Michael shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” He glanced at Turk, who sat in between the two beds of Faith’s room and watched TV. “It’s that asshole’s fault.”

  Turk cast an injured glance at Michael, who chuckled and walked over to scratch his chin. “Just kidding, buddy. You don’t know any better.”

  “Would it help, you think, if I came over and apologized?” Faith asked.

  Michael sighed. “No, probably not. I think we just need to give it a little time. She’ll come around. It’s just tough with her ex still dragging his feet on the divorce.”

  “I get that,” she said.

  She let the subject drop, having learned from experience that the less she pried into Michael’s personal life, the better.

  They ordered the pizza and right after Faith hung up, her phone rang. She looked at the number and swore. “It’s Dr. West,” she told Michael. “I forgot to tell him I’d be missing this session.”

  She stepped outside and answered. “Hey, Dr. West, sorry. I totally forgot to tell you I was on a case.” She frowned as a thought struck her. “The Bureau didn’t tell you?”

  “They don’t share schedules with me,” he replied. “It’s a new privacy policy. They don’t want agents thinking I’m spying on them.”

  “Got it,” Faith said. She didn’t really, but the Bureau often issued policies that made no sense, so this didn’t surprise her. “Anyway, I’m really sorry I missed the session.”

  “Not a problem,” he replied. “Duty comes first. Can you tell me what case you’re working on?”

  “No, sorry,” she said, “I can’t share details about an ongoing investigation.”

  “It’s not the Copycat Killer case, is it?”

  Faith frowned. Why would he be asking about that case? They hadn’t talked about it in months, and the last thing she told him was that she was letting it go. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, so she hadn’t mentioned yet that Clark had asked her to consult on the case.

  “No, not that case,” she said. “I’m still not officially working that case.”

  “What do you mean not officially?” he asked.

  “Well, Clark asked me to look over the file and offer some help to the agents assigned to the case, but it’s not an official consult. I guess the lead agent just asked for a fresh perspective. He knows that I was instrumental in catching the Donkey Killer, so he thought I might have something helpful to add.”

  “I see,” Dr. West said, sounding dubious.

  “Is everything all right, Doctor?” Faith asked.

  “I just want to make sure that you take care of your health,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s advisable for you to involve yourself in the Copycat case right now.”

  “I haven’t even thought about it, to be honest,” Faith said. “Not since Clark handed me the file.”

  To her surprise, that was one hundred percent the truth. She hadn’t even brought the file with her. It was in her desk drawer at home.

  “That’s good,” Dr. West said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He asked her a few other questions, general things. Was she feeling okay? Any more nightmares? Any positive developments with David or Michael?

  She gave him brief answers that were intentionally vague. She liked Dr. West, and talking to him had definitely helped her as she recovered from the trauma she experienced at Jethro Trammell’s hands, but she needed to keep her focus on the case, and she wasn’t looking to talk about her personal life right now.

  When the pizza arrived, she took advantage of that and said, “Dinner’s here. Gotta go. Sorry again about missing our session. I’ll do a double the next time I see you if you want.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that,” he said, “unless you feel you need it. Just be careful with that case.”

  Faith smiled. “Doc, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”

  “I know you are,” he said. “I just worry.”

  Faith returned to the room and managed to put the conversation from her mind, but the uneasy feeling remained. She wasn’t sure what she had to be uneasy about. She wasn’t having nightmares anymore, and Dr. West might be a bit overzealous, but that was nothing to be upset about, was it?

  Still, she couldn’t shake the unease she felt. She almost wished she could ask Michael to stay in the room with her so she wouldn’t be alone, but considering the issues between him and Ellie right now, she didn’t think it was a good idea.

  Besides, she had Turk. He normally wasn’t allowed in the bed, but she was concerned that her unease and the sudden reminder of the Copycat Killer might lead to a recurrence of her nightmares, so when she got into bed, she patted the space next to her. “Come on, boy. I need a cuddle tonight.”

  Turk immediately leapt into bed next to her, not waiting for Faith to change her mind. She laughed and put an arm around the big puppy and sat with him awhile watching old reruns before her eyelids drooped and she finally gave in to sleep.

  ***

  She woke early and showered and dressed just as the sunrise filtered through the window to her room. She headed for breakfast, promising to bring some sausages back for Turk. To her surprise, Michael was already eating when she arrived at the hotel’s dining room.

  “Hey,” she said, “you’re up early.”

  “I wake early too,” he protested. “The only reason you’re up before me is you make everything a competition. You always check my alarm and set yours thirty minutes before mine.”

  “That’s not a competition. I just want to make sure I get a chance to shower before you hog all the hot water. Seriously, how does Ellie stand that?”

  Michael chuckled. “She showers first.”

  “Smart woman,” Faith said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Without you moaning and whining three feet away from me? Like a baby.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Faith said. “Turk’s a much better roommate than you anyway.”

  She got her breakfast and rejoined Michael.

  “Have you heard from Missy about the cemetery employees?” Michael asked.

