The night dragged. The amount of generated profiles and pictures was fast growing on a table as they watched the monitors. He wouldn’t show tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Kyle was watching the monitor while Michael was cussing at his watch. Alex had wandered back in and was searching through the photos looking for Him. The One . Suddenly Kyle sat up and whistled under his breath.

“Maria’s in the house.”

That got Michael’s attention. There she was posing prettily for the hidden camera with a twinkle in her eye. What the hell?

Kyle jumped up. “I’ll go.” Kyle rushed out before Michael did. He would scare all the clientele with his obvious raging-bull demeanor that stunk of cop.

“Who’s the bird? She’s a real Betty.” Alex took the framed picture of the woman and smiled. She looked familiar. He had seen her in his place a few times. Not recently, but she usually came with the University crowd.

Michael took the picture and snarled at Alex. “That’s no Betty. She’s my wife.”

Alex just 'woo hoo’d' under his breath in a chuckle. “Damn. Someone married you? There is hope for us all.”

Michael looked at Alex and sneered. “Actually, for you Whitman? I wouldn’t hedge that bet just yet.”

Alex smiled sarcastically. Yeah he had come to that conclusion a long time ago as well, but he was willing to let Isabel Evans try to change his mind.

“Michael?” Maria came through the door with Kyle.

Michael turned in his chair and looked at his mate with a disapproving sigh. “What you doing here, Professor?” He took in her features with one fast discerning look and swore under his breath. Dammit. She was pale, with a thin sheet of sweat on her brow, and her hands were trembling. Getting to his feet quickly, he pulled her into his body and felt her sigh of relief. She was worried that she wouldn’t make it in time.

Michael turned and looked at Alex who was watching them curiously. “You got some place quiet and private?”

“Sure. My office.” Alex took out a key chain from his pocket and removed a key and tossed it to Michael. “Go down the back hall behind the back bar, through the storage. It’s that door next to the private bathroom.”

“Thanks.” Michael looked back at Kyle. “I’m taking an hour break. Tell Max and Sean, and cover the monitors.” Michael took Maria with him holding her slighter frame closer to his. He was an idiot. He had let her feed off him at noon that day, but she hadn’t had anything since, and it was after nine. She was needing to feed every eight hours. The amount of blood she drank wasn’t much, but when combined with the sex it became so much more.

He locked the door behind them and noticed the small twin size bed against the wall. Leading her to it, he sat her down and dug out his pocket knife. “You should’ve called. I would’ve come to you.”

“You can’t leave a stakeout, Michael.” She was smelling his skin along his neck and shoulder, and suddenly he groaned as she bit into him. Putting away his knife, she took care of it when her teeth broke the skin.

“Maria. It doesn’t matter. I’d come. I don’t want you here, nowhere near here.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m protected.”

Michael forced her to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Maria quickly turned and showed him her back. The shirt she was wearing exposed her scars, that fine network of white lines marring her back, but somehow making her even more beautiful.

“Still.”

“It’s okay. I just felt weak and needed you.” Michael groaned as her hands removed his clothes, and he felt the need to touch her, to taste her, to feel the rush of her blood in his mouth. It had to be her chemistry. He was literally aroused all day long, hard and ready to go. That had never happened before. His body had to be craving whatever that unknown hormone was in her blood, and all he knew was it was like perfume to him. Heady and intense, arousing and exhilarating.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t talk anymore. He just needed...

~~~

Almost two hours later, Michael returned to the control room. He had left Maria sleeping in the bed in Alex’s office. She was curled up, all warm and content, with a peaceful look on her face. Michael watched her for a short time liking the way she took to sleeping with her hand wrapped around her middle.

Alex looked at him when he entered without his Professor. He locked her inside the room, and left her the key on the office desk.

“Hope you don’t mind. She’s sleeping in the bed. I think I’ll leave her sleeping until we wrap for the night.”

Alex nodded. “That’s cool. She’s welcome to use it. It’s been awhile since I even slept there.” Alex lit another cigarette. He really needed to cut back before he gave himself lung cancer before his fortieth birthday. “You two on the method program?”

“What?” Michael took his seat at the monitor and began unwrapping one of his sandwiches.

“You know. The method program where the wife takes her core body temperature and then rushes across town to find her husband so they can f-uck wherever they are so they can conceive. It’s a fertility method.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my fertility! Or Maria’s. We’re already pregnant.”

Alex just made a face. “Okay, whatever.” Sure like it was any of his business, except for them just making it on his bed. Yeah, like they were the first. Alex just snorted.

It was just over an hour when Maria finally showed up again. The first thing she did when re-entering the room was head straight for the food. Michael’s stash. Alex was sitting there bored until she arrived, and then suddenly she became this source of endless fascination. He watched her eat more than she weighed, search Guerin’s pockets until she came up with a bottle of Tabasco, cover her food liberally with the sauce and then down three sandwiches, two bags of chips and half a jar of pickles.

More fascinating was the way that she arranged her body to be near Guerin, and the way his hands kept her near without him realizing it. She sat down and was talking to Kyle, who appeared to be her step-brother. Finally she looked over at Alex and smiled.

“Hello, since no one will introduce us, I’m Maria DeLuca.”

“Alex Whitman.” Not Guerin? His eyes became even more interested as Max came into the room and Kyle left. “DeLuca. Related to Sean?”

“He’s my cousin.”

Alex nodded, and suddenly it clicked into place. “Maria DeLuca? Of the Foundation?”

Maria’s eyes became serious and guarded. Both Max and Michael turned to look at them. “The same.”

Alex just smiled a boyish smile and shook her hand. “Well nice to meet you, Maria DeLuca. After all, I was your proxy today.”

“My proxy? Oh! The meeting.”

“The meeting!”

“Really. That’s interesting. So how did it go? Did Professor Price get his seat on the board?”

Alex shook his head no. “I voted him out.”

Maria just crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him thoughtfully. “I bet Jonathan was pleased.”

“He was. Nice looking man. Actually I’d say practically gorgeous. It’s that air of mystery, those dark looks and air of authority. It’s a real ball pleaser.”

Maria laughed and glanced over at Max to see how he was taking Alex’s assessment of Jonathan. Uh oh, not so happy. She looked at Max’s stony dark face.

“He practically wouldn’t let me leave.” Alex started to light another cigarette, but looked at Maria and remembered her condition. Secondhand smoke was bad for both mother and fetus. He put them away. “He still wanted to talk to me, so I figure he’ll hunt me down by tomorrow.” Alex’s eyes darted to Evans' face and a small smirk lifted up the corner of his mouth. “I guess I could consider dating him if that’s what he wants, but in truth, I’m sort of booked.”

Max swore under his breath and clinched his fist. Alex Whitman needed a beating more than any man he knew. First his sister, and now his boyfriend.

Alex just chuckled to himself and decided to go walk his club. Evans and Stiller, DeLucas abound, Guerin and Maria and her new brother Kyle. Damn. It was a small world, and getting smaller every day.

