LITMIR.BIZ

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with a satisfied smile. “Do you see it?”

      Sunny pushed out of her chair and moved in to get a closer look at the map.

      “He’s getting sloppy,” Ned suggested from behind her. He indicated the first two locations with the tip of a pen. “Seattle and Napa produced no DNA evidence. The UNSUB was careful, cautious. By the time he got here,” he said, pointing to the yellow pinhead marking the St. Louis crime scene, “his confidence was up, so he relaxed and got careless.”

      “I don’t think so,” Sunny said. “He’s not careless, he’s very thorough and methodical. I’d suggest arrogance, but you don’t get cocky from only two successful jobs. Plus, it was a hair sample found in the drain pipe of the victim’s shower in St. Louis, so that could be a fluke. By the time he hit Miami, it may have been intentional if he’s playing with us, but our involvement isn’t public yet. If there’s any meat to Ned’s theory, though, then we have more crimes to worry about.”

      She looked over at Georgia. “Can you pull all the data reported from crimes in the last two years that match our UNSUB’s M.O.?”

      “I can try,” she said, but didn’t look too hopeful. “If the stats aren’t entered into the national database, there’s not much I can do.”

      “They usually don’t bother,” Ned added, “unless it involves a violent crime. On the surface these have the characteristics of theft. That’s not something anyone would commonly associate with a serial-type offender.”

      Sunny turned her attention back to the composite sketches. “See what you can find anyway,” she said to Georgia. “I know it’s a long shot, but we could find gold.”

      “The lab could come up with more DNA from Wilder’s place,” Georgia suggested. “How long before you’ll hear something?”

      “Could be days.” Sunny moved closer to the map, meticulously studying each sketch for what had to be the six hundredth time. She was missing something…but what?

      Ned adjusted his glasses and peered at the sketches of Burke Connors and Ian Banyon. “How does he do it?” he asked. “How does he manage to completely alter his appearance? I see basic similarities, but it just doesn’t look like the same guy. You know, I could style my hair differently, wear contacts, but I’d still look like me.”

      “I know what you mean,” Georgia agreed. “I could go brunette or blond but I’d still be me. If it wasn’t for the evidence, I’d swear we should be looking for four different men. Nothing suggests this is the same person. It’s spooky.”

      “Oh my God,” Sunny blurted. “That’s it!” She turned to look at the two agents and grinned. “These are not sketches of the same person.”

      Georgia took a step back and looked down at Sunny as if she’d lost her mind. “Come on, Mac. You’re reaching. The evidence indicates otherwise.”

      “I’m not refuting the evidence,” Sunny explained. “Stay with me a minute.” She went to her desk for the remaining two composites, then pinned them to the wall above the other four drawings.

      “Marcus Wood.” She pointed to the first sketch. “Tansey Middleton’s favorite cause is animal rights. She writes big checks to support no-kill shelters and foots the bill for an adopt-a-pet event twice a year. Wood comes along posing as a dog-loving, animal-rights activist.”

      Ned folded his arms and rocked back on the heels of his polished wingtips. “Yeah, so?”

      “Maddie Bryson takes over the operation of the family vineyard when her brother loses a lengthy battle with cancer. To recoup their losses, Maddie explores the possibility of exporting their award-winning Napa Valley grapes to several French winemakers. Travis Reisner shows up claiming to be a buyer for a French winemaker.”

      Georgia’s eyes filled with understanding. “Joy Tweed is a professional college student,” she said. “Some guys don’t change their socks as often as Joy changes majors. She’s what they used to call an M.R.S. degree candidate way back when. Burke Connors is a Ph.D. candidate, another professional student, in Joy Tweed’s eyes.”

      “Exactly,” Sunny agreed. “Bettina Manchester falls for the supposed owner of a chain of sporting goods stores. Celine Garfield is conned by a guy posing as an importer of Egyptian artifacts. Scott Kaufman is a rich playboy for a socialite, and Justin Abbott is a patron of the arts to an art connoisseur.”

      Ned pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose again and studied each of the composites more closely. He looked over his shoulder at Sunny, his pale blond brows knit in confusion. “Sorry, Mac. I’m not following you.”

      Sunny tapped her finger on the first drawing. “Doesn’t Marcus Wood look like one of those lunatics that would run through a dog show opening cages, freeing the dogs in the name of animal rights? And Conners here has egghead professor written all over him.” Next she indicated the composite drawing of Adam Hunt. “This guy looks like a jock, just the kind of guy you’d expect would own a chain of sporting goods stores.”

      Ned scratched the back of his head. “I still don’t see what you’re saying.”

      “Each of these drawings appear to be a completely different guy, right?” She waited for Ned and Georgia’s acknowledgment before continuing. “That’s because the vics aren’t remembering the way the UNSUB actually looks, but how they saw him. The composites aren’t going to give us an accurate physical description because they aren’t of the actual man, but of the image he portrayed to his victims.”

      “It is an interesting theory,” Georgia said. “Didn’t Celine Garfield say that Banyon spoke with some sort of British, or maybe a South African, accent?”

      “She did,” Sunny confirmed. “And when Wilder sits down with the sketch artist tomorrow, if the composite of Justin Abbott isn’t a perfect example of a patron-of-the-arts type, lunch is on me.”

      Ned still didn’t look as convinced as Georgia. “The UNSUB’s ability to transform himself may very well be his recipe for success,” he eventually conceded, “but how is your theory going to lead us to him?”

      Undaunted by Ned’s lack of vision, Sunny’s smile widened. “We might be able to narrow down possible locations since we know what attracts him.”

      “Money,” Georgia added. “A whole lot of money.”

      “You’re talking haystacks and needles, Mac,” Ned argued. “You know how many people in this country come into big bucks every day? How many of them are women? A new millionaire comes along every couple of weeks if all the state lottery stats are accurate.”

      “But we’re only interested in the perpetually single and recently unattached,” Georgia added helpfully. “That should narrow the field considerably.”

      “Divorcées, widows,” Sunny told the analyst. “Any woman between the ages of twenty and fifty-five that fits the profile.”

      “I’ll play with some data, see what comes up.”

      “Great.” She’d been on the SEDSCAM case for almost four weeks and finally felt as if they were making progress. “Ned, what about the bank in Atlanta? Any luck?”

      “None yet,” he said. He propped his shoulder against the wall. “We do know the UNSUB didn’t clear out Manchester’s accounts with a stolen check the way he did with Bryson. If there’s a hole in the bank’s software, give me enough time and I’ll have it for you.”

      “What about an Internet transfer?” Georgia suggested, gathering up her printouts and reports.

      “First place I looked,” Ned told her. “Neither Manchester’s personal nor business accounts were set up for Internet banking. Doesn’t eliminate a hack job, but banks are required to report security breaches so don’t hold your breath.”

      “Did you tell Mac about the check?” Georgia asked Ned, lifting the stack of

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