  “Not yet,” Faith said. “I figure in the meantime we head to their workplaces and interview coworkers. See if maybe there’s a connection between the two of them that way.”

  “Friend of a friend kind of thing?”

  “Sure,” Faith said. “Honestly, I’d just love to see anything that makes sense.”

  Michael grinned. “Now who’s being impatient?”

  “Hey, I got a lot on my plate now,” she said. She hesitated a moment, then decided to tell him. “Clark asked me to look into the Copycat case.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I guess Desrouleaux asked him to ask me.”

  “Wow,” Michael said, “he must be in a real bind. Desrouleaux normally keeps his cases to himself like an old woman clutching pearls.”

  “Well, he’s been working that case for over a year now,” Faith said, “and hasn’t found anything. The body count is close to thirty. At this point, even the tightest of asses has to loosen a little.”

  Michael snorted and coffee sprayed onto Faith’s shirt.

  “Jesus!” she exclaimed. “What the hell?”

  “Hey, that’s your fault,” Michael said through choking and laughter. “You know I love potty humor.”

  “I know, but what are you, twelve?” she said, laughing and patting herself down with a napkin. “Swallow, then laugh. Come on, you never learned that in high school?”

  “No, I spit in high school,” he quipped. “Glad to know I still have good aim.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yep. Twelve years old.”

  He laughed again and shrugged. “Hey, I can’t help who I am.”

  He fell silent a moment, then said, “So you’re good?”

  Faith nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not officially involved. Clark just gave me the file. I’m supposed to read it and give Desrouleaux any notes I might have.”

  “Got it,” Michael said. “Well, let me know if you need any help.”

  Faith’s phone rang Before she could reply. It was Missy. She answered and motioned for Michael to be quiet, an unnecessary request since he had already clammed up and was listening intently.

  “Morning, sugar,” Missy said. “I got the warrant and the information.”

  “That fast?”

  “Yep. Like I said, this was all just for show. CYA stuff. They had the contact lists ready for me once I faxed the warrant.”

  “Wonderful,” Faith said. “Can you email them to me?”

  “Already did,” Missy replied. “Is the handsome prince there?”

  Faith smiled and said, “Yeah, he’s here. He says he misses you. He wants to know if you’re available for dinner after this is over.”

  Michael snatched the phone away. “Hey, Missy, I’m here,” he said. After a moment, he reddened and said, “I’ll keep that in mind. No, we’re going to see if there’s anyone who works at both places before we split up. I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

  He handed Faith the phone, then glared at her and flipped her the bird. Missy was laughing on the other end and Faith said, “I’m guessing you got a shot of your own in.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Missy said. “Did he blush?”

  “Beet red,” Faith replied. “It was adorable.”

  Missy laughed. “I can see why you love him.”

  Faith’s smile faded. “Oh. No, we’re not together.”

  “Really?” Missy sounded genuinely surprised. “Well, you should be. The way you two looked at each other, I thought you had already figured that out.”

  “Well, actually we… I’ll think about it.” Faith decided it wasn’t worth trying to explain that they had already dated and decided they were better as friends.

  “Don’t think too long,” Missy replied. “Someone will snatch him right up if you don’t get him first.”

  Too late, Faith thought, then frowned. That didn’t come out right.

  She reminded herself that it didn’t come out at all and said, “We’ll let you know what we find. Thanks again for the list.”

  “You got it, sugar.”

  Faith hung up and looked at Michael to see him grinning. “Now why are you blushing?”

  “Screw you,” she said genially. “Finish your breakfast. We have suspects to eliminate.”

  “Does that mean I get to use my gun?” he asked gleefully.

  She looked incredulously at him. “What is wrong with you?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “I thought you ‘slept like a baby,’” she noted. “Whatever. Just drink your coffee,” she added.

  He finished his coffee and Faith grabbed a few sausages for Turk. While Turk happily ate the maple-flavored links, she and Michael looked over the names Missy sent. There were more than she expected, thirty-five in all. Most of them worked for the much larger Houston cemetery. Only a half-dozen worked for the Humble graveyard.

  But the most interesting name was the man who worked for both. Well, not for both, but at both. At several other cemeteries, in fact.

  Emilio Benitez, 36, was an independent contractor who worked as a gravedigger for cemeteries across the Houston area. Most recently, he had dug graves for the Houston Hillside Memorial Cemetery and the Humble Memorial Lawn.

  And ten years ago, he had been arrested for aggravated assault with grievous bodily injury.

  “Looks like we found our first suspect,” Michael said.

  “I think you’re right, Prince Charmless,” Faith replied.

  Michael ignored the jibe and took down Benitez’s phone and address.

  Faith looked over at Turk and said, “Come on, boy. Finish your sausages and let’s go.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Got it,” Faith said. “Thank you, I appreciate it. No, that’s all right. I’ll call back later.”

  She hung up and said, “He’s digging a grave at a cemetery in Bellaire right now.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “About ten minutes away,” Faith said. “Close to the city proper.”

