The Maze by Catherine Coulter Page A

At her nod, he said, “Then we’ll push the magic button this afternoon.”
    Savich turned to her. “Sherlock? You got anything to add?”
    She sat forward, clasping her hands together. “It’s like a locked-room murder mystery. How can this guy just saunter into these three nursing homes in Florida and the one in Richmond at ten o’clock at night and kill these poor old women with nobody seeing or hearing a thing? Naturally, all the old women killed were in single rooms or suites, but that shouldn’tmatter. This whole thing is nuts. There has to be something we’re missing.”
    â€œObviously,” said Hannah. “But we’ll get there, we usually do.”
    Savich said, “Actually, Ollie and I are going to St. Petersburg tomorrow morning. I just got another call from Captain Samuels. There’s been another murder. That means that our guy is going into overdrive. The Profilers don’t like it. It means he’s losing control. Five murders in eight months, the last two in the past week and a half. Captain Samuels really wants us to go down there and poke around, look at everything with new eyes. So, that’s where we’ll be for the weekend.”
    Ollie nearly leaped out of his chair in excitement. “When, Chief?”
    â€œEight A . M . United flight from Dulles.”
    Suddenly Ollie blanched and raised his eyes heavenward. “I won’t get too up for this. No, I’m a fatalist. If I really want to go, then my future mother-in-law will tell Maria that I’m a workaholic and lousy husband material and Maria will dump me. It’s the way my life works.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Ollie,” Savich said, closing his folder. “It’s no big deal. We’ll just go down there to see if there’s anything they haven’t seen. I think it’s time to look the situation over firsthand.”
    â€œDo you already know who did it?” Sherlock asked, sitting forward, her hands clasped on the conference table.
    Savich heard that utterly serious voice, looked at that too-intense face, at that thick curling auburn hair trying to break free of the gold clasp at the back of her neck. “Not this time—sorry. Now, Ollie, don’t panic. Nothing to it.”
    Still, Ollie looked doubtful. Lacey had heard that he’d already wagered with at least a dozen other agents that his wedding wouldn’t come off because either a terrorist would blow up the church or the preacher would be arrested for stealing out of the collection plates.
    â€œI sure want to catch this creep,” Ollie said.
    â€œI do too,” Savich said. “Like you and Sherlock and every cop in Florida, I want to know how he keeps pulling off this ghost act.” He stood. “Okay. Everyone is cooking along justfine. No big problems or breakthroughs. Cogan, see me for a minute. I’ve got an idea about those murders in Las Vegas.”
    Â 
    At six o’clock, Lacey walked into the World Gym on Juniper Street, wearing shorts, a baggy top, and running shoes, her hair pulled back and up high in a ponytail. She paid her ten dollars and went into the huge mirror-lined room. There was the usual complement of bodybuilders who watched every move they made in the mirrors. She got a kick out of watching them walk. They were overbulked and couldn’t really get around normally. They moved like hulks.
    There were beautiful young women who were six feet tall, professional women on the StairMasters, looking at their watches every few minutes, probably thinking about their kids and what they were going to cook for dinner and did they have enough time if they did just five more minutes.
    And there were quite a few professional men, all ages, all working hard. She didn’t see a single slacker. Then she saw Savich. He was wearing shorts, running shoes, and a sleeveless white cotton tank. He was doing lat pulldowns.
    He was slick with sweat, his