~~~

He sat in his car, and felt the anger wash over his body. He was not only upset, but incredibly outraged. The anger that had smoldered in his body for years was rising to the top and threatening to burn a hole in his stomach. Control. Control was gone.

He had visited five different Clubs. They were all tattooing their customers, marring them and making endless breeds of imperfection. The bastards. They were corralling him, closing his field. It didn’t matter. He had nothing left to lose. No last recourse. It was over. Now? Now there was only revenge.
In his mind, he could see the perfect addition to his collection, and now there could only be one hunting ground available. He’d find his prey, stalk him and add him to the collection despite the physical marrings. And he would leave evidence of his demise on the doorstep of Club Hell.

He knew the hunters. Knew how they thought and he knew the prey. Men were at times too simple, almost stupid in comparison to other animals. But under it all, they followed the instinctual rules of nature and in that was the pattern of success, of understanding the rules.

He sat in his car planning his attack and rubbing his hands. They were unmarked. He had used his jacket to cover his hands when he cracked the glass, but they were deeply bruised and still painful to the touch.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the Endgame.

~~~

Max got home early in the morning. His body smelt like the club with the lingering smoke. Going to the bathroom he stood under the shower and washed away the stench. Leaning against the tile he wondered about Jonathan. Wondered about where they were going after the night before. Alex Whitman was a piss-ant.

Michael lay in bed with Maria spooned towards him. Mr. Boo was wedged between them, asleep on Maria’s tummy. Michael had tried to move the hefty feline, whose hair was slowly growing back in from the Tess and Kyle catsitting fiasco. Every time Michael attempted move the cat, Mr. B would make a low growling sound in his throat as a warning. Michael decided to leave him alone. The poor guy had been devastated when Maria had spent the night at the hospital, so it seemed extra reassurance and bonding between man (or in this case, woman) and beast was necessary.

Michael wondered what the hell he was going to do about feeding Maria and the baby. He couldn’t afford to be away from them for too long. And he couldn’t take Maria on every stakeout with him, thereby putting her and the baby in danger. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. At the rate they were going he couldn't imagine how they were going to make it to the end of the pregnancy. The minimum they could get by before the baby was strong enough and developed enough to survive on its own was about twenty-four weeks. Twenty-four weeks seemed like an eternity.

But now, resting his hand under Mr. B's soft fur and along Maria’s stomach he didn’t care. Twenty-four weeks...thirty-six weeks....a frickin’ year... He couldn’t lose them. Either of them. They’d find a solution or an answer, because no other alternative was acceptable. Michael closed his eyes and concentrated as a rush of something else swept across him. His child. He wondered who he or she would be, what they would look like, would they love Tabasco...

Sean closed and locked the door behind him. It was just after three, and the apartment was silent. Holding his breath, he went to his bedroom and looked in on the woman sleeping there. There were low candles burning to give the room a soft glow. She must have been afraid of the dark and lit the candles to give her comfort. Closing the door, he went into the bathroom to shower. She stayed. It shocked him. He expected her to leave once he had left, but he was pleased that she stayed.

Returning to his room, he didn’t bother to put on clothes or even a pair of boxers. Climbing into the bed, he pulled her warm body into his and sighed in exhaustion. His day had started with that damn job of unlocking Michael and he felt like he had been going non-stop ever since. Closing his eyes, he wondered what he could say to Mac to convince her to stay with him until they could fix her house. That could take a month or two, maybe three...sometimes it took a good year.

Alex took the access ladder to the top of his club. He stood on the roof overlooking the darkened sleeping city of Roswell. Appearances were deceiving. He drank his whiskey straight from the bottle as his cigarette burned down in his hand. Roswell wasn’t a sleepy hamlet in a sheltered area of New Mexico. It was a crossroads. They were coming. He didn’t know who they were, but he dreamt of them, faceless forms. Alex felt the draw and pull at him, the opening of a vortex.

He knew him. He knew. And the killer would come because he knew. The die was cast and nothing could stop it once the wheels were in motion. He stared at every face entering his club, looking for those eyes. He would know. He had to stand face to face and see if the light of life in Krystal was in the man’s eyes. Did he steal her life for no cause, or just for his own selfish intent? Alex leaned back and drank. Yeah, I know you. Here I am. Achieve me.

