“I’ll start working on that profile,” Tony said. “I think we agree that this is an organized killer. White, probably in his late twenties or early thirties since he has the strength to overpower all of his victims. I’m going to say he probably dresses well and has a good job. He’s reasonably attractive since he was able to get close to all the victims. He doesn’t feel ashamed of his looks. He kills mostly women but will kill a man if he feels drawn to do it. I think Ted was convenient. He was walking along a rather isolated road, and the killer saw an opportunity.”

River looked up from what she was doing. Her training was always there, always working. Always whispering in her ear. There was really no way to turn it off. “So, his compulsion isn’t sexually based, which is unusual. He’s obsessed with something else. He entered an apartment to kill.” She met Tony’s gaze. “That’s the murder the police need to focus on. The one that will lead police to the killer. I think that victim was someone he knew. He departed from his usual MO to murder her.”

“I agree,” Tony said. “He’s clearly a psychopath. Has no compassion. Hasn’t shown any remorse toward his victims.”

“His comfort zone is rather extensive,” River added. “My guess is that he has some kind of job that causes him to travel in Missouri, but not too far from St. Louis. I’d say he used his job to get into the apartment to kill the woman Arnie told us about, but I think he’s too sophisticated to wear a uniform. I think he’d feel it’s below him.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono. They posed as off-duty police officers. That would fit this guy’s MO.”

“It would also explain how he could get close to people,” River said. “And why Shelly pulled off to the side of the road.”

She and Tony stared at each other for a few seconds before River said, “I’m sure Arnie knows this is just guesswork, but I think it could be pretty accurate. But what about the flowers? We don’t see them as a sign of remorse?”

“No, not in this situation. Do you?”

River shook her head. “I don’t think so. The only person holding the flowers was Shelly. Ted was lying on top of them, and they were on the floor of the other woman’s apartment. Lying in an alley next to another body. I think they mean something different.”

“Then could Shelly be the murder that means the most?”

River sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not certain, but I think the police should look at Shelly and the woman in the apartment first.” She turned her head to look at Tony. “Why was the apartment such a mess? Did he tear it up out of anger, or did she fight back?”

“Hard to say, but my guess would be that she fought back. I think he enjoys the killing. If he goes to all the trouble to get close to them, I’m thinking he doesn’t want to fight them. He just wants them to die. I doubt that he’ll try killing inside anymore. It doesn’t fit with his personality.”

“Except that there might be other victims we don’t know about.” River straightened up. “This is what makes profiling so complicated. We can only work with what we have. So now, back to the flowers. What do they mean?”

“Okay, so we don’t believe they’re given out of remorse since we don’t see any of the other usual signs. They must have something to do with what incited his urge to kill. Maybe a mother figure?”

“Maybe his mother was religious?”

Tony crossed his hands behind his head. “I don’t know. That doesn’t feel right. Why not leave a Bible verse or a crucifix? Maybe the mother loved dogwood flowers?”

“Yeah, maybe,” River said. “It means something, but we don’t have enough information to be certain why it’s important to him. All we know is that he always leaves a sprig of silk dogwood flowers behind when he kills.” She frowned and tapped her fingers on her desk, trying to pull information from her years of training. “Okay, let’s brainstorm for a moment. Dogwood trees bloom in the spring and summer. They take five to seven years to bloom. There are several colors, including red, pink, and what our guy chose—white. Like I said earlier, the flower symbolizes quite a few things. Life, rebirth, joy, beauty, purity, innocence, resilience, strength, beauty, faithfulness, and hope.” She frowned. “They seem to be his signature. Or part of it anyway. But what’s his trigger?”

“I don’t know. So far, almost everyone we know about was killed in the winter.” Tony shook his head. “Kind of reminds me of our snowman killer.”

“I can’t believe we could encounter two killers in a row who only kill in winter,” River said.

“I don’t think we can assume anything about that since we don’t know how many victims there actually are. It’s entirely possible he doesn’t stick to winter. In fact, maybe he only uses the silk flowers in winter. He might use the real thing in the spring and early summer.”

“That’s true,” River said slowly. “So, let’s take out the winter theme since we can’t be certain. Of all the symbolism associated with the dogwood, I think rebirth and purity are the most powerful. So, is he trying to make certain people are reborn? Or does this relate to his childhood in some way? We know that most serial killers had messed up childhoods.”

“I agree that he’s trying to say something with the dogwood.” Tony sighed. “Didn’t we write a profile a few years ago where the killer left flowers behind? What was that?”

River thought for a moment. “You’re right,” she said as soon as she remembered what Tony referred to. “It was the guy who left lilies.” Her gaze drifted to the arrangement of lilies on her desk. She got up, got a napkin from the credenza, and moved the flowers over to a spot on the floor next to the printer. She was pretty sure the only fingerprints that would be found on the vase belonged to the people who worked for the flower shop. “Sorry,” she told Tony, “but I don’t want to look at them.”

