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of stone. Her pretty face was unblemished, her long, dark hair had been draped about her shoulders, and a small skeleton, wrapped in a blue baby blanket, lay nestled in her lap.
    â€œLooks familiar, doesn’t it?” Tam said.
    â€œYeah,” J.D. replied. “This is too similar to the scene at the Lookout Valley Cracker Barrel to be a coincidence.”
    â€œYou think?” Garth Hudson said sarcastically.
    J.D. grunted. “So, are you sure she’s Debra Gregory?”
    â€œNinety-nine percent sure,” Garth replied. “Mayor Hardy will ID the body. But for now, we’re working under the assumption that whoever killed Jill Scott killed Debra Gregory. Two abductions. Two murders. The skeletal remains of two babies left with the murder victims. It’s the same MO.”
    J.D. took a step closer to the body and paused beside ME Peter Tipton. Pete watched while the photographer, working under his supervision, snapped shot after shot of the body and the skeleton.
    â€œAsphyxiation,” Pete said.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œCause of death. She was probably smothered. Just like Jill Scott.”
    J.D. pointed to the bundle in the victim’s lap. “Not a doll this time, either.”
    â€œNo, not a doll. Another child. About the same size. Probably about the same age.”
    â€œSo far, we don’t have any idea who the first child was, only that it was a male about two years old,” J.D. said. “Once we get the DNA results back…Hell, we haven’t identified the first child, and now we have another one.”
    Pete glanced away from the body in the rocking chair and looked at J.D. “I hate to say it, but it appears we may have a really bizarre serial killer on our hands. A little profiling hoodoo”—Pete gestured with his hands—“might be in order about now.”
    â€œAre you suggesting we involve the Feds?”
    â€œNot unless you state boys can’t handle it,” Pete said. “I heard you’ve got some experience in that department.”
    â€œWhere’d you hear something like that?”
    â€œWord gets around.”
    â€œI’m just an amateur compared to the real thing.”
    Only when Tam cleared her throat was J.D aware that she was standing nearby. “Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard the tail end of what y’all were saying, something about Special Agent Cass being familiar with profiling.”
    â€œI know a little something,” J.D. admitted. “But if the CPD wants a profile of the killer, then I can put in a call to a buddy of mine at the Bureau or either of you can call the BSU.”
    â€œI’ll run that by Sergeant Hudson.” Tam glanced at her partner, who was talking to one of the uniformed officers. “I don’t think he’ll object. As long as both the TBI and the FBI keep in mind that this is a CPD case and we’re in charge—”
    â€œEnough said.” J.D. knew the drill.
    Local law enforcement could be territorial, even if they wanted and needed assistance. When he’d been assigned to the Memphis field office, he’d had a bad run-in with a local county sheriff. The sheriff, a good old boy with a lot of influential friends, had come out of the confrontation smelling like a rose. J.D. had come out of it smelling like shit. He had learned his lesson the hard way, one of many. Not the first, of course, and God help him, probably not the last either.
    â€œUnofficially, the three of us just talking among ourselves, do you have any gut feelings about this guy—a man who abducts pretty, young, dark-haired women, holds them hostage for a couple of weeks, smothers them, and then poses them in a rocking chair with the skeletal remains of a toddler?” Tam’s gaze connected with J.D.’s.
    â€œJust the three of us talking among ourselves, I’d say this guy’s got some kind of mommy problem.” J.D. looked at the body in the