IT WAS A window of opportunity.

 

That’s all.

 

On the battlefield Puller had always referred to that as “the edge.” If he and

his unit could hit the edge at precisely the right time they could accomplish

their mission. Not necessarily survive. The principal goal was executing the

mission. Survival was a close second, but still second. That’s why they called

it combat.

 

Puller had left northern Virginia very late, and now it was less than two hours

before dawn would break. He should have been asleep long ago, but sleep was the

furthest thought from his mind.

 

He was ten minutes outside of Williamsburg. In the trunk of his Malibu was his

big investigation duffel. Inside it was everything he needed to perform a

professional and thorough examination of any crime scene. His only problem was

that after thirty years there was no crime scene left to investigate.

 

But that wasn’t necessarily true. Hence the trip to Williamsburg.

 

He reached the city limits, pulled off the road, and consulted a list with four

names and locations on it. These were the names of the dead women and the spots

where their bodies had been found.