“You’d be right. Good call, Officer. Stand by.”

She turned to Peabody.

“Vic is ID’d as Sarifina York, age twenty-eight. Address is on West Twenty-first. Single. Employed at Starlight. That’s a retro club in Chelsea.”

Eve crouched down. “She wasn’t killed here, and she wasn’t wrapped in this cloth when she was brought here. He likes the stage clean. TOD, Morris.”

“Eleven this morning.”

“Eighty-five hours. So he took her sometime Monday, or earlier if he didn’t start the clock. Historically, he starts on the first very shortly after he makes the snatch.”

“Starting the clock when he begins to work on them,” Morris confirmed.

“Oh, shit. Oh, crap, I remember this.” Peabody sat back on her heels. Her cheeks were reddened by the wind, and her eyes had widened with memory. “The media tagged him The Groom.”

“Because of the ring,” Eve told her. “We let the ring leak.”

“It was, like, ten years ago.”

“Nine,” Eve corrected. “Nine years, two weeks, and…three days since we found the first body.”

“Copycat,” Peabody suggested.

“No, this is him. The message, the time-we didn’t let that leak to the media. We closed that data up tight. But we never closed the case. We never closed him. Four women in fifteen days. All brunettes, the youngest twenty-eight, the oldest thirty-three. All tortured, between a period of twenty-three and fifty-two hours.”

Eve looked at the carving again. “He’s gotten better at his work.”

Morris nodded as he made his study. “It appears the more superficial wounds were inflicted first, as before. I’ll confirm when I get her home.”

“Ligature marks, ankles, wrists-just above the slashes.” Eve lifted one of the hands. “She didn’t just lie there and take it, not from the looks of this. He used drugs on the others.”