in concrete. Alicia could see a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d just proved to himself that his instincts were right, that these recent murders weren’t connected to Brenda Cooper’s death or the slayings of the other women chronicled in Victor Logan’s barbecued scrapbook.
She was pretty sure she knew why Gabe had dismissed her presentation as irrelevant, but she pressed him on the question anyway. “What about the similarities in the killer’s M.O.?”
“Ms. Solano, your two coeds have to be a good four or five years younger than any of Victor Logan’s victims. Victims in their mid-to late twenties are clearly part of Logan’s signature. M.O.s change. Signatures don’t. I’d think someone doing her dissertation on serial killers would know that already.”
She ignored the mild condescension, because she had him exactly where she wanted him. “They weren’t four or five years younger. Meredith Linden was twenty-eight. Addison Moore was twenty-nine. Both brunettes, just like the other victims. Curvy women, like the others.”
Gabe’s eyes shifted, his gaze dropping to her body as if searching for her own curves. They were camouflaged by the plain skirt and loose-fitting blouse she’d chosen from her closet this morning, but she could tell he was seeing beyond the shapeless clothing and picturing what lay below.
“Now do you understand?” Cissy asked her uncle.
He looked at her, his brow wrinkled. “There’s never been any evidence in Brenda’s murder that would suggest a second killer, Cissy. Evidence matters, too.”
“There aren’t two killers,” Alicia said. “Just one.”
Gabe swung his puzzled gaze her way. “You said you thought Victor was one of the killers.”
“He’s not one of the killers. Just one of the people involved.” Alicia could see his skepticism growing. “Look, Cissy says you’re a deputy, so I know you probably know this—sometimes there are serial killer pairs. Some of the time they both kill, but sometimes, the weaker of the two—the beta—only aids the killer by doing things like taking care of his kit or acting as a lookout. And sometimes, they just help the killer stalk the victims to pick the right time to strike. I think that was the case for Victor Logan. And I think now our killer has a new wingman.”
“Interesting theory.” He cut his eyes toward his niece. “Not one I find particularly plausible, but—”
“I don’t need you to believe it,” Alicia conceded grudgingly, although a little openness to hearing her theories would have been nice. “I just need—”
“Yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been wondering,” Gabe interrupted. “What do you need me for? Cissy probably knows everything I know about the murders. Maybe more, since she’s apparently been making them a subject of study.”
Alicia looked up at Cissy, an apology in her eyes. “Cissy doesn’t know what it was like to find Brenda’s body. You do. And that’s why I need to talk to you.”
Gabe shook his head quickly. “I’m not rehashing all of that with you. Certainly not with Cissy here.”
“I’ve read your statement to the Chickasaw County deputies,” Cissy said.
He looked up at his niece, his expression wary. “It’s not the same as hearing it.”
“Actually, what I’m hoping we can do is go a step beyond your statement,” Alicia said, her stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. What she was going to suggest was invasive under the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I think we should try hypnotic regression.”
Gabe’s hard gaze whipped around to flood her with molten fury. “You’re nuts.”
“Uncle Gabe—” Cissy warned.
Gabe pushed to his feet. “You want to play some sort of mind game with me so you can make a nice score on your paper? Too bad. I’m not playing. I’m done here.” He moved around the coffee table and strode angrily toward the door.
Cissy caught up with him before Alicia. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know it’s not something a lot of people are comfortable taking part in—”
Gabe interrupted with a hard laugh. “I hope you and Ms. Solano find what you’re looking for. I really do. But you’re going to have to count me out.”
Alicia caught Cissy’s arm when she was about to argue further. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sincerely. It was more than she’d had a right to hope for. “I’m sure Cissy will be in touch if we find anything new your brother needs to know about. And if you think of anything, here’s my card.” She pulled one of her business cards from the desk near the door, handing it to Gabe.
He tucked it into his pocket.
Alicia unlocked the front door and opened it for him. “Thank you,” she said again.
“I’ll walk you to the truck,” Cissy suggested.
Gabe turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “No. You go home, lock the doors and be safe. I may not think your mother’s killer is still at work around here, but someone is. You be careful.” To Alicia’s surprise, Gabe’s blistering blue gaze turned to meet hers, softening as he dropped his voice a tone. “You, too.” His eyes dropped, taking in her well-camouflaged figure as if he could see right through her clothes.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Will do.”
Then he was gone, broad shoulders and long legs disappearing into the darkening night.
“I’m sorry,” Cissy murmured. “I guess I knew it would be a long shot.”
Alicia gave the taller girl a hug. “He’s right, though. Go home. Get some sleep. Lock your doors.”
She watched until Cissy was safely inside the apartment two doors down, then stepped back into her own place and locked the doors behind her.
Gabe Cooper had looked her over. More than once. So he’d seen it, too. The obvious.
She walked slowly into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, letting the garment slide to her feet. Next came the skirt, left where it lay as she crossed to her closet door and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror bolted to the door. Her dark eyes stared back, wide with the anxiety she tried to hide from the world.
The woman in the mirror had full breasts and wide hips that even her shapeless clothing couldn’t completely hide, courtesy of her father’s side of the family. Three times a week at the gym gave her muscles beneath the flesh, but it couldn’t change her DNA. She was a curvy woman.
And she perfectly fit the killer’s profile.
GABE TURNED UP THE RADIO as Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” came on. Like a lot of classic rock stations in the South, on this station, southern fried rock got a lot of air-play, and Skynyrd was one of Gabe’s favorites.
He sang along under his breath as he navigated the winding curves of Route 7. The two-lane county road undulated northeast, away from downtown Millbridge and the Mill Valley University campus and out toward the rural wilds that encroached the town on all sides.
He’d
