New York to Dallas

of all approved communications. I imagine you’ve considered he communicated with someone outside by non-approved means. If so, he didn’t use any variation of his own ID, or send or receive by anyone using any variation of those on the approved list. I’ll look deeper.”
    He leaned on the console, sipped from a mug of his own. “I programmed a search for key phrases, repetitions. So far all the e-coms are innocuous. Answers to messages from reporters, writers, an inmate advocacy group. There’s very little over a twelve-year period, which weighs on the side he found a way to skirt around approval.”
    Eve drank coffee and considered. “He’s got the e-skills. He wouldn’t make a mistake there, and he’d be very careful what he put on a hard drive. We stripped down his electronics before. Next to nothing. He’s very careful. The way to the partner, if he’s lined one up, would be through visitation. Face-to-face contact. Privacy rules, thanks to prison advocacy groups—prevent monitoring prisoner visitation. It’ll be a woman, between forty and . . . adding the twelve years in, probably more like between fifty and sixty. Attractive, with some sort of addiction or vulnerability he can exploit.”
    “Nearly all his visitors were female. Data’s copied to your unit.”
    Eve called it up. Out of twenty-six visitors, eighteen were women, and most of them repeat visitors.
    “I get the reporters—after a juicy story, maybe a big book deal or vid. He’d probably string them along awhile, get them to come back, entertain him. Tell them nothing. But the rest? What did they get out of spending time with him, knowing what he’d done, what he is? I don’t—Jesus, Melinda Jones.”
    “Yes.”
    “August, ’fifty-five. About five years ago. Single visit. I need to run her.”
    “I did. She’s a rape and trauma counselor, attached to the Dallas police department, where her sister is a cop who just made detective. They share an apartment, live only a few miles from their parents, and the home where they grew up. She’s single, and she’s clean.”
    “Okay. She’d have been about nineteen when she made this visit.”
    “Facing her monster.”
    “Maybe. Probably. I’ll have to contact her, see what he said to her. She’s not his type now. Too old for his tastes, too young for partner status. A rape counselor and a cop. They made something out of what happened to them. It’s good to know that.”
    She scanned down the list. “Multiple visits would be the highest probability. Not too many. No point in sending up a flag.”
    She ordered the computer to separate out names of subjects who’d visited between six and twelve times. “We’ll start with these.”
    “I’ll take four.”
    They ran them for data, put images on screen.
    “Computer, delete subjects three, five, and eight. Too many busts,” she told Roarke. “He wouldn’t work with someone who screwed up that often and got caught. And since subject two is now deceased, we can toss her out of the mix. Down to four,” she said as she paced. “Number one, Deb Bracken, has a New York address, so we’ll check her out in person. The other three are scattered around. Miami, Baltimore, and Baton Rouge. We’ll have local authorities give them a look once we’re cleared.
    “There’s something about this one. Number seven.”
    “Sister Suzan Devon,” Roarke read. “Recovering illegals addict. Two busts for possession, one for solicitation without a license.”
    “Yeah, but the busts are in her misspent youth. Nothing since she hit thirty. She’s the right age. Early fifties, not bad looking. Member of the Church of Redemption, based in Baton Rouge. Lists spiritual advisor as reason for visits. Bogus bullshit.”
    “The last visit was more than a year ago.”
    “That wouldn’t matter if he managed to set things up, and contact her under the radar. She gives me a buzz, so we’ll look at her, and number six—she hits the notes. So Bracken, because she’s here, Devon and this Verner because they buzz, and the last of the four, Rinaldi, because she made the cut.”
    She turned to him. “If we correlate their geographical location at the time of the e-mails you dug up, can we identify their particular communications? The contact system they used?”
    “I don’t know about we, but I can.”
    “Smart-ass.”
    “I’ll just sit my smart ass down and do that for you, darling. And you can get me a cookie.”
    “A cookie?”
    “Yes. I’d