  “Address?”

  Faith gave it, and Michael punched it into the GPS. “Well, it would be ten minutes away,” he said, “in no traffic. We’re looking at twenty this time of the morning.”

  “I’m sure he’ll still be there in twenty minutes,” Faith said. “Unless his secretary calls him anyway, and he gets suspicious and bolts.”

  “Well, if he does, I guess that’s a good sign he’s guilty.”

  “We’ll find out.”

  They rode in silence for a minute or two. Then Faith wondered aloud. “Spitballing here, but what if he’s picking his victims based on the gravestones he finds at the cemeteries and not the other way around?”

  “Like he’s just reading gravestones and looking up living relatives to kill?”

  “Yeah. It’s crazy, but killers usually are.”

  “That would be a convenient answer to the lack of a connection between victims,” Michael said. “But it seems a little too convenient. And it doesn’t fit with the elaborate setup with the bell and the recorded message. People don’t psychologically torture random victims.”

  “The Demon of Morgan County did,” Faith reminded him.

  Michael shook his head. “No, he had reasons to choose the women he did. They were whores in his eyes, remember? Maybe there’s no logical connection between this killer’s victims, but I find it unlikely that there’s no connection at all and this guy’s just randomly picking people to torture.”

  “It could be his idea of a test. He gives them a chance to escape. A slim chance, of course, but a chance nonetheless. Maybe it’s like the Vampire case and this guy’s waiting to see if anyone will notice the victims, but he’s actually giving them a chance to survive instead of just propping up their dead bodies.”

  “Could be,” Michael allowed. He glanced sideways at her. “Since when did you start calling these guys by their nicknames?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. Do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” he said, “I just haven’t heard you use them before.”

  “Well, anyway, I was just spitballing,” she said.

  “No, it’s a valid thought,” he said. “We can look into it after we talk to this guy. Of course, we might get lucky and not need to look into it.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Faith agreed.

  They reached the cemetery a few minutes later and found Benitez working on a new grave. He was sitting in the cockpit of a backhoe, and Faith noticed that it was one of the electric models Missy had talked about.

  And it was very quiet. Although it wasn’t actively digging at the time, Faith noted, so maybe it was noisier when it was at work.

  Benitez shut the machine off when the agents approached. He got down carefully, grimacing a little, and stood a few yards ahead of the grave, arms folded across his chest.

  Turk trotted ahead of them, and Benitez started when the big dog approached him.

  “Stand down, Turk,” Faith called. “Be patient.”

  In the Vampire case, Turk and Faith had gotten in a lot of trouble when Faith allowed Turk to chase down a man who turned out to be completely unconnected to their case. Since then, she had kept a tighter leash—figuratively speaking—on the overzealous K9.

  Turk stopped a few feet from Benitez and stood in front of him. His tail switched back and forth, but he didn’t seem particularly worked up the way he usually was around a suspect.

  That didn’t necessarily mean Benitez wasn’t their guy. Turk was rarely wrong, but he wasn’t flawless.

  “What’s going on?” Emilio said warily before the two agents introduced themselves.

  “Emilio Benitez?” Faith asked.

  “Who’s asking?” he said, taking a step back.

  “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold with the FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince.” She gestured to Turk. “This is my K9 unit, Turk.”

  Turk barked a greeting, causing another jump from Benitez. “Is he friendly?”

  “As long as you’re friendly, he’ll be friendly,” Faith answered. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “What about?” he said, eyes narrowed distrustfully.

  “We’d like to ask you questions about the recent murders of Barbara Ames and Marvin Prescott,” Faith said.

  He showed no sign of recognizing those names, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was innocent. They hypothesized that the killer knew his victims, but they could be wrong about that.

  “I don’t know anything about no murders,” he replied.

  “Can you account for your whereabouts this past Thursday night?” Michael asked.

  Benitez flicked his eyes to Michael and said, “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Do you think you need a lawyer?” Michael asked.

  Benitez looked between the two agents, frowning with concern. Finally, he said, “No. I don’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Perfect,” Faith said, “then this will only take a minute. Can you answer my partner’s question, please?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Benitez straightened but remained tense. “I was at home. I was up until about midnight, then I went to bed.”

  “What were you doing up late?” Faith asked.

  “That’s not late for me,” he said. “I dig my graves during the day.”

  “Never at night?”

  “No,” he said. “I got hurt falling into an open grave that some pendejo didn’t mark, and I decided I was only digging during the day from now on.”

  “Can you describe the nature of your injury?” Michael asked.

  “Threw out my back in three places,” he said. “Couldn’t walk right for six months. I had to have surgery to fix it. Hasn’t been the same since.”

  He patted the considerable bulge in his midsection. “I used to have a six-pack,” he said a little wistfully. “Can’t exercise anymore.”

  “So you use that to dig?” Michael asked, gesturing to the backhoe, painted the pastel blue that for some reason the world had decided was the proper color for an electric vehicle.