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  “Of course. More than happy to help.” She looked slightly forlorn. “When you’re done, I would love to get another look at this. Maybe write a paper.…”

  “Now, Delores, let the agents get back to their case,” Dr. Suvari said. “Stay for tea and we can gossip about everything we just saw here.”

  The elderly gentleman winked conspiratorially at Sayer and Max and ushered them out. As they made their way toward the Psychology Department, Sayer decided that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know why they had just found a sword designed for ritual sacrifice.

  UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA PSYCHOLOGY DEPARTMENT, CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA

  Though the rain had stopped, a brisk wind snaked its way inside Sayer’s parka as they hurried toward the UVA Psychology Department. Students passed in gaggles, heads down, hunched forward over jackets pulled tight.

  “Who is this psychologist again? Don’t we have plenty of profilers at Quantico?” Max asked.

  “Not right now. Things with the congressional hearings are spreading everyone thin. The Behavioral Analysis Unit told me that Dr.…”—Sayer glanced down at her phone—“Alice Beaumont is a Stanford-trained forensic psychologist specializing in criminal psychopathy who has interviewed hundreds of psychopaths in prison. When she heard about the murders she offered to help. Apparently she came in on her day off, so let’s be extra nice.”

  “I’m always nice. Nothing but rainbows and lollipops.…” Max gave her a deadpan look.

  They made it to the portico in front of the main entrance just as two people rushed out the sliding glass doors.

  A camera was shoved into Sayer’s face, bright light forcing her to squint. Her hand instinctively went to her gun, but she stopped herself from actually touching it. A young man in a suit pressed a microphone close to her mouth.

  “Agent Altair, we understand that there’s been a series of murders in the Shenandoah Mountains and that you’re leading the investigation?”

  Sayer hated the press and tried to remember all her training. Short, simple answers. Don’t elaborate. Don’t lie. Keep walking. “I am,” she managed to squeeze out.

  “And were you surprised that the FBI put you in charge of such a big case, even though you’re currently under investigation in the Quantico Hearings?” The reporter pressed the mic even closer to her.

  Sayer stopped walking. “What?”

  He ignored her question. “Is this a task force?”

  Sayer tried to decide if she should press him for information or just get the hell inside. “No.” She resumed her quick pace toward the door.

  “Two women are dead, a woman and child are missing, and the FBI doesn’t think this warrants a task force?”

  “Well, we’re spread thin … but … how did you…”

  “So the FBI’s no longer able to fulfill its duty to the American people. Thank you for your comments, Agent Altair.”

  Before she could even try to correct him, the reporter and cameraman hurried away into the parking lot.

  “Dammit,” Sayer muttered under her breath.

  Max waited for her just inside. “Sorry, I expected you to just keep walking so I powered ahead. Was just about to come back out.”

  Sayer shook her head. “No, just avoid the press at all costs. I talk to them for half a second and I screw something up.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Sayer closed her eyes for a second. “Everything’s fine. Nothing we should worry about right now.”

  In the lobby they scanned the directory, but Sayer was still playing over the reporter’s comment about the hearings. Was she being investigated? For what? Wouldn’t Holt tell her if something was going on?

  “Here we go, Dr. Beaumont, third floor,” Max said.

  They made their way to Alice Beaumont’s office and knocked.

  “Come in,” a woman called from behind an ornate desk. Plump and tall, Alice Beaumont wore a flowing floor-length dress that perfectly matched her slightly mussed matte-black hair. She held herself with the confidence of someone comfortable taking up space.

  Between her loose dress and dyed hair, she looked more rumpled goth-mom than psychology professor.

  “You must be Agent Altair.” Dr. Beaumont came toward them but didn’t offer her hand.

  “And this is Agent Cho,” Sayer said.

  The psychologist glanced at Max and nodded. “Please, sit.” Her dark-berry lips formed a no-nonsense line.