~~~

Michael and the others spent the morning at the PD warehouse with Simon and his crew. It was a long morning, shrouded in the horror of what they had found. The piles of bones and bodies lay about like something from a WWII concentration camp photo.

Sean walked the rolls of tables lined with body bags and it just topped off his morning. He had awakened to find Mac gone. He knew that she had early morning court, but she didn’t wake him or even leave a note. It started his day badly and then it quickly got worse when they entered the warehouse.

Simon flipped through his paperwork. “I’ve got thirty-seven percent I.D.’d. Over eighteen percent retrieved weren’t part of The Collector’s work, just local body dumping.”

“ Just? ” Michael’s jawline looked like it was going to crack. “That means we have fifty-five percent processed and a remaining forty-five percent are unknowns.”

“Problem is that some of the bones on the bottom were crushed and mixed together. We’re running chemical and DNA analysis, but that will take time. It’s expensive, and our funds can’t cover this amount of work. The Federal Labs would move quicker at a better budget than mine.”

Michael stiffened at the suggestion of involving the FBI or any Federal law agency. They would come in, take it over, shut down the sting and his killer would go free.

“Give me a little while before you call. Let me see if I can find a solution.” Simon patted Michael on the shoulder and went off. Michael looked at Max and shrugged. He didn’t want to turn over the case.

“What you’re going to do, Michael?”

“If you cover here and keep Hanson working, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Maria?”

“No, a man with a checkbook.” Michael looked at all the bodies and grasped his partner’s arm. “I’ll be back.”

