“Wow, were yousmitten or what?”
Vaughn started the car.
“What are you talking about?”
“You were fucking googly-eyed!”
“I was not.”
Darnell placed a hand on his heart.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have shown you the picture. Oh, Dr.Reeves, milady, please accept my apology.”
His impression of Vaughn was terrible.
“Whatever. Let’s just focus.”
“Focus on what? I didn’t understand anything the Bae-sian Prof said, either. Fucking math riddles.”
“We’ve narrowed our suspect pool a little. Whoever sent that email knows math.”
Darnell rolled his eyes.
“Great, so we’re looking for a psycho math genius.”
Beneath his partner’s joking words were undertones of disbelief.
Vaughn understood.
The media often portrayed serial killers as these super intelligent individuals—and the public ate that shit up, for reasons Vaughn didn’t understand.
It simply wasn’t true. Some were of average intelligence. Some were below. Occasionally above.
The only true fact that could be said about all serial killers Vaughn had ever come across or studied was that they were narcissists.
Each and every one of them.
Vaughn’s dash radio came to life—it was Delaney.
Darnell grunted disapprovingly.
“Hey, Delaney, what’s up?”
“I found Aaron’s car. Two of the others’, too.”
The man sounded tired.
“Where?”
“Pizza place in Fredon Township. ‘Bout a mile and a half from the barn.”
“On our way.”
PPD Officer Frank Delaney was standing with his hands on his hips when Vaughn and Darnell arrived.
The pizza joint, CiCi’s Pizza, was located off Route 94 South. Large lot, old building. Red roof, wheelchair ramp out front.
Delaney looked spent. His hair, which Darnell had remarked on numerous occasions that the man fashioned to look exactly like Vaughn’s, was a mess.
