as can be, and spiked up all over her head. But I knew she had to be Ted Bundy’s daughter after the way she looked at Linda, knew it all the way to my stiletto heels. I can’t wait to see what Gator will have to say about this. He didn’t think you guys would take me seriously. He thought it was stupid to call you, but I didn’t listen to him—a good thing, since I usually do. A smart boy, my Gator.” She stuck a thick slice of raw tuna in her mouth, her smile never dimming as she chewed.

Lucy felt her stomach churn.

“You gonna come up and nail these two, right?”

“Yes,” Savich said. “Tonight.”

“Good. Imagine if Linda had settled in for a while. I’ll betcha Ted Bundy’s daughter would have been right over, buying her a drink.”

When Ms. Spicer finished her sushi, she got her requested tour of the crime lab, charming every tech within distance of that huge smile of hers. Savich arranged to have her driven back to Baltimore. “Remember,” he told her as he shook her hand, “you don’t know any of us if you see us, all right? It’s best if no one else in the bar knows about us, either. We’ll let you know when to expect us.”

“Zip my lips,” Kelly said.

“Okay,” Coop said a few minutes later in the CAU conference room. “We’re got Kirsten’s look du jour—red blazer; black jeans and black boots; short, spiky red hair. Practically an advertisement. I surely hate to say this, though. If Bruce Comafield is with her, none of us can be in the bar tonight. He’ll recognize us, and that’ll blow the deal.”

“And that could lead to people getting hurt if they lose it,” Lucy said. “That’s our bigger problem—taking them down in a public place without anyone getting hurt.”

Savich said, “The plan will be for you and Coop to take her down before she ever goes through the bar door. I’m thinking Sherlock will set up at the bar, nursing a beer, in case she makes it inside.”

Lucy said, “We gotta hope for Comafield, too. What a piece of work he must be, Dillon, if he’s not as insane as she is. Did you reach Lansford?”

“He’s still in the air, but I was able to Skype him with the help of the flight crew. He was at first disbelieving, but once I convinced him on the phone, he nearly blew. He calmed down enough to say he’d believed Bruce hardly knew Kirsten. He admitted Bruce was gone many nights, and that was occasionally inconvenient, but he was smart and efficient, and so he let him get away with it. Bruce told him he had a sick mother and had to visit her whenever possible. Cancer, he said, terminal. I didn’t bother to tell him that Bruce Comafield’s mother is alive and well in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and owns two flower shops. I gave Mr. Lansford specific dates, the nights Kirsten murdered the five women. He said he’d have their employment records checked to see if Bruce was away on those nights.