Amy checked her reflection in the full length mirror on the door of her bedroom. She was now dressed for work in a dark navy suit and pumps. Her badge was tucked into its holder in her pocket. She checked her Glock 23, made sure the safety was on, and placed it in her holster.

She sighed. She'd never been much of a breakfast eater and, with everything else going on, she had no appetite to tackle the dishes that were put in front of her. She nibbled on a piece of toast while Maurice refilled her coffee cup several times over. That had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that hot, sweet liquid, had settled like a cold, hard lump in her stomach. She was a bundle of nerves – so many things were not making sense to her...and yet...it seemed like answers were just outside of her grasp – if she could just reach for them.

Amy adjusted several pins holding her hair in a severe bun at the base of her neck. She turned to leave her room when something caught her eye. On the desk, laying in its original box, was the Magnolia that had come with the dress that Pendergast had bought her. She must have taken it off that night and tossed into the box without even thinking about it. Somehow the conditions were perfect to have preserved it. Amy did not understand why, but seeing the flower somehow eased some her fears; the flower had survived and this somehow gave her hope that she and Pendergast would solve the case in time to prevent any more deaths.

Her phone buzzed indicating a new email. She reached for it and read the message, her jaw tightening in consternation.

Pendergast, now with his tie and jacket in place, was waiting downstairs. "As we had planned before," Pendergast said, "let us start with the Sheriff.. I believe the car is outside." He opened the door for her and Amy gasped. Waiting for them with the engine running was a vintage Jaguar E-Type. "Would you like to drive," Pendegast asked, as he opened the driver's side door for Amy.

"So you see, Aloysius," Amy continued as she maneuvered the dusty back roads around Penumbera, "the women were strangled. Not suffocated. When the lab techs examined them again, they found very thick, waterproof, theatrical makeup that had been used to conceal the marks. The techs then examined the throats and found that their larynxes had been crushed." Amy took a deep breath, as she took a particularly tight corner and then continued. "Of course, there was no trace remaining, but the bruising itself was telling. It was very smooth and even and the skin was not torn – something soft was used…something perhaps like a silk cord."

Aloyisius nodded. "But what does it mean?"

Amy shrugged and sighed in frustration. "I have no idea…," she hesitated, "…yet."

Sheriff Giles Charboneau was a grizzled veteran in his mid fifties. He looked to have been a boxer at some point in his life since his nose had clearly been broken several times. He had managed to retain most of the fighter's physique and while not as tall at Pendergast, still projected power and authority as he walked toward the agents with his hand outstretched.

Pendergast shook hands with the Sheriff and introduced Amy. "Welcome to New Orleans, Agent," the Sheriff said. "How can I help you?"

Amy took a deep breath. "We are investigated the deaths of the young women and were wondering if there is anything that you would be able to tell us? You are clearly closer and we would very much appreciate your insights." She was careful not to mention serial killers or profiling; she wanted the Sheriff to tell her what he knew or thought he knew.

The older man adjusted his tie; he looked pleased; the FBI wanted his opinion and he knew that his experience would make his opinion the only correct one. He straightened his tie and swept invisible crumbs from his shirt. "Well…what we have here are some party girls that made some bad choices.'

Amy could not help it; she actually gaped at the man for a moment before reasserting her self control; she did not dare look at Pendergast. Luckily, the man was so absorbed in his story that he did not notice and continued. "As much as I love New Orleans, it's a big city and things happen to girls who are not careful."

"And what do you think happened to these girls, Sheriff?" Pendergast's voice was smooth as silk and betrayed none of the outrage that Amy was feeling.

"Well, I think they went to a party and met up with somebody."

"What party would that be, Sheriff and who would these girls have met," Amy was amazed at how calm her own voice sounded.

"If I had to guess, they were at a Sigma Theta Omega party. They have a pretty large house over at Tulane University," the Sheriff said with maddening certainty. "We made the decision to not question the young gentlemen," the Sheriff finished with a definite note of defiance in his voice, "there did not appear to be a need to disturb them about something like this." Amy bristled again; "something like this" was the murder of several young women…and the Sheriff did not see it as a problem. She was about to let him know exactly what she thought when Pendergast intervened.

"I see Sheriff," Pendergast's unperturbed voice was a soft purr. "Thank you very much. I believe we understand. We will not take anymore of your time. Thank you." He took Amy's arm and maneuvered her to the door. "Thank you very much."

"What the hell was that all about," Amy turned on Pendergast as soon as they had reached the car. "Is the man delusional or does he really believe that…that…,"

"No, Ameline," Pendergast's voice was now cold with his own fury, "not entirely. I am certain that he does think the women were casualties of an unfortunate encounter; he lacks any imagination to identity any further possibility, however his reticence in questioning the so-called suspects, is purely political."

Amy was still seething and her eyes were hard as she regarded the older agent,"For God's sake, Aloysius, can you please just say what you mean. You had said that the Sheriff was a good man to know – I only see a blind old fool."

"This is New Orleans, Ameline," Pendergast said, his voice still hard, but softening just slightly as he looked at her, "you of all people should understand that. The Sheriff is an elected official and those that elect him are very wealthy and influential. Since those young women were neither, he has very little interest in them. On the other hand, the…," he paused, as if looking for the right word, "…gentlemen," she heard the contempt in his voice, "have fathers who are wealthy, influential and large contributors to the Sheriff's reelection campaign. When I said that he was a good man to know, I meant that we ignore him at our peril."

"So what are we going to do now," Ameline bit her words.

She heard the dry amusement in Pendergast's voice, "Why… we go question the Honorable Brothers of Sigma Theta Omega.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. To my knowledge there is no Sigma Theta Omega Fraternity at Tulane or elsewhere. No offense meant to the New Orleans Sheriff either, although I like him kind of smarmy for the story. I hope you are enjoying this. Please let me know what you think. And thank you for taking the time to read and review.