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"Because this role has one big flaw–from the point of view of the killer, of course. It's available only several days a year. And a serial killer, even the smartest one, is governed not by his reason, but by his needs. He can tell himself a hundred times that it's reasonable to wait till Christmas, but if he gets an urge in July, he will kill in July. Our guy probably has a huge amount of will power... Or maybe he is stimulated by Christmas attributes. Anyway, well done, trainee! Damn, I should have thought of it myself earlier! But I guess in my childhood I was brainwashed by tales about good Santa... So, if you are right, that sample studied in the lab now is not a real hair, but a synthetic fiber."

"Yes. So it won't be too useful to us. At the best we will define the fiber's manufacturer, but it probably can be bought for different purposes nationwide..."

"Then let's return to the initial problem: where he is now. Your assumptions, trainee?"

Rockston understood that his professionalism was being checked again. He stood up and approached a blackboard where a map of New England was pinned.

"There were no new disappearances in Greenwood. Local police and teachers have already phoned around all parents who have white children of the suitable age. That means he's left the city. Theoretically, in two days he could reach any place in the country and even in the world. But in practice he is obviously limited, as before, to those areas where snow lies. He could reach an airport, but flights are canceled too often now because of snow. As he has only one week per year to indulge himself, he won't risk spending it in a waiting room. I can assume also that he in general avoids flying, so that his name wouldn't be on passenger lists. So... he travels by car. We can be certain that it's an off-road vehicle, but even a SUV can't go fast in this weather. We know that the son of a bitch is very careful and, probably, won't drive unsafely without an extreme need. That means, he hardly does more than twenty miles per hour on average, and mostly in day
light. It gives him about eight hours per day. In total, a maximum of 320 miles for two days. In the east he is limited by the ocean, in the south–by thaw. He is still somewhere here," John traced an oval with his finger on the map.

"That's right," Douglas frowned, "in any of dozens of towns in this area. And we can't ask for a stop and search of all Santa Clauses there. We have no proof, so we have no probable cause. Besides, we would become whipping boys as the idiots who emotionally traumatized children. Remember the teacher who was fired after he told his class that Santa Claus didn't exist? We're living in strange times, John. Once this country was the land of the free and the home of the brave. And now it is the land of lawyers suing for emotional trauma, defamation, and discrim
ination. Sometimes I don't understand who won the Cold War. If we won, what happened to our freedom of speech? Why we are afraid to call things by their proper names..."

The phone rang. Douglas took the call. What he heard ap
parently pleased him more than the previous topic.

"Looks like, John, you were right in substance, but mis
taken in details," he said, having finished the conversation. "It is not synthetic. It is a human hair, from a beard or moustaches. And it was dyed. The original color is dark, but not black."

"That means... he has a real beard!" Rockston exclaimed. "Perhaps this bastard thinks he's a real Santa Claus."

"Do you understand the importance of this news, John?"

"Certainly, sir. Nowadays, there aren't a lot of men with Santa-shaped beards, either dark or not. And it's impossible to grow a beard in one day. So, many people know his bearded ap
pearance, and he probably even has it on his photo IDs... Since he isn't gray-haired, how old is he?"

"About forty five. It's surprising that he started to kill only two years ago... If, of course, we have found all his victims. How
ever, these bastards don't always start killing at a young age. Or maybe fantasies and pornography were enough for him before. We also know now that he is white, though that's not surprising. Even nowadays black Santas are still exotic. Most likely, he doesn't smoke and generally lives a rather healthy lifestyle... apart from his main hobby, of course."

"He isn't an actor," John reflected aloud, "I thought that he could be an actor, but an actor can't have a real beard..."

"I thought through one hypothesis," Douglas replied. "Even before your idea about Santa–which, by the way, isn't yet proved, though it is hard to think why else someone would dye a beard white. So, anyway, I tried to understand why he never had any failures. And I came to the conclusion that he understands children's psychology very well. So well that he knows a child literally at a glance, even before communicating with the kid. So, most likely, he's an experienced professional–either a child psychologist or some other occupation that deals with children, for example, a teacher... The first step, trainee?"

