He needed a drink tonight, and he liked this quiet little place. The bartender knew how to make a stiff one. He also remembered his patrons’ names, a practice that Tyler appreciated. He couldn’t get Jane Doe out of his thoughts; he even dreamed about her. He could see her dark eyes pleading to the madman who had unleashed his evil upon her. Tyler thought he could smell her when he slept—like lilies. The asshole who killed her enjoyed her scent too, reveling in her sweet freshness. She had been a girl bordering on womanhood—at least that’s what her actions and emotions in his dreams suggested. Forensic investigation had put her age at around twenty, give or take a couple years. He hated the man who’d savagely murdered her, robbing her of a long life filled with love and family, as his Susan had been deprived. Tyler still sensed that like Nelson, his wife’s killer, this guy considered his kills as prizes. If only Tyler could connect another victim to this UNSUB, he could gather enough information to put together a real profile.
