“He admitted it,” Ed continued. “Seems they’d dated a couple of times and she wasn’t interested.”

“Alibi?”

“Claims he got drunk and picked up a freshman.” With a shrug, Ben sat on the arm of a chair. “They’re engaged. We can bring him in again, but neither of us believe he had anything to do with it. He’s got no connection with Clayton or Bowers. When we checked him over, we found out that the kid’s the ail-American boy from an upper-middle-class family. Lettered in track. It’s more likely Ed’s a psychotic than that college boy.”

“Thanks, partner.”

“Well, check him out again anyway. What’s his name?”

“Robert Lawrence Dors. He drives a Honda Civic and wears polo shirts.” Ben drew out a cigarette. “White loafers and no socks.”

“Roderick’ll bring him in.”

“Wait a minute-”

“I’m assigning a task force to this business,” Harris said, cutting Ben off. He poured a second cup of coffee. “Roderick, Lowenstein, and Bigsby’ll be working with you. I want this guy before he kills the next woman who happens to be out walking alone.” His voice remained mild, reasonable, and final. “You have a problem with that?”

Ben strode to the window and stared out. It was personal, and he knew better. “No, we all want him.”

“Including the mayor,” Harris added with only the slightest trace of bitterness. “He wants to be able to give the press something positive by the end of the week. We’re calling in a psychiatrist to give us a profile.”

“A shrink?” With a half laugh, Ben turned around. “Come on, Captain.”

Because he didn’t like it either, Harris’s voice chilled. “Dr. Court has agreed to cooperate with us, at the mayor’s request. We don’t know what he looks like, maybe it’s time we found out how he thinks. At this point,” he added with a level glance at both men, “I’m willing to look into a crystal ball if we’d get a lead out of it. Be here at four.”