  “Thank you so much for doing this. We’ve got a time-sensitive case and your expertise will really help us out.” Sayer glanced around the room. A massive photograph of a snow-covered mountain dominated one wall. The rest of the wall space was covered floor-to-ceiling with books.

  “I’m happy to help the FBI any way I can,” Dr. Beaumont said.

  Sayer tried to smile genuinely. She hated pleasantries but knew they were part of the job.

  Dr. Beaumont held out a thin stack of paper. “I’ve written up my notes, but I have a few more questions before I finalize my preliminary profile.”

  “Of course.” Sayer shifted in the slightly uncomfortable seat.

  “It says here that there was writing on the latest victim? Have you matched the DNA to anyone?”

  “Ah, sorry, I e-mailed you the latest update from our lab as soon as we got it. We’ve now identified both victims, and we matched the saliva writing to another missing woman. She and her child were kidnapped over a month ago.”

  Dr. Beaumont visibly paled, eyes crinkling with genuine sorrow. “He took a child?”

  “He did.” Sayer noted her confident use of the pronoun he to describe the UNSUB.

  “So he’s probably still holding them somewhere,” she said softly.

  “The women are all blond, early to mid-twenties, educated. They look so much alike they could be sisters. He took them from university campuses and a mall. No connection found yet between them.”

  Dr. Beaumont clicked on her computer. “Yes, I see the e-mail from you now.” She opened the file and skimmed. “That is a high-risk victim pool. Anything else from the DNA?”

  “One more thing,” Sayer said. “The DNA from beneath the fingernails of our two beaten victims matches the missing mother.”

  Dr. Beaumont’s eyes widened. “Are you interpreting that to mean…”

  “We aren’t sure how to interpret it. Obviously our first thought is that the missing mother is also our killer.”

  Dr. Beaumont stared down at her notes.

  Sayer watched closely but couldn’t interpret Dr. Beaumont’s reaction. Her surface demeanor said calm professional, but Sayer sensed a tempest happening just below the surface. The involvement of a child really seemed to throw her.

  “Okay.” Dr. Beaumont cleared her throat. “Well, none of that actually changes my initial profile. I think you’re looking for a single perpetrator. He’s organized, methodical, and very good at hiding what he is.”

  The doctor leaned back, squeaking her office chair.

  “You said he. Do you think this is a male UNSUB despite the DNA evidence suggesting that the killer might be the missing mom?”

  “Despite the DNA, I would be genuinely shocked to find that this killer is a woman.”

  Sayer’s gut agreed. “That makes sense, but then I’m not sure how to interpret the DNA evidence.”

  Dr. Beaumont held her hands open in an I-don’t-know gesture. “It is confusing, but beating someone to death is very rarely a female act. Even more rare is a woman, on her own, holding other women in captivity for extended periods of time.”

  Sayer thought about historical female serial killers. “What about people like Delphine LaLaurie and Madame de Brinvilliers? They both held and tortured other women to death.”

  Dr. Beaumont let out a small sound of approval. “As you well know, there are of course examples, but they’re the exception to the rule. While it is certainly possible, it’s rare. As I’m also sure you know, profiling is ninety percent statistics and ten percent interpretive magi
c.”

  “Don’t tell our lead profiler at Quantico; he seems to think it’s all magic.”

  Instead of smiling, the woman deepened her frown into a stern rebuke. “I would say that you’re looking for a white male, approximately thirty-five, who most likely has a steady job. Maybe a high-status job. He can blend into places like malls and universities, so he likely has above-average social skills.” She cleared her throat again.

  “And the victimology? Any thoughts there?”

  Dr. Beaumont took a long breath, picking at the end of her sleeve. “I’ll want to look at their files as soon as possible. For right now, nothing beyond the obvious. They’re all educated women, very high-risk victims. These are not people you randomly grab off the street. The fact that the women are all very similar in appearance clearly means that these abductions are planned and executed with precision. He picks these women because they fit his pathological need, whatever that might be. Perhaps they all look like his mother.… No signs of sexual assault?”

