He guessed Louise was thankful to get out in the open air and exercise, since a year ago, she'd been afflicted by a very serious and often fatal type of leukemia. The Reaper knew. He'd heard about it. He always heard about potential death. People in the community shared these facts with him.

  But she had survived thanks to a bone marrow transplant. She had been lucky. She'd found a donor who was a match, and the bone marrow transplant had been successful. She was in remission now. In fact, the prognosis was good, and she might have many more years of life and health. Years she did not deserve, he thought firmly.

  He turned off the music and slowed the car to a stop. The house was on a quiet street. He wasn't worried about being seen. She was the only one in this neighborhood who walked in the morning, and she always took the same route.

  She walked out of the house, down the road, along the trail that led through the fields, and back home again.

  He drove slowly past her house and waited where the road met the trail.

  But she didn't arrive.

  What was going on? The Reaper was confused. He frowned, checking the time. She must be walking a different route, he thought. But he hadn't seen her front door open. Louise was home, that he knew. He'd even glimpsed her as he'd driven past. She'd been in the bedroom on her phone.

  He waited for another few minutes, fidgeting impatiently, his muscles aching with the need to chase and to kill.

  He considered his options. He did not want to simply bypass this woman who had greedily claimed life that was not hers. That would be like admitting defeat.

  But what choice did he have, because by now he should have made this kill. By now adrenaline should be surging in him from the excitement of the chase. His scythe should be slick with the blood from claiming the day's first life.

  And then a thought occurred to him that filled him with horror and fear.

  Could she have been warned? He’d seen her speaking on the phone. Was that call to warn her that there was a killer waiting outside?

  Was it possible she'd been given a heads-up?

  “No!” the Reaper said aloud. Surely, he was being paranoid to think that way. How could the police possibly have caught up with him when he’d been so fast, so careful? There was no way they could have figured out what he was doing. The police were slow and stupid.

  Or were they?

  The thought that they might not be as stupid as he had expected filled him with fear. If someone had found out about his mission, it would make things a hundred times more difficult and more dangerous.

  His mind raced. He knew he couldn't turn back, not now. He had promised himself he would do it, that he would cleanse the earth of every single soul in this county who had outlived their allotted time.

  The Reaper was furious that he was already coming up against problems. He was so angry; he wanted to scream and rage. But he told himself that it didn't matter. No one was going to stop him.

  Probably, she'd just had an unexpected call that had delayed her. That was all. He mustn't be paranoid, he told himself.

  Being paranoid would not help him at all. Now, he needed to be cool, calm, and confident. He could come back for this woman, and he would. Tomorrow, she would be out walking again, he felt sure of it.

  When he waited for her on the trail tomorrow, he would be ready for her. And if anyone tried to stop him, he would be ready for that too.

  He felt calm again. His mission was on track. He could hear a strange music pounding in his head, the beat of his heart, the rush of his breath. And he could feel the excitement and danger of his mission — a mission nobody would stop him from completing.

  He started the car and drove the short distance to his second victim's house. It was just a couple of miles away.

  Her name was Sharon Toms, and she had cheated death in a most cunning way, and one that hit home to him on a very personal level. Earlier in the year, she'd been involved in a car crash that should have killed her. The three other occupants of the car, her friends, had all died. They'd all been killed instantly. It had been tragic, a catastrophe that had shaken the community.

  But Sharon had survived. Somehow, she'd managed to walk away from the scene of the accident with barely a scratch. If he recalled, a sprained wrist and a grazed cheek had been the extent of her injuries, which was brutally unfair.

  The Reaper knew that she had not deserved to live. She had not been there to cross over with her friends when they had died, when they'd needed her the most. Somehow, she'd been protected from the fate that her stars should have led her to.

  Sharon had an interesting job. She had recently qualified as a vet and worked for a big clinic in Chestnut Hill. It was a twenty-four-hour emergency clinic and as a junior employee, Sharon usually took the night shift, knocking off at seven a.m.

  Then she would go upstairs, closing blackout blinds at the top of the house, and sleep until mid-afternoon.

  He knew her routine and couldn’t wait to take her. It would be the first victim that he claimed while sleeping. He was ready for her. And because of the way she had escaped death, he was going to make sure she suffered long minutes of terror. If she was shut inside her house, he could make sure she experienced the full force of incipient death before she actually died.

  There was her house ahead: an old cottage, on the hill, surrounded by apple orchards.

  This was where she lived, and he knew she would be home.

  The reaper smiled.

  He grasped his scythe and climbed out of the car, heading for the front door. Her time on this earth was over. In a few minutes, Sharon would be punished for having outlived her fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  May slugged back her second cup of coffee. They made it extra strong at this hospital cafe, and she needed the caffeine shot to power her brain.

  Who was this killer? How was he able to move and operate within a community this way, knowing so many details about people?

  Even she, a county deputy, couldn't get details from the hospital manager who knew some of them.

