A swirling sea of them. Hundreds. Aliases. Criminal records. Warrants. Not a sea, a bottomless pool. A suspect pool, and Behr deep-dove it. Using Breslau’s password, he had worked all through the weekend and into the following week and was able to search and cross-reference offenders with assaults against women, attacks on prostitutes, rapists, murderers, and all types of other delights. Toward the end of the week, Susan had gone out of town with Trevor for a long weekend to visit her folks in the suburbs of Chicago, something they did every month or so. She’d floated a halfhearted invitation to him. Behr had been up there a few times. It was one thing sitting in a La-Z-Boy next to her father, not much to say, during the summer while a Sox game was on every afternoon and her mother was cooing at the baby. But it wasn’t baseball season and he was busy, so he stayed home printing reams of information and combing over name after name. He didn’t let anything rule out a suspect other than death or lengthy incarceration during the period of the crimes.