Max looked over at Hanson and sighed. Going to the man, he took the bone from his hand and replaced it on the table. “You know what, Hanson? It’d be great if you didn't do that. C’mon. I’ll show you how to access more Missing Person’s files. We need all DNA and personal information cross-indexed.”

~~~

“Sir? I have a Detective Guerin from Roswell PD requesting to see you.”

Jonathan looked up from his work and his eyebrow went up. Interesting. He sat back and steepled his fingers together with speculation in his eyes. Hmm, it was either about Maria or Max. Jonathan checked out his clothes and did an inventory. Yeah clean underwear, briefs not boxers, and his medical card were completely up to date. He was ready to be sent to the hospital, courtesy of one Michael Guerin.

“Lois, please show the Detective in.” Jonathan stood up and went around his desk leaning back and crossing his legs casually at the ankles. It was best not to spill any blood on his papers. Some of them were important.

Michael came into the room with a dark unpleasant look on his face. He kept looking back at Lois as she left the room. Then taking stock of Jonathan, an expression of irritation passed across his face, and Jonathan felt pleased that he could irritate the Detective.

“Michael. It seems only like a day or so since I last saw you.”

“Yeah, can the Smalltalk crap. I need something.”

Jonathan was intrigued. “Really?” He motioned for Michael to take a seat, but Michael refused. Jonathan just folded his hands together in front of him. “How can I be of service?”

“I need money.”

That was news to Jonathan. He couldn’t imagine Maria DeLuca’s future husband having much in the way of financial problems, especially if one added in the fact that Michael was one of the highest paid Detectives at Roswell PD and had little to no expenses except food and the trashing of his cars.

“Money? What kind of money.”

“A lot.” Michael moved forward hating this, but he was doing it for them and not for himself. “I need money to do DNA testing on about forty-five unidentified murder victims.”

“The Dump.” Jonathan said quietly. Max had told him about it on Saturday.

“Yeah.”

“Send the bill to me. I’ll see that it’s covered. I think the Foundation would approve this use of its funds.” It was these victims' second chance to go home, and maybe the second chance for their loved ones to find closure and finally be able to move on.

Michael looked at the man and just nodded. “Thank you.” Michael turned to leave.

“Michael.” He waited for Michael to stop. “You could’ve asked Maria.”

“I know.” Michael looked back at the man. “I don’t want her involved in this.” Jonathan had to appreciate that trait about Michael. The man knew how to protect and rarely faltered from that course.

“Her uncle made a huge donation to the Foundation this weekend. He also donated money to the Roswell PD Retirement Fund and Survivors Fund.” Michael looked at Jonathan in interest. That was a testament to how much and how far Marco DeLuca had come to accepting his son’s lifestyle choices.

Michael started to leave again, but Jonathan stopped him.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of Alex Whitman all morning. I understand you’re working with him.”

Michael turned around at that remark, all thoughts of leaving falling away. “Yeah. He’s helping us on a case.”

Jonathan looked across the room. “At his club?” Michael just nodded, his eyes becoming narrow in speculation. “Then I’ll look for him there tonight.”

“What do you need Whitman for?” Michael remembered Alex’s teasing remarks aimed at Max, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure that Alex was teasing.

“The Foundation. He acted as a proxy yesterday for Maria’s voting block. I liked him. He seemed a very direct man, very honest. And he said something I liked.” Jonathan looked at Michael and mused how some of those qualities also applied to him. “I think he would make an excellent choice for that missing board seat. I wanted to talk him into applying.”

“Well, he’ll be at Club Hell tonight with us. You could ask at the door when you come in, if you don’t run him down before that.” Somehow it amused Michael to think of dark punk rocker Alex on a board with ultra conservatives.

“Thanks, Michael.” Michael started to leave again. “By the way...” Michael just groaned under his breath. See? This is what happens when you go all chatty with people, nice and sociable. They wouldn’t let you leave. “Congrats on the baby.”

Michael stopped at that, and for an unguarded moment a smile of pure joy crossed his face, lighting it up and altering his appearance drastically. Jonathan was amazed. That must be what Maria DeLuca sees when she looks at him. Surprisingly, the man actually was quite attractive.

“Thanks.” Michael moved to the door determined to get out this time. All the chit chat was giving him a headache, and the lateness of time meant he should go home for lunch and feed Maria. But it was his turn for a parting shot, and a little table-turning. “By the way, don’t be such a prick, Jonathan. Call my partner and thank him for the date on Saturday. It’s just pathetic to see him waiting for the phone to ring.” Michael walked out, leaving a silent Jonathan watching him leave.

Reaching behind him, he picked up the phone and called Max’s cell phone.

~~~

Maria was still in bed watching Michael get dressed again. He had awakened her at four in the morning, and he then showed up just before noon. Maria was seeing an eight hour feeding and sex cycle. The man was too determined. That meant nothing until eight that night.

“I suspect, Detective that you’re trying to 'manage' me.” Maria looked at him with a deep sigh. “Do you really think you can keep me on a regular schedule?”

“I was hoping to try.” Michael leaned across the bed and kissed her again before going downstairs and ransacking the kitchen for food. “Think you can do me a favor and order food or something before I get home? I’m famished.”

“Drained?”

“Yeah, a little dizzy actually.” Maria sat up. The morning sickness was better with the help of the drugs, and so far except for some queasiness, everything was looking better.

“How dizzy, Michael?”

“Just a little, nothing really.”

Maria sat up in bed and frowned. She wanted to keep her head buried on this subject, but not if he started to suffer for it.

“Michael, I can’t have you harmed. I don’t...”

Michael pulled her close and kissed her hard. “It’s nothing. I just need food.”

Maria stroked his face and nodded. He did look thin and slightly pale. They weren’t going to make it. Michael saw her put her hand on her stomach and he moaned.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, okay?” Michael stood up and started for the stairs. “Come eat with me before I have to go.” Maria grabbed one of his shirts off the floor and followed him.

They were eating when she asked him about his day. He told her about all the work they were doing on trying to find all the victims and getting them identified.

“So where was the Dump?” Michael was startled. He hadn’t told her. He took the information and went, and then later they were too busy to talk about details.

“The old quarry. Behind the current one, but much older.”

“I know that place.” Maria tore off a piece of her sandwich and dunked it a mixture of cocktail sauce, horseradish, and Tabasco. Michael winced at the sandwich she was eating. It was leftover prime rib on French roll, with shrimp, some kind of bleu cheese and spinach. She cleaned out the hollandaise sauce and was using this new special blend. What bothered him most was he wanted a bite. It looked horrible, but it made his mouth water. Looking at her, actually, she made his mouth water. Literally.

Maria was quiet. She had her Professor face on. Her ‘I’ve got an idea’ look. He just kept eating his simple sandwich of prime rib on the French roll. Finally giving up, he reached over and took a bite out of her sandwich. He hated his life at the moment, because that strange sandwich actually hit the spot.

“The Dump, where is it situated in relation to the watertable flow?” Maria’s was chewing on the tip of a nail.

Michael just shrugged and stole half of her sandwich. “I don’t know.”

