“I think it’s worth noting that the two cases without bodies are the earliest two,” Evie said.
“He got tired of the whole process. Just dump the bodies somewhere they won’t immediately be found, move on,” David guessed. “We talked with Indiana PD at length about Virginia Fawn. They worked that case hard as an active homicide after finding the body. I assume the other two already discovered will have been worked in a similar fashion.”
“Yes,” Taylor replied, “I talked with Ohio on Emily Close, and Theo’s looked at Laura Ship. Forensics haven’t given further answers, so I don’t think we’re going to get a break there. The best hope right now is that when the lists from all five cases get crunched, there’s an overlap that will focus like a laser on someone, open a new line of inquiry.”
David nodded. “Jenna and Tammy are the cases among the five that haven’t been worked as hard. The theory that this guy lives in the Milwaukee area needs pushed hard.”
“We’re in agreement on that,” Sharon said.
“What are the odds we’re wrong on this grouping?” Evie wondered, studying the grid of case detail overlaps and differences. “Tammy’s the only one not attending college. We may have her on the board, and it’s not one of his—though he simply might not have known she wasn’t in college. But maybe Jenna and Tammy are his, and the other three with remains located are someone else’s crime. What do you think? Fifty-fifty we’ve just created a group that is a distraction, unrelated to what happened to Jenna?”
“I lean toward Jenna and someone before Jenna being linked,” Ann finally said into the silence. “I agree she doesn’t feel like a first crime. The three recovered bodies could easily be someone else’s doing. Tammy is an outlier. She disappeared two days after the concert, wasn’t in college, had a history of leaving without word. While your centering this guy in Milwaukee is a high probability, it’s also possible Tammy simply got into trouble after leaving home. You’re as likely to be looking at three separate groupings as you are at one person behind all five.”
Paul leaned forward in his chair. “There’s a Triple M concert connection that wasn’t seen before, and that needs investigation, whether it solves Jenna or not,” he put in. “I’m adding FBI manpower and resources for the three who were smothered, mostly to keep Indiana and Ohio cooperating with each other. Anything you need from my team, just ask. They’ll be your eyes and ears in other states.”
“Good. Thanks, Paul,” Sharon said.
“I’m inclined toward your not telling Maggie about this,” Paul said to David. “Keep it out of the press for as long as possible. If every famous person felt responsible for the crazies that come around, we’d have little good music or art.”
David smiled his agreement. “I do think music is the link, and it’s the link to him. The victims’ paths cross with him because of their mutual interest.”
“Let’s dig there on all five of our possible cases,” Evie proposed. “But we keep coming back to Jenna. She’s going to be the pivot point. She attended a Triple M concert and is missing her driver’s license, so if there is a grouping, she’s in it. Solve hers, we just might sort out which of these other cases are his.”
Sharon nodded. “Good. Evie, you keep your attention on Jenna. If we’re wrong about this connection in some way, we need you to find the right answer for her. David, push on the Triple M connection, as you’ve got the access to the info from Maggie’s world. Paul’s guys can take another look at the forensics from Indiana and Ohio, see if the recovered remains can offer any further clues. I’m guessing I’m within a week to ten days of wrapping up my case,” she added. “Theo and Taylor are even closer with theirs. We’ll join you to provide extra help as we get freed up, on this or on Saul’s disappearance.”
“Thanks. It’s a workable plan,” David said, the group’s nods mirroring his around the room.
Theo and Taylor headed out while Sharon, David, Ann, and Paul set themselves up around Evie’s desk, still kicking around ideas on how to proceed. Evie was getting ready to call it a day, but she found the discussion too fascinating to leave just yet.
