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parked when she thought of the empty contents of her refrigerator, so she started the ignition again and turned the Pilot toward the nearest fast-food restaurant, Subway Sandwiches.
    Twenty minutes later, pastrami sandwich in hand, she returned to her apartment, stripped off her clothes, ran through the shower, then placed her sandwich on a plate and went to eat at the sofa, in front of the TV Ever since she’d been interviewed about the Do Unto Others case a few weeks earlier, she’d set her DVR to record the Channel Seven nightly news at five-thirty and ten. Now she grabbed the remote and scrolled through the list of programs, punching up the recording of the five-thirty news as she took her first bite.
    She was staring at the screen when the thought she hadn’t been able to catch earlier came back to her: he’d seen her on the news. He had to have. The killer had seen her on the news and that’s how he knew she was a detective.
    And that very same night Glenda Tripp was murdered.
    And shortly thereafter September had received the “bloody” message.
    She set the sandwich down, and put the recording on PAUSE , catching Channel Seven’s newswoman and resident muckraker Pauline Kirby’s feral face in a really unbecoming moment where her eyes were half-shut and her mouth was opened in a snarl.
    Was she making connections that weren’t there?
    No. It was too coincidental. He’d sent her that message and it was personal.
    With a feeling of dread—she hated seeing herself on video—she switched from today’s news to the interview she’d done with Pauline Kirby. She’d watched it once, horrified at how she looked. She didn’t know how actors and people like Pauline Kirby did it. Whenever she saw herself on camera all she wanted to do was close her eyes and groan at the flaws.
    Now, she exited the news program and scrolled through the lists on her DVR until she found the recorded interview again. It had been taken at the crime scene where Emmy Decatur’s body had been discovered.
    Setting her teeth, September pushed the button and the program started. She fast-forwarded to the clip with Pauline Kirby and the two hikers who had found the body, an interview that had occurred before September had arrived at the scene. Sitting on the edge of the couch, she braced for what was to come, determined this time to pay strict attention to the words and not get distracted by her own shortcomings, real or imagined.
    It began with Pauline introducing the two hikers to the camera: “The body of Emmy Decatur was found by Brian Legusky and Dina Wendt, hikers familiar with this area near the foothills of the Coast Range. They called 911 and turned the case over to the Laurelton Police Department, but they agreed to come back to the site for us and give us a recap of just what happened.” She pointed the mic toward Legusky and said, “Tell us what happened.”
    â€œWell . . . me and Dina had been on some trails and we were coming back and our truck was over there . . .” He motioned toward the gravel road that September had parked on when she’d joined the interview. “It was a nice day. We thought we’d maybe put our packs down in the field, have somethin’ to eat . . . I dunno. And then, there she was . . .” He glanced over at Wendt, who was staring wide-eyed, looking sick with the memory.
    Pauline then tried to engage Wendt, who could barely squeak out a word or two. Then back to Pauline, who said she was about to interview one of the investigators on the case, Detective September Rafferty of the Laurelton PD.
    Enter September, wearing black pants, a black V-necked T-shirt, and her light gray, linen jacket. It had been hot that day, too, but she’d worried about sweat stains so she’d put on the jacket for her television appearance. Her auburn hair was normally clipped back, but she’d let it down for the interview and when