“I was just pondering, honey. Not really asking.”

“Good, because I still don’t know.” Michael ignored her look of irritation when she noticed the other half of her sandwich was missing. Getting more bread, she started building another one.

“I would need a topographical map and the geographical watershed schedules to be certain. But if my hunch is correct, your killer is selecting classical dumping sites.”

“Classical? I don’t understand. You mean old dump sites used before?”

“No. Classical in the sense that in the study of ancient societies and their cultural patterns, there are special settlement patterns that are followed. It is almost ubiquitous cross-culturally. The settlement patterns show the arrangement of cities, towns, and villages in area that are easy to defend, good access to water and game, and a very set pattern where the dumping of waste. There’s a reason that in some cultures that cities are built on the ruins of older cities and so on. It was the best location, with the best advantage.”

“Okay, I know you have a point. You always have a point.”

“I bet you a side of beef with your favorite baked parmesan potatoes that if you check the topographical and watertable flow maps that the Dump is situated in a downstream flow from Roswell.”

“Maria.” Michael said with a warning in his voice. Lecturing he could handle, but partial long-winded explanation when he was on a timetable had to be curtailed.

“Early societies knew better than to dump their waste in an area that would seep into the earth and contaminate their own drinking water or fresh supply. So idealistically the waste dumps where situated on the outskirts in area that leached into downstream flows away from that of the community.”

“And that tells us that...”

“He knows how things work. That he lives and drinks in Roswell, and knows that anything contaminating the drinking water would be investigated sooner or later and leave his dump open to discovery.” Maria finished making her sandwich and cut it in half, putting half on his plate. “Just get the maps from the City Planner’s Office downtown, and then you’ll know.”

“Okay, that’s something I guess.”

“Oh, another thing...”

Michael picked up his sandwich but stopped before taking bite. Tipping his head he waited for Maria to continue. “Yeah? Professor?”

“Your first known victim? Judy?”

“Janet.” The doorbell rang.

“Right.” Maria stood up and went to answer it before Michael could stop her. “Your killer knew her, and she knew him.” Maria pulled the door open before Michael could protest. “Isabel!”

Maria stood there staring at Isabel Evans smiling on her doorstep and holding a large cardboard tube. “Maria, I know you’re home alone, so I thought you could use some company and I brought loft plans!” Isabel’s cheeky smile was a sight to see, but obviously Michael didn’t care and Maria just felt trepidation.

Maria stood aside to let Isabel into the loft, when Michael came up and interrupted the two from talking.

“What do you mean he knew her?”

“She was the first body he dumped, but even then, the time between her body and the second one suggests that he takes his time to find and stalk his victim. He slowly moved into their field to not frighten or alarm them, and then he took them. Is that not correct?”

“Yes.” Michael frowned, thinking.

“Something happened with Janet, or perhaps had happened in his life when he took Janet. He was calm and collected. He had his prize, but then he noticed the blemish on her thigh...”

“He was upset.”

“No, more than likely he was upset before that, with something in his real life, and ‘processing’ Janet, who for all practical purposes appeared perfect calmed him. That glaring imperfection must have enraged him, but he controlled it.”

“Until he gets to the dump...”

“Which is too full, too many bodies, because the locals found it too. They aren’t so ‘persnickety’ in detail and care.”

“The imperfect used and filled his ‘perfect’ dump site.”

“A new one would require moving further out of Roswell, tangential to the water flow of the underground subterranean rivers.”

“To keep from contaminating the water supply of his own home.”

“Correct.”

Michael thought about Maria’s theory. “Why did he have to know her?”

“Because of something Gerald Tiny said to me on Friday when he came to visit...”

“Dickless visited you?”

Maria just nodded and then shrugged it off. “Yeah, but he’s been pursuing me since this case started, asking me questions, wanting to know how it was going. He’s been a real bug.”

“Interesting. What’s his interest really, Professor?”

Isabel watched them. This was interesting. It was like they were feeding each other information and clues, like they were sharing a puzzle and struggling to find all the pieces and put them together. And their mental connection was amazing to behold.

“He said that losing Janet devastated him. That she was such a good student and instructor, and that he couldn’t believe that she would ever find herself such in a situation where she'd be taken.” Maria moved into the kitchen and indicated for Isabel to sit at the bar, while she made herself a drink and passed Isabel a bottled water.

“Because she was so isolated?”

“Something like that. I think it’s because she didn’t really socialize much, and then the one night she goes out to a club with her housemates, this happens to her. Personality being a clue, one would think that Janet was cautious, hard to warm up to people, almost reserved as she assessed their ‘worth’ or social standing. People from higher classes tend to use the English language correctly, or at least better than others with alterations indicative of ethnic background and environment. But people who really care about language with a overwhelming compulsion, usually come from a lower social and economic background and their obsessive need to be correct is because they are out of place or trying to appear that they fit into a social or economic class not their own. They tend to overcompensate. Being correct is their way to be at the ‘top’ of whatever their social class is, almost like a ‘lofty, greater than thou’ mentality with the floundering lesser people who just can’t grasp the English language below them. The times this trait exists in people of both upper-middle and upper classes is usually when associated with a condescending demeanor bordering on pure nastiness, almost like bullies in school. It reaffirms what they consider as their superiority.”