  As she stared at Owen, who was attacking a Danish pastry with ravenous hunger, May wondered briefly if the killer could be the hospital manager himself. Was she wrong to suspect him? But she quickly canned the idea. He had been at work when the most recent murder occurred. But it was someone like him, she thought. Someone well-networked in this community, someone who knew a lot of facts and details about others. Even though Kerry was the one doing the profile, May had her own ideas and they were now starting to form a picture in her mind.

  This was a person that other people spoke to. A person trusted by the community. She was sure of this and hoped Kerry could fill in some of the remaining gaps.

  The murders were happening every other day. The killer was tapping into the community and knew about the people living in this area. There was no doubt in May's mind that the killer was acting on inside information that he was gaining from somewhere.

  He had to have a job that gave him access to records. Or else, that allowed him to network within the community so that he heard the talk, news, and gossip that people loved to relate.

  And while May knew that he had a kind of mission in mind, she also knew that he was killing women who he perceived deserved to die. Perhaps he wanted to judge them himself?

  What if he believed he was acting on a higher authority, which was what gave him the power to go ahead and take lives?

  That would point to some kind of a psychotic break, May decided. Without a doubt they were seeking somebody who had recently been precipitated into a killing spree, through something that had happened in his own life.

  While Kerry was at work on the profiling, May knew she needed to go back over every single detail. Every note she'd made and every thought she'd had. Somewhere, she was sure, the key to this killer was concealed.

  From her pocket, she pulled out her notebook, and began to reread the handwritten details as she picked up the last delicious flakes of her pastry, hoping to find something she'd missed.

  At that moment, her phone rang.

  It was Kerry, and May's heart skipped a beat. Had Kerry been able to complete the psychological profile she would need to narrow down the parameters on this killer?

  She grabbed the phone quickly.

  "Hey, Kerry," she said.

  "I've been doing some research on your killer. And it's quite interesting," Kerry said.

  "Okay," May said. "I'm listening."

  "He's definitely psychotic if you ask me. His mind operates on a different plane than normal people. That's a fact, based on the choice of murder weapon, and the way he seems to chase down his victims before the kill."

  "It's always good to know what type of personality we're dealing with," May said.

  "He's a damaged person with a mission. I think it’s likely something has happened to break him. He's like a crusader now. And he's convinced he's right because he’s not trying to hide the bodies."

  "I agree. You're definitely connecting with his mindset," May said.

  "The other thing I've identified is that because of the way he's choosing to kill, it's highly likely that his career is death-adjacent."

  "You mean?" May said.

  "He works in a profession that is closely associated with death," Kerry said. May heard a quick gulping sound as if she too was needing coffee after a long night and an early morning.

  "So, a profession where he deals with a lot of death?" May said.

  "Yes. That would draw him to the mindset of dealing out death himself. He'd easily skip into that frame of mind. Because he's already in that industry."

  "I think I understand." May considered her words.

  "Someone in the medical profession, funeral industry, or spiritual profession would be my first choices."

  "We're talking about a priest, a funeral director, or something along those lines?"

  "Exactly. I think you need to look into that,” Kerry advised.

  "How about a paramedic?" May suggested.

  "That could be a possibility also.”

  “And why would they have started killing? Are we looking for a triggering event?” May asked.

  Kerry sounded approving as she replied, “We are, sis. You’re right on the money there. Based on the speed of these kills, I’d say we’re looking at a recent event. Perhaps about a month ago. Something catastrophic that precipitated a change in who they were. So that’s the timeframe you can go on.”

  “That will help us a lot,” May said gratefully.

  Kerry continued, sounding serious now. “I'm warning you — this is a very, very dangerous person. You need to be careful. Someone like this is deeply psychotic. He's going to fight; he's going to turn on you. And most likely he's clever enough to cover his tracks. So if you get close, be careful, because he might be waiting. Expecting you. He’s a thinker, for sure. Intelligent."

  "This is all very interesting." May sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Thanks so much, Kerry. I really appreciate it. And we'll be careful."

  "You and Owen are going to nail this guy," Kerry said. "Go and get him. Killing people who've survived death once is just evil. They should be able to benefit from their second chance."

  "I agree," May said.

  She cut the call, feeling thoughtful about what she’d learned. Owen had been listening to the conversation, and she looked at him questioningly.

  "Someone in a death-adjacent career?" he said. "That narrows down our suspects. A lot. There can't be that many of them in this community, who work with the locals on a regular basis. And who have a size ten shoe."

  "Shall we make a list and go through it?" May asked.

  Owen scooted over to sit next to her, and they quickly compiled a list of possibilities.

  "The funeral home," Owen said.

  "The hospice care," May suggested.

  "The coroner's office," Owen added.

  Quickly, May scribbled down all the suggestions.