"To check all people of corresponding professions who were targeted in the investigation of sexual misconduct towards children. Including those acquitted and never come to trial."

"Correct. It made a rather long list, but all of them happened to have alibis. Obviously, our bastard is too careful to leave witnesses and victims alive. But since he is a professional, we can look for traces of his professional work. For a teacher it is more difficult, but he's not a teacher; he starts hunting prior to the beginning of Christmas vacation. But if we assume that his job is closer to a science, then what?"

"We can look for publications in scientific journals! On the topic of problem families, or conflicts in a school setting, or violence against children."

"Bravo, John. However, there are too many such publications. There may be even more psychologists, psychiatrists and psychoanalysts in this country than lawyers... Still, we have checked up on some of them, carefully, since we lack probable cause. Nothing remarkable was found. On the other hand, there are no guarantees that he really has published works..."

"And that he is a psychologist at all. If he simply puts on Santa's costume..."

"And here you're wrong, John. One doesn't exclude another. A five-year-old kid can be deceived by any guy with a white beard and in a red jacket. But the Snowman works with older children. And among these youngsters, not all will agree to follow a stranger if he doesn't impress them... Perhaps, the real beard plays a considerable role here–but it isn't the only factor."

"Perhaps. So, we should look for journal authors who have a big beard and are between forty and fifty years of age. As you worked on this already, I believe, you identified some authors?"

"Yes, but, as I've said, there are too many of them. But now, knowing about the beard and age, we can narrow our search."

"I would offer additional criteria, sir. Most likely, he writes articles alone, instead of co-authorship. And, possibly, he was born in a northern state. Perverts, of course, happen to be rather odd, but it seems doubtful to me that a heat-loving south
erner would enjoy sex in freezing temperatures. Also, there is an off-road vehicle registered on his name... He, of course, can rent cars, but he prefers to use his own in order not to show himself in rental offices."

"Well, in these parts almost everyone owns off-road vehicles... But as a whole your ideas sounds reasonable. Sit down at the computer, John. Let's see how they teach you to work with information nowadays."

The third thing which Gregory Prime hated was lies.

In the beginning of his life he simply couldn't imagine that such a thing as a lie might exist. The idea that it is possible to say something that is not true seemed so absurd to him that it didn't deserve consideration at all. Indeed, why then speak at all? In adult terms, his conceptualization of that time would sound like this: a conversation is the purposeful exchange of information, so any corruption of the information contradicts the very essence of a conversation. Later, about an age of three, he found out that the lie nevertheless does exist and immediately he felt a deep contempt for it. For this reason, he hated fairy tales since they were just a pack of lies.

Both Greg's parents had higher technical education (his father was an engineer in a power company and his mother was a chemist in a pharmaceutical laboratory) and were atheists who ad
hered to materialism. At the age of three, the boy already knew the structure of the atom, what positive and negative particles were, and what a water molecule consisted of. And, certainly, he knew that no wizards and witches actually existed. The single attempt to intimidate Greg when he was mischievous, by saying that an evil sorcerer would take him away, caused so furious a reaction of horror that Mrs. Prime renounced forever using such methods. She apologized to the boy, repeating that it was a silly joke and there were, of course, no sorcerers at all.

When other children of his age tried to involve Greg in playing out some fairy tale plots (they, seemingly, actually be
lieved in magic), he looked at them disdainfully, as at ignorant savages. At first he generously tried to explain the truth to them, but they, apparently, were too stupid to accept the education. Later, when he was four, Gregory understood that not true is not always a lie. It can also be an honest fiction, and fairy tales belong to this category. Then he began to read them, even with pleasure, perceiving them the way adults do: as entertaining stories which, however, don't have and can't have anything in common with reality. However, he preferred science fiction, for its scientific character.

