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related to the others, that it’s a copycat. Bullshit.”
    â€œHer own high school parking lot,” Scarpetta thoughtfully observes. “So he talked to her, found out about her after he had her in his car, maybe asked her where she worked, and she told him. Or else he stalked her.”
    â€œWhich do you think it is?”
    â€œI don’t know. Most serial killers stalk their victims. But there’s no set rule, despite what most profilers would like to think.”
    â€œThe other victim,” Nic continues, “vanished right before I came here. Ivy Ford. Forty-two years old, blonde, blue-eyed, attractive, worked as a bank teller. Kids are off in college, and her husband was up in Jackson, Mississippi, on a business trip, so she was home alone when someone must have showed up at her door. As usual, no sign of a struggle. No nothing. And she’s gone without a trace.”
    â€œNothing is ever without a trace,” Scarpetta says as she envisions each scenario, contemplating the obvious: The victim has no reason to fear her attacker until it is too late.
    â€œIs Ivy Ford’s house still secured?” Scarpetta doubts it after all this time.
    â€œFamily’s still living in it. I don’t know how people return to homes where such awful things have happened.”
    Nic starts to say that she wouldn’t. But that isn’t true. Earlier in her life, she did.
    â€œThe car in this most recent case, Glenda Marler’s case, is impounded and was thoroughly examined?” Scarpetta asks.
    â€œHours and hours we . . . well, as you know, I was here.” This detail disappoints her. “But I’ve gotten the full report, and I know we spent a lot of time on it. My guys lifted every print they could find. Entered the useable ones in AFIS, and no matches. Personally, I don’t think that matters because I believe that whoever grabbed Glenda Marler was never inside her car. So his prints wouldn’t be in there, anyway. And the only prints on the door handles were hers.”
    â€œWhat about her keys and wallet and any other personal effects?”
    â€œKeys in the ignition, her pocketbook and wallet in the high school parking lot about twenty feet from the car.”
    â€œMoney in the wallet?” Scarpetta asks.
    Nic shakes her head. “But her checkbook and charge cards weren’ttouched. She wasn’t one to carry much cash. Whatever she had, it was gone, and I know she had at least six dollars and thirty-two cents because that was the change she got when she gave the guy at the barbeque a ten-dollar bill to pay for her food. I had my guys check, because oddly, the bag of food wasn’t inside her car. So there was no receipt. We had to go back to the barbeque and have him pull her receipt.”
    â€œThen it would appear that the perpetrator took her food, too.”
    This is odd, more typical of a burglary or robbery, certainly not the usual in a psychopathic violent crime.
    â€œAs far as you know, is robbery involved in the cases of the other eight missing women?” Scarpetta asks.
    â€œRumor has it that their billfolds were cleaned out of cash and tossed not far from where they were snatched.”
    â€œNo fingerprints in any of the cases, as far as you know?”
    â€œI don’t know for a fact.”
    â€œPerhaps DNA from skin cells where the perpetrator touched the billfold?”
    â€œI don’t know what the Baton Rouge police have done, because they don’t tell anybody shit. But the guys at my department swabbed everything we could, including Ivy Ford’s wallet, and did get her DNA profile—and another one that isn’t in the FBI’s database, CODIS. Louisiana, as you know, is just getting started on a DNA database and is so backed up on entering samples, you may as well forget it.”
    â€œBut you do have an unknown profile,” Scarpetta says with interest. “Although we have to