“I understand,” he said. “And I agree.”

“Okay, back to the guy who left lilies. We thought they symbolized death, but we found out later that his abusive mother’s name was Lily.”

Tony burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t funny, but are you saying that this killer’s mother’s name is Dogwood?”

“No. . . . You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Well, at least I’m not saying some woman’s name is Dogwood.”

“Anyway . . .” River tried to ignore him and concentrate on the flowers. “I think all we can say at this point is that the dogwood tree has something to do with his past and leave it at that.”

“There are so many possibilities. Maybe his parents made whips out of the tree branches. Maybe his mother grew dogwood trees and spent more time with them than she did with him.” He shrugged. “We’ll just tell Arnie to look for a connection. If there was just one other sign that this killer feels remorse, I’d go with that. But he leaves the body on display, which means he’s proud of what he’s done. The eyes are open. The hands not crossed. I just can’t make that jump.”

“I agree,” River said. “So, you’ll write that up and send it to Arnie while I send our information on Ted and Shelly to the detective?”

Tony nodded. “I’m working on it now.”

River started compiling photos of April’s podcast episodes with her notes about Ted and Shelly. Then she sent everything to the detective in charge while Tony concentrated on the profile for Arnie. River didn’t like putting together a profile so quickly. It made her feel as if they were missing something, but Arnie needed it now, so there wasn’t much they could do about it. She kept running the flower connection through her mind. She knew she should let go of it, but it wasn’t easy. Was the killer getting ready to strike again? It would take some effort, but she had to put that case on the back burner and concentrate on finding out what happened to April. Was it the same person who killed Kevin and threatened Nathan? Or were they dealing with someone else? They had to discover the truth quickly. Before someone else paid with their lives.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

The motel room was pretty basic, but at least it seemed clean. Audrey had wrapped her wrist, so it was feeling better. The pills she took weren’t strong, but they helped. She’d slept for quite a while. When she woke up, Audrey smiled at her.

“I picked up some food while you were sleeping. Are you hungry?”

She nodded. She still felt a little groggy, but she knew she needed to eat. Audrey put some food on a paper plate and stuck it into the microwave in the small kitchen. Then she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water, which she put on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Drink something,” Audrey said.

She sat up in the bed and swung her legs over the side. Then she reached over, took the cap off the bottle, and put it to her lips, which were dry and cracked. The cold water tasted so good. The water at the hospital was always lukewarm. She hated lukewarm water. She drank almost the entire bottle before Audrey gently took it from her.

“Slow down, honey. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.” She put the bottle down and went over to the microwave when it dinged. “I warmed this up for you. Just a hamburger and fries, but I think you’ll like it. It’s pretty good.”

“Could anyone know we’re here?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.” Audrey sighed. “We’ll only be able to stay here for a short time.”

She unwrapped the cheeseburger and took a small bite. This was the first cheeseburger she’d had in a long, long time. It was so good. For some reason she wanted to cry. It wasn’t because of the burger, it was because her world was beginning to feel normal again. As if someone had opened the door to her cage and allowed her to finally come out. The truth was, she really had been a prisoner. Trapped and unable to escape. Until today. She’d just taken a second bite when there was a loud knock on the door. She dropped the burger onto her lap, and it fell to the floor. Audrey got up and went to the window, pulling the curtain back a bit. She looked out and then turned around, a look of horror on her face.

“I don’t recognize these men,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything. We have to be quiet. Don’t let them know we’re here.”

She started to cry. Surely this couldn’t be happening. She noticed a notepad and a pen on the nightstand. She grabbed it and started writing out a message. Before she could finish it, the pen ran out of ink. She quickly looked for another one, but there weren’t any. She tore the top piece of paper off and put it under her pillow, out of sight. Suddenly, the knocking stopped. Audrey looked out the window again.

“They’re gone,” she said. “We need to leave, right now.” Audrey grabbed her tote bag and put the food in it. Then she grabbed some bottles of water and shoved them in as well. “Get up,” she said, her voice high and shaky. “Can you walk?”

Before she could say yes, someone began yelling outside the door. Audrey turned toward her and smiled sadly. “They must have followed us. I’m sorry. Whatever happens, I want you to promise me that you won’t give up. I sent a letter to Nathan letting him know you’re alive. I couldn’t risk telling him where you were. If the authorities started snooping around before I could get you to safety, we would both be in danger. But you need to know that someone is looking for you, okay?”

As the tears ran down her face, she nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said. Her voice was hoarse from not talking for so long. Could Audrey understand her?

Someone hit the door hard, and it broke open. Two men walked into the room and smiled at her. She tried to scream but she couldn’t. One of them walked over to her, reached into his pocket, and took out a syringe.