Isabel grimaced. “What a fun and interesting person. I’d walk the other way and keep walking.” Michael just nodded his agreement. His usage of the English language was riddled in colorful expressions and he could care less what mistakes he made, since people seemed to have no trouble understanding what he was saying.

“So you’re saying that if he was looking at the image Janet gave off, it was an air of perfection, like she was packaging and presenting herself to the word as...”

“Perfect. Correct. And that night, while hunting she was there. She was alone, deserted by her housemates who fled from her ‘perfection’ seeking company among the lesser beings and leaving her unprotected.”

“Which wouldn’t have mattered, not really, except the killer saw her and in a short space of time, he passed all her requirements and was able to drug her and remove her unseen.” Michael could see the scene unfold in his mind. The killer sees a prize he had observed from some time. A woman that promoted her own perfection, never demonstrating any outward signs of a single blemish. Her speech pattern, diction and tenacious attention to detail that repulsed others, attracted him.

Maria nodded. “But that's the point, Detective. I’m contending that there wasn’t enough time for the killer to pass all of Janet’s requirements, unless...”

“She knew him. Or knew of him, and he was a person she felt no need to fear.”

Maria nodded again. He was getting it. The killer took time to stalk the victims like Krystal, the ones he didn't know or who didn't know him. At least he did until something happened and he lost his caution and sped up the process, but in truth Janet and Krystal were the last victims that he took in his original slow method. The Japanese man was never recovered, and the last victim he tossed at the PD was a challenge. He was angry, unhinged and inviting the 'flawed police' to catch him. Every time he walked among them, close to them, he was given a burst of power or a self-righteous thrill, probably the way the Janet combed over her students’ essays, enjoying all the red marks as she corrected their mistakes, feeling all the more superior. The way she enjoyed ranting about it to those who would listen, demeaning her students' efforts in the attempt to raise her own self-importance and superiority.

He was someone they should know, but they didn’t. But he knew them, and every time he eluded them it sweetened his victory, made the game a little more fascinating and reaffirmed his own self-image of superiority.

“So, he must have known Janet as she knew him.”

“How do you come to covet something?” Maria asked. “You learn to covet it by seeing it every day.”

Michael was silent as he slowly built the picture of the killer in his mind. The need for perfection and correctness, access to materials such as those used by entomologists and taxidermists. It had to take a large amount of materials to process a human body, so the killer would need access to supplies that wouldn’t require him to order it for himself. He would be educated enough to understand settlement patterns and the concept of the hunt among primitive tribes, or at least in the animal world. He was so educated on the practices that he developed and instinct for it, either natural or cultivated. He had to be young enough to move in the club scene unnoticed. Young enough or at that age between old age and youth where with a slight alteration in mental attitude he could at one time appear older and stand-offish, and at another loose and social. He would understand social groups, different factions of society and would be able to shape himself into what they accepted. He would have to be a human chameleon.

Michael frowned as a list of possibilities and people came to mind. Kissing Maria quickly and waving to Isabel, he headed for the door. His hour off was already hitting the three-hour mark and time was a'wasting. He needed to get back and feed his thoughts to Max, so Max could help him see the bigger picture. Maria did that to some extent, but Max was a master at nuances of observation.

“Thanks, Professor.” Michael grabbed Maria close and kissed her. Still holding her he looked at his sister and her overly perky smile and became suspicious. “Isabel, you’re not to tire her out. She needs a nap soon, so...”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’m not going to play with your toy and break it.” Maria chuckled at Isabel’s comment as Michael just snarled.

Michael chose to ignore her and looked back at Maria. She looked good - healthy and almost glowing. Kissing her again before releasing her, he headed for the door before turning back one more time.

“I need you to come with me tonight to the club, Professor.”

“Really?” Maria’s entire body sparked with enthusiasm and interest. He was going to let her help with the killer, work the angles, review the facts, create possible scenarios, and...

“Yeah, you need to eat at eight and I won’t be able to leave.”

Maria’s enthusiasm took a nosedive at his words, and she became surly. He was doing it again, and her suspicion was that before long it would become his nature and no longer just a new habit. He was 'managing' her.

“What if I’m not hungry at eight? Huh, what then?” Michael looked back at her and returned to her side. She was in a snit and he liked the fire it gave her eyes.

Isabel watched as her brother kissed Maria, and then again, and then the kiss altered and became more intense. Isabel squirmed in her seat, but had enough when she noticed his hand moving lower on Maria towards the hem of her shirt she was wearing. Jumping up, Isabel stopped them.

“Whoa, enough! Back off, Michael and go to work! Shoo!” Isabel was a little red in the face as Michael finally moved away, and Maria just looked at him dazed.

“I’ll be back by four-thirty or five.” They watched him leave.