“Can we get credit- and gas-card data going back nine years?” Sharon wondered. “If so, I think we can spot this guy by the fact we have five data points. He had to fill up with gas, the distance tells us that. And I doubt he’d make these trips entirely on cash. I also doubt he’s gone to the trouble of getting new cards. We know which highways he likely traveled to get to each concert, the gas stations where he might have stopped, and have basically a seven-day window on either side of these concert dates. It’s a gigantic data set that’s not likely to yield many false-positives—not if we can show a card name was used in Wisconsin eight years ago during a particular week and that name was used in Indiana six years ago during another specific week.”
“I’ll take on that inquiry,” Paul offered, “put a researcher on data we can still get access to and run the correlation.” He made himself a note and shifted his attention to David. “Do we want to do anything further about Maggie’s fan mail? FBI can take a look at the most troubling ones.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” David said. “I can source you the flagged emails quickly, make arrangements for the physical mail of concern to be sent back here from New York.”
Evie offered an observation that had been simmering during the last few hours. “The three bodies discovered were all smothered, no other signs of trauma or particular physical injuries beyond a bruise or two. Just suffocated and the body dumped somewhere not that far away. Does that seem odd to anyone else?”
“It does seem unusual,” David agreed. “Not violent, not sexual. It’s just . . . Shut up. Be quiet. I want you dead.”
Evie nodded. “It’s both personal and rather abrupt, and . . . it feels somehow female to me. I know men smother women, husbands do it to wives, boyfriends to girlfriends. And we’ve got three victims recovered who died that way, which indicates it’s the killer’s preferred method. But was Jenna’s like that, personal and abrupt? I haven’t been thinking that way for a motive with her, and yet it fits. And now I’m back to this not being a stranger crime, but someone who knew Jenna.”
“Candy’s more the type to take a swing at a rival than smother her,” Ann suggested. “But maybe it was someone of that general type, the don’t-like-Jenna crowd.” A pause, then, “Maybe what drew interest to Jenna was the opposite of what we’ve been assuming—it was dislike, rather than like.”
Evie pondered that idea and slowly nodded. “I’ll come back to that later, as it’s a really interesting idea. Jenna was chosen because someone didn’t like her. But for now, I’m wondering the opposite. Consider the other extreme. I wonder if Jenna opened the door to a friend that night, a girl who had a fight with a roommate, who says, ‘Can I sleep on your couch tonight?’ And in the middle of the night, upset girl walks into Jenna’s room and smothers her to death.”
“Ouch.”
“A bit of crazy going on, ‘Jenna the girl with a perfect life, and I can’t stand the fact my life is the opposite,’ so kill the perfect one.”
“It would have to be a rather strong girl to carry Jenna down a flight of stairs, to a vehicle, and get rid of her body,” David pointed out. “And you would most likely be looking at Jenna as a single crime, because I don’t see a crazy female driving to different states smothering other women—not doing it in a way that doesn’t get her caught.”
“True. Still,” Evie said, “I’m going to let that idea roll around in my mind for a while.”
David closed the case report he’d been reading. “We need tomorrow off, all of us, to get some actual rest.” Sharon was already nodding. “Come Monday we hit this fresh, correlating lists from the five cases, focusing on Milwaukee and the possibility he lives around there. We’re going to find the guy who did these crimes when we start to push in multiple places. He’s been smart, but the pattern is his weakness.”
“For Maggie’s sake alone, we have to nail th
is down,” Evie agreed. She pushed to her feet. “And on that note, I’m heading out. Thanks again, Ann.” She smiled at Paul. “Nice to have your help today too. David, text me if you think of anything urgent. I’ll plan to bring breakfast Monday morning.”
“Thanks. Night, Evie.”
She took two of the flowers from the vase and headed back to her hotel.
Four and a half hours of sleep was not enough. The phone was ringing into the darkness. With a groan, Evie reached for it, read the caller ID, clicked it on. “Lieutenant Blackwell.” She listened to the state dispatcher, rubbing aching eyes. “Tell him three hours. I’m on my way.”
She punched David’s speed-dial number.
“This can’t be good,” he answered.
She envied his ability to sound fully alert at such an hour. “An arson case with fatalities in Petersburg. I’m now multitasking.”
