Chapter 27

A few minutes later, Nick Metaxas, whom I knew slightly, showed up at my door. He was of medium height, solidly built, had dark, curly hair, and his Mediterranean complexion betrayed his Greek heritage. I rose from my chair.

“Hello, Nick,” I said, extending my hand.

“George,” he said as he shook my hand briefly.

“Have a seat, and tell me what brings you to our building.”

He sat down in a side chair and opened his briefcase. “A few days ago, you filed an inquiry with the NCIC, right?”

“Yes, we did. We have one murder here in Jacksonville, and another one down in St. Augustine that are similar enough to warrant a search.”

“We think you hit pay dirt,” he said, handing me a slim report. “Read this and we’ll talk.”

I read the three double-spaced pages and then looked up at him in amazement. “Thirty-seven murders in almost as many cities? Wow.”