“Jesus! Dammit Maria, the two of you should be kinder to us single people who just can’t run out and find someone to jump. I’m a recovering abuser. This is hard on my therapy.”

Maria cleared her throat. “Sorry about that. Guess I’m going to Club Hell tonight.” Maria suspected that she was going to find herself locked in Alex’s small office with food and books.

“I want to come!” She could talk Parker into it and they could go sit at the bar, eat peanuts and watch the action.

“Isabel...” Maria started to warn.

“I know. Both Max and Michael would have a fit, and Sean would be bitingly sarcastic.” Isabel saw Maria’s worried frown. “I’m not going. I can’t. I promised Alex that I would stay away until this is over, and I can’t afford to make his life harder than it is right now. He’s breakable.”

“Alex?” Maria’s mouth curled up at the edges. “Really? You and Alex Whitman?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It usually is. Wow, he’s...he’s magnificent. Tall and lanky, dark and serious, with that twinkle in his eyes that looks like mischief, and all those tattoos and piercings. I thought I saw a nipple ring.”

“You did.” Isabel looked at Maria not in the least bit surprised. Did these DeLucas know everyone? “You know Alex?”

“Met him last night. He looked interesting and intense.”

Isabel laughed. “You have no idea.”

“I can imagine.”

Isabel looked at Maria and smiled even bigger and cheesier. “Well, I think you need a distraction from all this murder stuff. We both do. And lucky for you! I brought loft plans.” Maria looked at Isabel’s intense planning-face and felt a lick of fear, the one she usually associated with her mother.

~~~

Michael made it back to the warehouse to find the others still working with Simon’s crew. Max nodded at him when he entered, and Michael went over to talk to Simon. Michael passed off the information and the Foundation's card to Simon and then went to meet up with his partner.

Liz Parker was part of the crew. She and her lab people where still taking samples. Michael watched her for a second and noticed how shuttered her face was, how much she was trying not to let it all bother her.

“Parker.”

“Guerin.” Michael smiled at her tone. She wasn’t such a shrinking mouse anymore . Some things did get better.

“How you holding up? You solid?”

“I’m solid.” Liz acknowledged. She couldn't and wouldn’t collapse under the horror.

“Good.” Michael started to move away, but changed his mind. “I just left the loft. Isabel had just shown up with loft plans.”

Liz actually laughed at that. Oh god, save Maria from Isabel. “Poor Maria. Isabel is like a one-woman crusade. I argued with her for three hours over appliance placement.” Liz looked at Michael with a twinkle in her eyes. “I won.”

Michael actually smirked at that. “I’m impressed, Parker. Beating the Organizational Nazi is a feat untold by many strong men.”

“Oh, I realize that, so I savored my victory because I have a feeling another one will be long in coming.”

Michael just nodded and moved away, leaving a surprised Liz behind to continue working. Michael acting social? It was strange that she had finally found a sort of working relationship with him and even a social one through Maria, but it was still rare for him to stop and be kind. He took some of the heavy horror of her job off for just a second. Looking at the tasks still needing to be accomplished, she took a deep renewing breath and went back to work.

Michael sent Kyle and Sean to the City Planner’s Office, while he and Max went to the University. It took them over an hour to find the professor who was in charge of the Zoology Department within the Biology Department.

They spent some time with him and his secretary comparing the order forms for supplies in the Department. Max watched the number while Michael tended to drift in the boredom of it.

“What are these amounts here?” Max pointed to a column of numbers. Professor Richards and his secretary, Lisa both looked closer.

“Those are sign-out amounts of materials lent to other Departments. We buy materials in bulk which gives us a volume discount, then we let other Departments buy from us at cost.”

Michael suddenly took interest. “Which Departments?”

“Mostly entomology and anthropology. The Anthropology Department’s amount has increased with the opening of the museum. The paleo-anthropologists have been using the special latex foam to rebuild models and to scale replicas of earlier hominids. That project started over ten years ago, and most of the work is found in the museum now. The entomologists don’t use that much, so they only request these supplies every few months. Their specimens are small and a little can last them a long time.”

Max looked at the Professor. “Who has access to your supplies?”

“The students, but they need to get it from the TA or the graduate students. Basically anyone who needs some can get some, but we're trying to discourage waste.” The man scratched his head. “The storeroom locks can be opened by any key in the Department, by the TA’s and graduate students in the Department, Lisa, and myself.”

They stayed and talked to the Professor for a little while longer getting a list of contact people in the various departments who bought the supplies from Zoology.

“Instead of narrowing a field of suspects, it seems we're increasing it,” Max said looking at the list.

“Eliminate unlikelies. The drama departments and such. They wouldn’t have special knowledge of settlement patterns, and they wouldn't know how to make their own special bug juice shellac.”

“True. That still leaves the field open to Professors, TA’s and graduate students in the Anthropology, Geology, Biology and Archaeology Departments. Those are huge departments.”

“The Bug Guys have the expertise and know-how, access to the materials, and an annoying precision to their work - all neat and orderly.”

Max laughed at that. “Annoying? Not all people create mayhem and destruction in the course of their day at work, Michael.”

Michael just shrugged. “Yeah, and how boring is that?”