  “None,” Sayer said.

  “Hmm, okay. Until we have more victims and more information, I’m afraid that’s all I have right now. Feel free to let me know as you gather more evidence and I can revise my profile.”

  “Any thoughts on the bones?” Sayer asked. She had primarily wanted a profile based on their new victims, but had also asked Dr. Beaumont to look at the skeletal remains.

  “Not really. I would definitely need more information about the victims and cause of death.”

  “Oh, we did just find out from your colleagues in the History Department that the sword we found with the bodies is a kopis, an ancient Greek sword used for human sacrifice.”

  Dr. Beaumont paled slightly. “Well, that doesn’t bode well.… I assume it’s associated with the bones?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  The psychologist nodded but seemed done talking.

  “Well, Dr. Beaumont, I really appreciate you taking the time to help us with this case.”

  She stood and gestured to her office door. “Of course. Now, I apologize but I’ve got some work to get to.”

  “Thank you so much.” Sayer paused in the doorway. “If I have more questions, can I get back in touch?”

  “Of course,” the doctor replied, and ushered them out.

  Both lost in thought, Sayer and Max didn’t say a word all the way back up to the ranger station.

  CONGRESSIONAL HEARING CHAMBERS, CAPITOL HILL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  FBI Assistant Director Janice Holt settled into her chair, straightening the microphone and glass of water in front of her.

  “Good afternoon, Janice,” Senator DeWitt said into his microphone. “Sorry to get started so late. Shall we get back to our discussion about the fact that a serial killer was operating under your direction at Quantico?”

  Holt leaned forward, composing herself. She’d lain awake the previous night thinking about exactly what she wanted to say on the record. It was time.

  “Yes, John, let’s go back to that. Because, while I understand a postmortem asking how we missed something so big and how we can keep it from happening again—”

  “Two valid questions to which you seem to have no answer,” DeWitt interrupted her.

  Holt took a calming breath. “And that is because there is no answer. The reality is that we can’t prevent this from happening again because there is no serial killer detection kit. I can’t wave a magic wand over people and know if they are a clever psychopath intent on deceiving me. No one can, because that’s what serial killers do. They are smart and organized and, like some politicians”—she stared daggers at the row of men and women judging her—“they have no compunction about destroying the lives of innocent, hardworking people for their own ends.”

  “Now, Janice,” DeWitt said.

  “Don’t ‘now’ me. I’ve answered your inane questions because I believe in the system. You know better than anyone how much I love the FBI. But it has become clear to me that these hearings are a farce. None of you wants to hear the truth. The truth doesn’t look good to the electorate, and here you all are”—Holt gestured to the line of senators—“saving face for the upcoming elections.”

  Murmurs of disapproval swept the room.

  “None of you wants to tell the public that there is no easy way to prevent this kind of horrific murder. In fact, this committee is targeting one of the few people out there who might just be able to help us stop them. Sayer Altair isn’t the one you should be after here if you really want to stop those men and women from killing again. So, let me be clear on the record. I was responsible for hiring and promoting the people at Quantico. I am the one who didn’t see the signs of a problem. And I am the only one who should take the blame for this fiasco. Do not attack our hardworking agents who sacrifice every day to do this job that they love.”

  “That’s not—”

  Ignoring the senator, Holt leaned in close to the microphone. “That concludes my testimony on this subject.”

  She stood, straightened her blazer, and walked proudly out the door.

  SOUTHERN RANGER STATION, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, VA

  Sayer and Max found Piper and Ezra in the main conference room. The park ranger sat hunched in her chair next to Ezra, and they were reading together from the computer screen.

  They looked up as Sayer approached.

  “Hey, got your message about Ekhidna and the kopis. We were just looking up some info,” Ezra said.

  “Those are some nasty swords,” Piper added.

