"Did Annika know he had the knife when he accosted her?"

"She never even heard him coming. I figure the first thing she felt was his arm yoking her neck and the blade of the knife scratching the side of her throat."

"Not a particularly distinctive MO," I said.

"You looking for creative, too, Alex?"

I shook my head.

"It's all in the details, as you know. Exactly what words he said, how he touched her, what he smelled like. It may be a couple of days until we can get all that from her."

"And hope in the meantime that he doesn't feel it necessary to finish the job with another victim tonight or tomorrow."

Mercer flashed his badge at the security guard in front of the hospital driveway, who motioned him to leave the car right at the curb.

Sophisticated monitors beeped their familiar noises as we pushed open the doors into the surgical ICU. Nurses were engaged in every one of the eight cubicles, tending to patients in the most critical phase of care.

Mercer walked to the glass-enclosed area where Annika Jelt lay in bed.

"She's awake, Detective. You can come in," the nurse said.

I remained in the doorway as Mercer took a step to the bedside. He reached out his large hand and placed it on Annika's arm, above the intravenous needle that carried fluids back into her slim body. As she felt his touch, the young woman turned her head toward us and tried to smile, recognizing her new friend and protector.

"Hello," she whispered, barely able to move her mouth because of the tubes coming out of her nostrils.

Mercer leaned his six-foot-six-inch frame over the bed railing and gently stroked Annika's forehead. "Don't try to talk. I just came back to check on you. Make sure they're treating you right."