  “We should start by researching the people who are involved, and also check if they have records. Plus, we need to look for a tragic event in their lives a month or so ago. That's a lot of work." May felt briefly daunted by the job.

  "It is. And I don't know if we have a lot of time. But it will be easier to do this back at Fairshore, where we have access to more information."

  May nodded. Going back to Fairshore would help them work faster now. And at least they had a starting point and a picture of the man they were seeking. They had guidelines on the job he did, and also May’s strong feeling that he was an integral part of this community, someone who was trusted, a go-to figure.

  With that, May felt they had an edge. They had a chance. If they were fast, they might catch up.

  She looked at the list, where Owen was matching up the names of individuals to their roles and professions in the town, using local databases, and working at a focused speed.

  Here were the lists. Paramedics, doctors, funeral directors, coroners. People with death-adjacent professions. One of them had cracked and broken.

  Somewhere here was the killer. The first question was: which one out of all those on the list was he?

  But May feared that this man, who’d recently snapped and was now on a killing spree, was already out again, targeting his next victim. So the second, far more urgent question was: if they found out who he was, could they catch up with him in time?

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  May headed out of the hospital and climbed into her car with Owen, feeling determined. With this information from Kerry, she felt as if they were closing in on the killer, even though there was a lot of work still to be done.

  It almost felt to May as if she could see him now, sense his shadowy presence. In a spooky way, she felt as if she'd caught sight of a silhouette that had proved he was real, and that when he turned around, when she could shine a light on him, she would finally see his face.

  "We can do this," she said to Owen.

  "We can," he agreed firmly.

  But as May sped along the streets, heading for the Fairshore police department, she felt a flicker of doubt and fear.

  She knew she could do it. That she felt sure about. But could she do it in time?

  May felt her heart pounding with an urgent sense of purpose as she got to the Fairshore main road and headed down it toward the police department.

  It was his killing interval that was giving her the creeps every time she thought about it. He was connecting with his victims fast. He surely must have a list, or a source of victims he was working from, and he was burning through it at speed.

  May’s sense of urgency was growing with every moment that passed. She'd allowed herself to trust her instincts. They were screaming at her that if she didn't catch up with him fast, then he'd be able to kill again.

  She had the feeling he was losing control with the killings. As if it was now a compulsion that was too strong for him to stop. Plus, May had an uneasy feeling that when this man had exhausted the list of survivors, of people he perceived to have cheated death, he would not stop killing but instead, widen the parameters. Perhaps he'd target their families, or he'd look for people who had only had a brush with danger and not with death at all.

  In his deluded mind, May feared he would do whatever it took to justify his slaughtering spree.

  Here they were. They had reached the Fairshore police department. May parked outside and jumped out of the car. Then, she and Owen hurried inside.

  "May, Owen," the deputy at the front desk greeted them. He looked anxious, and he was holding one phone with another ringing on the desk. May guessed he'd been on a nonstop series of calls, handling inquiries from worried citizens who had heard about the killings and were now in a state of panic.

  "Is there any news?" he asked. "I must have had thirty calls already, and I've only been on duty for an hour. People are panicking, and the media is on its way here. I’ve already spoken to a few local websites, and a TV station who’s sending a crew. One of the journalists said he's going to wait on the police department's doorstep until there's some information on the killer."

  This didn't make things easier for May. Much as she sympathized with the anxiety that the county’s citizens felt, the truth was that there was no time for a media briefing. And there also wasn't enough information to give out. They couldn't show their hand or tell the journalists what they knew. If they did, there was a strong risk that the killer would hear about it and disappear. Go into hiding, flee town, vanish forever — or for long enough that the case went cold. Who knew what he would be capable of when he realized the police were on his trail?

  May had no doubt that he would be smart enough to avoid capture.

  "I know this is difficult, but we have to delay speaking to the media," May said. "We can’t share what we know, as yet. And we need to focus all our time on finding him."

  "Does that mean you're close?" She could see hope in the man's eyes and felt again the weight of responsibility that rested on her shoulders — to help this shaken community find the monster in their midst.

  "We are close to him," May said. "We can issue a statement to explain we are making progress but that due to the confidential nature of the case, we can't say more until an arrest is made."

  The officer nodded, and May could see he knew what that meant.

  "Okay. That's what I'll tell them. And, off the record, how close are we?" he asked. "I have an aunt who owns a farm in that area. I'm worried for her and her kids."

  Knowing this would stay confidential, May updated him more fully.

  "We have a general but promising lead on who he is," May told him. "We've profiled him. He works in a death-adjacent industry and he is hunting down people that he perceived to have outstayed their time on earth. People who have survived near death experiences such as serious illness or accidents."

  The deputy's eyes widened and he looked alarmed.

  "It's a case of a serial killer starting a spree after some kind of triggering event, we believe," May added. "We know what professions he might work in, and we know where we need to hunt for him. It's not a lot. But compared to where we were, we're getting somewhere."