  “Yeah, come check it out.” Ezra gestured at his computer. “This is from a Tyrrhenian amphora, a kind of ancient Greek terra-cotta vase. This one shows a human sacrifice during the Trojan War.”

  Sayer leaned in to see the image of three soldiers holding a tightly bound woman while a fourth soldier slit her throat. Despite being a relatively primitive image, the wide-eyed look of fear on the victim’s face, coupled with the soldiers’ faint smiles, was unnerving. “What’re the little x’s all over the victim’s clothes?” Sayer asked, pointing to the strange design.

  “They would dress their sacrificial victims up in fancy clothing. I think those are little decorative ribbons.”

  Sayer shifted her attention to the sword that Max put on the table. Its recurved blade was dull and corroded but she could imagine how much damage it could do when sharp. It looked exactly like the sacrificial weapon on the amphora. “So, the question is, why is there an ancient Greek sword in the bone cave and which dead bodies is it associated with?”

  “And why is it inscribed with the name of an ancient Greek monster?” Max added.

  “Ezra, keep digging there and see what you can find. See if you can figure out any way this connects to Greece or mythological monsters.”

  He pulled his chair in front of his computer, fingers poised like he was about to conduct a symphony. “You got it, ma’am.”

  Sayer gave Ezra a stare. He knew she didn’t like being called ma’am.

  “We’ve also got our preliminary profile from the UVA psychologist. She was very confident that our UNSUB is a lone male, but I’m not entirely convinced, especially considering Jillian Watts’s DNA on our victims. Would you do a cursory look at Dr. Beaumont? Just see what her reputation is. Should I trust her profile?”

  Ezra nodded without looking up from his computer, already lost in his world of information.

  “Piper, any word from the local departments on their canvass?”

  “Nothing so far.” Piper looked very disappointed to have nothing to report. “I called Kyle.” She glanced over at Max. “I wanted to let him know that Dana was starting to analyze the bones.”

  “Okay. Ezra, can you have one of the evidence techs run the sword up to Quantico? I think we should get them on analysis. See if they can figure out where it’s from.”

  Ezra nodded.

  “And Dana is already working on the bones?”

  Ezra nodded again.

  “Great. While you gu
ys dig into ancient monsters and ritual swords, I’ll go check in with her.”

  * * *

  Sayer hurried along the hall until she found Dana in the utility room they’d set up as the bone repository.

  All five tables in the large room were covered with clear plastic. Parts of a few skeletons were laid out together, but the rest of the bones were sorted by type—femurs here, rib bones there, and so on. Dana and two evidence techs were hunched over tables.

  Dana looked up, eyes overlarge in thick magnifying glasses, and grunted a greeting. “Finished the autopsies, so wanted to get started on the bones.”

  Sayer leaned against the desk. “I got the brief overview of the autopsy results from Ezra. Anything else I need to know? Did you find anything to dispute the idea that Jillian Watts beat those women to death?”

  Dana propped her glasses up on her head. “No, in fact I spent quite a while analyzing the size and power of the killer. There’s a great deal of forensic data out there on force requirements to break bones and such. It’s a fascinating subfield … using the extent and angle of the breaks to determine the height and gender of the UNSUB.” Her face twisted with discomfort.

  “And?”

  “And, based on the damage suffered by the two women beaten to death, angles of breaks, as well as their defensive wounds, I would say that they were very likely beaten by a five-foot-six woman. Which is exactly how tall Jillian Watts is.…”

  “Shit.” Sayer wasn’t sure what else to say. Could their missing mother really also be their killer? “Anything new with the bones?” She leaned in to see what Dana was examining.

  Dana stood and pulled off her gloves. “Two of my team are still out at the bone cave sifting through the mud to make sure we didn’t miss any small fragments, but we’ve managed to pull all the major bones and sort this mess into seven separate individuals. We’ve also already sent off samples for DNA testing. Sadly, because of the damage, I’m not sure we got workable samples.”

  “Still, that was fast. You all are amazing,” Sayer said to Dana’s techs.