"The Chatham County Sheriff’s Department has jurisdiction. The Strangler—that’s what the press dubbed the unsub this morning, The Savannah Strangler—has been dumping his kills in the Savannah River, so two of the bodies were found on the Georgia side and two on the South Carolina side.”

“Smart,” said Bobby.

McCutchins grimaced. “Indeed. That’s why I want you there, Meredeth. The unsub has dropped four women into the water, the first of which died three to five weeks ago according to her postmortem.”

Meredeth frowned. “That’s not good.”

“No,” agreed McCutchins. “He’s just getting warmed up.”

“Given they’re calling him The Savannah Strangler,” said Meredeth, “I’m going out on a limb and guessing he’s choking them. What else?”

“He left a cross around each of the victims’ necks.”

“Great. A zealot,” muttered Meredeth, and she winced at the sharp pain that flared behind her left eye.

“And we’re sure the crosses didn’t belong to the victims?” asked Bobby. “That is the Bible Belt, after all.”

“Something to check into,” said Meredeth.

“They’re identical,” said Jim with a shake of his head.

“They’re crosses, Jim.”

“Chatham County thinks they were purchased from the same bulk jeweler.” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head again. “It’s a dead end.”

“Okay,” said Meredeth. She forced another mouthful of horrible coffee past her tongue and swallowed. Her head had started pounding the minute McCutchins had called the meeting, and it had only gathered steam since. She needed the caffeine, and she needed some acetaminophen, though she doubted either would do a damn thing. The stress headaches during investigations weren’t new, but they’d increased in severity over the past year and a half, and she was beginning to understand the phrase “blinding headache” all too well.

“Four victims?” asked Bobby.

“Yes. Four women between twenty-three and forty-seven, all tawny”‍—‍he glanced at Meredeth’s own auburn hair, then dropped his gaze back to his notes‍—‍“various body shapes and heights, all prostitutes, all taken from the so-called hotel district on Ogeechee Road.”

“That’s the Red Light District?” asked Bobby.

“Affirmative,” said Jim. “Your liaison officer—‍"

“Then hair color and profession are his hunting priorities. That helps a little.”

Jim nodded. “Your liaison officer will be John Bristol. He’s a homicide dick with the Sheriff’s Department and will brief you on arrival.”

“How does he do it?”

Jim sniffed. “He strangles his victims to gain control, then sexually assaults them. Once he’s satisfied, he uses blunt force. We held the blunt-force trauma back from the Press.”

“Are they still alive when he drops them into the water?”

“No. The beatings are violent. ‘Frenzied’ is the term the Chatham County ME used to describe them.”

“Then why the river?” asked Van Zandt.

“He knows he’s leaving evidence,” said Meredeth as she cocked her head to the side. “He knows he’s out of control during the attacks. The water is to mitigate that.” She turned to Jim. “Is he a secreter?”

“No evidence of that, but as you said, he’s using the water and its wildlife to wash away evidence.”

“Why not dump them in a marsh? They have marshes down there, right? Couldn’t he dump the bodies way out where discovery is unlikely?”

“Maybe he used to,” said Meredeth. “But now, he wants everyone to see.”

“That’s right,” said Jim. “Melanie will have a copy of the packet for each of you as per usual. Study it on the plane. We need to hit the ground running.”

“John Bristol?” asked Bobby, tapping notes into his phone.

Meredeth cocked her head to the side and squinted up at the corner. “Maybe there’s a religious motivation to these murders.”

“I don’t know. Maybe the unsub’s father ran afoul of temptations of the flesh. Maybe it broke up his family, and the unsub blames the prostitutes.”

Meredeth arched an eyebrow, a soft grin turned up the corners of her mouth. “‘Temptations of the flesh,’ Jim?”

McCutchins waved it away. “Melanie has your travel arrangements—or will by the time you get your go-bags. Get down there and wrap this up.”

“Maybe…” Meredeth tugged at her bottom lip a moment.

“Yes?” asked Jim.

“Maybe the unsub is preaching.”

“Preaching?”

She nodded. “These women are his sermons.”

“How’d you figure that?” asked Bobby.

She lifted her index finger. “The crosses.” She lifted her middle finger. “The rapes.” She lifted her ring finger. “The beatings.” She raised her pinky. “And temptations of the flesh. The victims are all prostitutes. Seductresses. Sinners. Maybe the water is their baptism.”

“Interesting,” said McCutchins. “Follow that up. Check for disgraced ministers, failed seminary students, excommunicated priests.”

“One last question, Jim,” said Meredeth with a nod.

The SAIC nodded.

“Four bodies in five weeks… A weekly cycle is much more credible than a week plus a day and a half.” She shook her head. “Are we sure there are only four bodies?”

With a sigh, McCutchins frowned down at the conference table. “There’s no telling how many women he’s done this to. He probably did start with the marsh like Bobby suggested, but now…” He shrugged.

“Now he wants everyone to know. To pay attention.”

“That’s right,” said Jim. “And as for his cycle, we don’t know. He may have started slowly and is accelerating.” He stood and walked toward the door.

“We’d better get to work, then,” said Meredeth. She frowned down at her phone lying on the table before her as it chimed.

“Another one?” asked Bobby, scooting his chair closer.

“Another email from your secret admirer?” asked Jim.

Meredeth frowned in reply and opened the email. “The subject line reads, ‘Why would you leave Florida?’” She blew out a deep breath. “The body reads, ‘Why would you turn tail and flee to Washington when there’s a man killing girls in Daytona? Why would you ignore the BLATANT and OBVIOUS facts of the case? If you’re such an ELITE PROFILER, why is it you can’t track The Sandman down? I did.’” Exasperation and frustration warred within her.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Sure, he did.”

“It’s meaningless,” said Jim. “Anyone can say they know who the unsub is, that they’ve done a better job, when they give no details, add nothing to the investigation.” He shook his head. “Ignore it and any further emails. Forward that one to Tech Services and see if they can track him down.”

Meredeth shook her head. “We’ve tried that already.”

“Maybe, but you didn’t have an SAC following up.” He gave her a firm nod. “You do now.”

“Thanks, Jim.”