“Who we going to see?” Max asked as they crossed over to the Anthropology Building.

“Price.”

“Oh! This day just gets better and better.”

“I’m saying...”

Price was in class, so Michael and Max waited in his office. It was neat and meticulous with his framed diplomas on the wall, very few personal pictures and a few awards and trophies. Michael picked up a trophy and read the inscription as the door opened. He quickly replaced it as the man entered the room, and Michael stood upright increasing his frame to its full stature. Max was amused by the difference between the two men in height and demeanor. Michael was being his usual overwhelming self.

“Detectives? I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Price rounded his desk and looked at the two detectives that questioned him a year ago over the museum murders. “I hope Maria is feeling better?”

“She’s fine.” Michael said abruptly and Price just nodded.

“So how can I assist you?”

Michael went silent as Max started to talk, outlining what they needed to know and all the information they needed. Price asked his secretary to bring in a few files, and Michael wasn’t surprised to see the neat recording of information in tiny little columns.

“The hominid study and recreation of progenitor species is an ongoing study. Currently they are working on recreating the Peking Emperor’s Army for a full display, so I believe our order has increased over this last year. With the amounts the museum has been using, I’m considering ordering directly. Currently all the ordering should come through Professor DeLuca’s museum, but the Anthropology Department is still doing it until the museum is more established.”

Max nodded and asked, “Where are the supplies kept?”

Price thought about it for a moment. “We use to have a storeroom here, but after the museum opened up the research labs, all the supplies were transferred there to the basement lab areas.” Price stood up and called his secretary to let her know that he would be out of his office and at the museum. Max and Michael followed him out a back door in his office, down a flight of back stairs and outside to cross over to the Museum. They entered through a special side door using a key that Price had, and went down a short flight of stairs to the basement labs.

Eddie and a few other graduate students were working on projects when they entered. Price looked around for someone and excused himself while he tried to locate Professor Cooper who ran the labs. When Price came back with Cooper, he excused himself and headed back to his office.

“Professor?” Price turned to Michael.

“Did you know Janet Seers?”

Price frowned. “She’s the graduate student that died recently?” Michael nodded. “Probably. Maybe at a few faculty functions and she was in a few classes of mine. Mostly survey ones, but there is a lot of bleedover from the different departments, especially History, English and Anthropology. Between the inter-disciplinary studies and cross majors, the students are pretty prominent in all the departments.”

“And Janet Seers?”

Price frowned again. “The other graduate students could probably tell you more. I remember her being very methodical in her work, always punctual and neat, but her personally? I’m sorry.” Price just shook his head. “I’d need to see a picture or something.”

Max and Michael watched the man leave and then questioned Professor Cooper about the latex material and other processes used in the lab. It was a long few hours and Eddie walked them through all the details, and they retained the paperwork of amount used, amounts ordered and remaining amounts of material. At first glance it appeared that everything was accounted for, but finally Professor Cooper shed some light on a discrepancy.

“The Hominid study was completed years ago. Professor Price is incorrect in assuming that it’s still ongoing. Currently we're creating a life-size display of the Peking Army, but that was just begun recently.”

Max frowned looking at the numbers and amounts. “Than why all the materials?”

Cooper frowned and looked at the amounts. “This has to be wrong. We hardly use half this much in a month. Recently it has increased as I mentioned because of this new project, and last month we actually ran out and had to order more from Zoology.” Professor Cooper sat down and flipped through the order forms. “Strange. I’ll have to ask around and check delivery forms and who receives the materials.” Cooper laughed and shook his head. “No wonder Professor Price gave us a lecture on unnecessary waste in our staff meeting, and tightening our belts. The cost for this stuff isn’t cheap, and if half of it is being wasted or lost somewhere, we’re talking about some extreme waste.”

It was getting close to Club time by the time Max and Michael arranged to meet both Kyle and Sean at the loft. They had finally obtained all the aerial and water maps of the Roswell Quadrangle. Michael quickly called in his location and the results of his team to their replacement Captain. They were on the hunt that night.

Maria was in her element with all the maps. She had them laid out on the dining room table, and was marking spots on them. Michael watched at the pure simplicity of it. She had been right. The Dump was situated on the periphery, so as to lead any seepage into the ground water away from Roswell and into the dessert through deep subterranean rivers.

Michael and the others were eating as Maria marked the map for other Dump possibilities within the Roswell Quadrangle. And Max stood next to her quietly asking question after question, until he looked at Michael. They would have to check out the other possibilities. They might have yet another Dump that had been used before this one. All the Dumps were angling towards the reservation.

While the men talked, Maria moved around the loft packing up supplies she would need during the evening, including extra food. She had every intention of ordering takeout later, but until then she needed snacks. Michael was looking too thin, and she worried that she and the baby were draining him too much.