But, recognizing the right to fiction in literature, Greg was still sure that in real life only the truth should be told. And espe
cially that the truth and only the truth is told by his parents. People around him disappointed him more and more often–condemning lies verbally, they told lies all the time. Religion was one of the most unpleasant forms of lie–fairy tales, including terrifying stories about the omnipotent absolute tyrant, were straight-faced passed off as the truth. But, of course, Greg's parents explained to the scared boy that no god actually existed and that Christian beliefs were in no way better than Ancient Greek myths about Zeus who threw lightning bolts from Olympus. No religious dogmas have scientific confirmation; on the contrary, science found more than enough refutations of them. However, Mrs. Prime also had added that Greg should respect the feelings of believers and not say to them that they value stupid fairy tales. But the boy couldn't agree with her in any way: why he should respect another's stupidity and lie? Then Mr. Prime came up with a more compelling argument: "You see, Greg, not all of them can be persuaded; they just will not listen. So it is useless even to try–you'll only make them angry, but will not be able to set things right." The boy already knew this from his own experience and had to agree.

Yes, anyone else might lie, but his parents always told him the truth. And, consequently, Greg didn't even think to doubt their word about Santa Claus.

What they said about Santa Claus came, of course, from the very best motives. It never entered the heads of Mr. and Mrs. Prime to what long-term horror they doomed their son–the horror of the committed materialist who learns from an absolutely authentic, in his opinion, source about the real existence of a magic being.

Greg did not give a damn that this being was kind and gave gifts! It destroyed the whole scientific picture of the world! He desperately tried to save the situation, grasping at any rational explanation for this undead creature. Maybe Santa Claus is actu
ally an extraterrestrial? In science fiction, aliens could do much more than humans and all that is thanks to their science. But aliens travel on spaceships, not on reindeer. And besides, if Santa is an alien, why isn't NASA interested in him? If he is some unexamined natural phenomenon, why don't scientists explore him?

Gregory shared these hypotheses with his parents, but they still didn't understand and only laughed at the scientific meticu
lousness of their son. Mrs. Prime with a smile told Greg that science didn't explore magic. Greg was ready to assume... no, not that parents lied him–he still couldn't even think about that. But maybe they, so clever and educated, nevertheless fell into deception themselves?

But alas–unlike god whom nobody ever saw, the existence of Santa Claus was confirmed by facts and independent authorit
ative sources. Beginning with the gifts which weren't under the Christmas tree in the evening, when the house doors were locked from within and the alarm system was activated, but which appeared there in a mystical way in the morning. And the unknown being not only inexplicably got into the house, but also guessed right every time what exactly Greg wanted to receive! The gifts, however, pleased the boy–unlike the thought about the one who had brought them... Greg, of course, understood that those dudes in red suits with false beards in a supermarket or a school performance at Christmastime were only disguised human beings. Officially they were called assistants of Santa Claus–well, this proved nothing, as priests are called attendants of god, too. But the real Santa Claus was also shown time and again on TV; he had a house in Lapland, and it was possible to write a letter there and even to receive an answer. Greg hadn't written, but saw with his own eyes such an answer which one of his schoolmates bragged about.

And if it were only broadcasts for children! Greg under
stood that in such programs everything could be shown. But quite serious, adult newscasts reported that Santa Claus had taken off from Lapland! The permission for his sleigh to fly over U.S. territory was issued by the Federal Aviation Administration! Its movement through airspace was traced by NORAD! And NORAD, gentlemen–it is very serious. Even more serious than the civil aviation agency. It is the North American Aerospace Defense Command, those guys who sit in the superstrengthened bunker deep under the Rocky Mountains and watch for Russian or Chinese nuclear missiles launched towards America–and, in this worst case, will strike back in time. From such people, one doesn't expect kidding! And nevertheless–Greg saw himself in the news how on their radar, the very same radar which separates peace from nuclear war, crawled a mark with the inscription "Santa"!