“Get someone to drive you.”
“Yeah.” She covered a large yawn. “Someone’s been hitting homes this way across the state for the last year. Anything other than this level, I’d be seeing if I could pass it on.”
“We’re going to be doing mostly data analysis for the next few days. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“I’m fine with someone else solving Jenna’s disappearance while I’m on something else. You get a lead, run with it. Catch this guy, David.”
“Done.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Good luck catching your arsonist.”
“He equally needs catching. I’ll be back as soon as practical.”
Evie called highway patrol to catch a lift with another cop heading south, looked around at her things once she was dressed, decided she would be near enough to her own place that she could make a run there to get clothes and a bed, and left her hotel room intact. Her car would be in Ellis while she was in Petersburg, but it couldn’t be helped.
Twenty minutes later, she walked out, turning her attention back to the Illinois State Police Bureau of Investigations position she’d spent a career working to earn.
Thirteen
Evie walked into State Police headquarters after seven hours at the crime scene, talking by cell to the arson investigator still there. “The fact the victims were shot and killed before the fire was set tells me this is a different unsub. Does the fire itself say the same, Cole?” She headed up the stairs to BOI and her office. She wished she could stay downwind of herself—her coat, clothes, and hair reeked of smoke, and her eyes stung from all the ash floating in the air. She needed a shower and eye drops, and as soon as she had the prior case files on their way to the detective heading up this case, she was going home.
“The last five fires were all multiple origin points inside the home,” Cole told her, “done with an accelerant of gasoline and whatever liquor was handy to pour. The fire path was designed to trap residents on the second floor without egress. This one, someone tampered with the water heater’s gas line to fill the basement with natural gas, then dumped what I suspect will be black gunpowder on the staircase carpet and across the kitchen to the back doorway, and lit a match.
“This guy had probably never set a house fire before. He thought about what he wanted to do—overthought it, actually. Brought the gunpowder along, but wasn’t sure how wide to trail it, probably used an ice pick on the gas line. He wanted the fire to destroy evidence of the murders before the firefighters could arrive. He was trying for a fast, explosive fire, but didn’t know how to do that. He mostly scattered debris when the house blew up rather than burning the evidence. He had to have come close to blowing himself up along with the house.”
“Premeditated and targeted—he was after this specific family. That’s what the murders and the fire tell me. He came with a plan.”
“Yeah, a different guy, Evie.”
“Thanks, Cole.”
“You sound relieved.”
She was too tired to pretend she wasn’t. “It at least makes it a local problem rather than mine. You need anything from me as this proceeds, I’ll come back or get on a conference call.”
“I’ll do that, Evie. I’m good for now.”
She turned on lights in her office and dumped her coat on one of the two visitor chairs, slid the phone into her pocket, ignored the contents of the inbox already stacked high. She logged on to the database, found the files she’d promised to send, took thirty minutes to write a summary of the five cases she’d been working, so the detective could quickly get up to speed without having to wade through the thick reports. She was sure her arsonist was different from this guy, but if the situations were reversed, she’d want to make that determination for herself. She gave him everything he might need, pressed the send button.
Logging off the system, she laid her head down on folded arms. She could catnap right here for a couple of hours, then catch a ride home with somebody. It was tempting if she didn’t so desperately need a shower. Her gym bag was in the trunk of her car back in Ellis. Using the gym here meant rummaging through whatever abandoned clothing was in the lost-and-found. She couldn’t fathom putting her current attire back on after finally ridding herself of the smoky smell.
A light tap on the door, a familiar voice. “Welcome back.”
She didn’t bother to lift her head. “Go away.”
A reporter was prowling the building. Commander Frank Foster, the man who led the Illinois State Police, had three sons. Two had become cops, one a reporter. She trusted Michael. He was off-the-record when he visited the building, unless he asked to go on-record. She even liked him, had dated him a time or two. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see him right now. She had to look as bad as she smelled at the moment, and she still had a little vanity left.
“You haven’t been around the office in a while.”
She turned her head on her folded arms toward the man leaning against the doorjamb. She figured it had been two months since she’d last spent five consecutive days in this office. She was constantly surprised to find she hadn’t been relegated to a desk in the bullpen during one of her extended absences. “I haven’t. You looking for someone in particular?”
“Dad’s tied up on a call. This arson isn’t one of yours.”
She should have realized, given the fatalities, he would have been on the scene of the house fire. He’d probably already talked with Cole and the lead investigator. Mike cultivated good sources and used them to write solid news pieces. “No. It doesn’t look like the same guy.”
“I was heading to the cafeteria. There’s a stack of silver dollar pancakes calling your name.”
She gave a faint smile. “Thanks, but I need to get home.”
“In that case, I’ll give you a lift.”
She merely lifted an eyebrow.
“You arrived on scene via the state patrol, and I imagine your car is still in Ellis. Jenna Greenhill is coming along?”
She didn’t bother to be surprised that he’d taken the time to dig out which case she had elected. “It’s been a busy first week for the task force.”
“I can imagine. C’mon.” He reached in his pocket and swung his car keys in the air. “You’ll sleep much better in your own bed.”
He had the habit of mothering her at times when a case went sidewise on her. She’d found it irritating when they’d dated, but now it was more on the endearing side. He was a man who liked to take care of her, not unlike Rob. As much as she’d gone a different direction with their relationship, some core refrains remained.
She went with him. And when she fought sleep within minutes of settling in the passenger seat, she simply closed her eyes and let herself drift off. He knew where she lived, knew where to find the spare key, and her dogs liked him. With Michael she could turn off the world when it was necessary to do so. He knew too much about her job and the cases she was working for her to have continued dating him. But the friendship they still had was authentic and safe. And she was tired in a way that went down to her bones. A safe guy suited her just fine right now.
Evie thought about Michael as she drove a rental north Tuesday morning after cleaning up some urgent items on her desk. Last night he had awakened her in the passenger seat of his car, nudged her through her own front door, shared an enthusiastic hello with her dogs, and left her with a casual but well-meaning good-night. A good man. One she could regret losing, even though she’d been the one to bring the relationship to an end. She’d never figured out how to integrate dating a reporter and being a cop. Their work lives had overlapped in ways she hadn’t been able to deal with—almost worse than if he’d been another cop. She admired him even more for accepting that decision and neither walking out of her life for good, nor trying to bring her back. He’d chosen to remain a friend.
Dating him had taught her something about herself. Michael ran on short deadlines to deliver hard news, his life was always going to be about the case details, and hers was equally driven by the need to solve the real-life puzzle of it and bring justice. They fit together well and yet the very thing that fit them together was the reason it hadn’t worked as a relationship for the long term. She needed a distance from the job. They had tried limiting how much the case conversations were in their personal lives, and for a season that approach had worked. But to not talk about their days left them having voids in what they discussed, and to talk about the days spiraled naturally into trying to help each other out. . . . The reality of that pendulum dynamic swinging from not enough to too much had never found a way to settle in the middle. She’d made a difficult choice, and as a result, a great guy was now a friend rather than her husband. She didn’t regret the decision, but she ached every time she saw Michael, missing those good moments of her dating life with him.
A lot of good men had been in her life over the years, she mused, and Gabriel Thane was another one of those, but one with a different balance—or unbalance—to it. As sheriff of Carin County, Gabriel was mostly a cop doing “protect and serve,” very different from her life as a detective. Gabriel lived in the community, would likely serve it for decades, knew the families, and long after the crime was solved, a victim helped, the offender tried, Gabriel would be using what had happened to try to improve safety in the community. He was a solid guy, a good guy. But she hadn’t opened the door to the relationship that could have been there. She wasn’t a reporter’s wife, and she wasn’t a sheriff’s wife.
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