The Third to Die

by Allison Brennan

You can come back. Come back when he least expects it. Kill Maddox and his entire family. Like your family is dead; take his. Be patient!

  He knew he should wait, but he didn’t know how long he could live in the shadows. He would be running, running, running... He didn’t want to run. He didn’t want them to know his name! That ruined everything.

  But one thing was clear. He couldn’t stay here. If they had the car, it was just a matter of time before they found his rental house.

  He needed another car. Another place to stay.

  He smiled as he realized fate would save him. He had checked into the hotel spontaneously Saturday night, mostly because he didn’t want to seem suspicious. But now? Now it would be to his advantage. No one was at the hotel because they were all looking for him. And he had the card key, so he could slip in through the side door and no one would see him. It was risky driving out now that they were looking for his primary car, but he had a backup. He just had to get to it, and taking his Camry was a no-go. Time—it would just take a little time. Then he’d park someplace near the hotel, but not at the hotel. In case they tracked his second car. Walk in through the back and wait.

  He was smarter than the police. He would have a couple days to figure out exactly how to kill Brian Maddox.

  And if he got a chance to take out that blonde fed who screwed everything up, all the better.

  47

  Liberty Lake

  11:40 a.m.

  When a cop was dead, it was amazing how fast the damn warrants started coming in.

  Matt stayed at the crime scene long enough to meet with Jim Esteban. He pulled him aside. “You’re in charge. I want everything, I mean everything. Any resources, any people, you have them. I’m leaving the Seattle agents here to back you up. I already have Packard on board, and we have all the people we need.”

  Jim nodded solemnly. “I haven’t gone through the house in detail, but I can tell you he didn’t use gloves. There are bloody fucking prints all over the place. And if that blood in the street that the first responders had sense enough to cover before it was buried in this snow is the killer’s blood, we’ll nail him.”

  “I’m not concerned about identifying him. We have his image, we have Quinn’s eyewitness testimony that he hit the kid, and we have Andy’s last call into dispatch about the Camry spotted on this block.”

  “Still need a conviction, unless SPD gets itchy trigger fingers.”

  Matt didn’t want Glen Hamilton dead. Well—he wanted him dead, but he wanted a trial first. He wanted to do this the right way. Find him, arrest him, prosecute him, execute him. The evidence was slowly but surely being collected, and they would have more than enough for a conviction.

  Now they just had to find him before anyone else got hurt.

  Matt glanced at his phone. “Shit. Andy’s girlfriend is at the station. Dunn went to do the notification, but she’d already heard a cop was injured. I need to talk to her.”

  “You need to find this bastard.”

  “We got all the warrants we wanted, but we don’t know where he is. Ryder is working with headquarters on getting his phone, bank, and credit records, which could be a huge win for us. He has to be staying somewhere in the Spokane Valley. But it’s going to take a couple hours.”

  “Andy was a good cop. Tell her that.”

  “Andy was a small town cop. He wasn’t supposed to be murdered.”

  Matt found Michael Harris putting Peter Richmond’s family into a police car and sending them off. “We’re taking them to her sister’s house in Coeur d’Alene for now,” Michael said. “I have their contact information, but they’re not going to be able to get into the house for a while.”

  “Thanks.” For the last hour the family had been at the next-door neighbor’s house, but getting them out of town for a couple of days was smart. Not so much for their safety—Matt didn’t think Hamilton would go after them again—but to ease the shock. “Anything from the canvass?”

  “One witness. A neighbor kitty-corner,” Michael gestured to a small, older brick home across the street, “said she’d seen a dark gray sedan in the neighborhood several times over the last few weeks.”

  “It’s a common car.”

  “She’s a Mrs. Kravitz.”

  It took Matt a minute to understand what Michael meant. He wasn’t in the mood for pop culture references. “You mean she keeps an eye on the neighborhood and knows everything that goes on. Gotcha.”

  “Yeah. She didn’t recognize Hamilton’s picture or the sketch, but the car stood out to her because twice it parked at that corner and the driver didn’t get out. She almost called the police the second time because she thought it was odd, but then he drove away. She said he was a youngish man, but couldn’t identify him.”

  “Did she see it today?”

  Michael nodded. “She came out at eight-thirty this morning to bring in her flowers because of the storm, and said the car wasn’t there. But she didn’t look out again until she heard the gunshot. She then saw a man—she again couldn’t identify him, and he was wearing a dark jacket—running to the car. He was holding his left arm. He drove down Vine—past the house—and turned right.”

  “Which is toward the freeway?”

  “Yes, though there’s also a frontage road that goes almost all the way to Spokane. He might not have used the highway.”

  “And in this weather and poor visibility, we might not even notice him. But that’s good—and confirms that Andy did in fact hit him. If he’s hurting, he may not be rational.”

  “This carnage isn’t rational,” Michael said.

  “To Hamilton it is. A strange family is living in his house. He wanted his house back, my guess, and was willing to kill whoever was there. No matter how irrational that might seem.” He came here because he couldn’t kill Maddox this morning. Maddox was alive, but Andy and an innocent man had died instead.

  Matt hated this case.

  They walked to the SPD truck and climbed in. Matt told the officer to take them to Liberty Lake PD. He would have to talk to Andy’s girlfriend and offer condolences, but he wouldn’t stay long. As soon as Ryder had the information from the warrants, they would find Glen Hamilton and lock him up for the rest of his miserable life.

  * * *

  Ryder Kim was a miracle worker.

  Less than two hours after Ryder and FBI headquarters executed the warrants on Glen Hamilton’s employer, bank, phone company, and credit companies, they found a company that Glen Hamilton owned through the registration records of the Camry. Ryder said he thought it was a company on paper only—a shell corp. But the public information on that company gave them enough information to track Hamilton down to a house in Spokane, Washington, which he had rented under the same name as the corporation that owned the Camry.

  The house was a small, one-story bungalow near the university on a wide lot with a small garage. A lot of privacy, and because it was close to the college, neighbors wouldn’t think twice about a new person or car in the neighborhood. Smart on Hamilton’s part. He was young enough to blend in, could easily pass as a college student.

  The snow continued to fall steadily. The squall was fast becoming a blizzard, and the locals who knew more about storms than Matt told him by dark it would be a mess. Already visibility was next to nothing and the roads were seriously hazardous. It wasn’t the amount of snow—they only expected two feet—but it was the wind and ice that was creating the bulk of the problems. Power outages had been reported in several neighborhoods.

  Matt wasn’t taking any chances, so had asked for a SWAT backup. He didn’t want to get in a car chase in this weather and put more civilians at risk. Andy had been dead for three hours; Hamilton could be almost anywhere by now, or he could be holed up in this house waiting for the cops to extract him. They’d alerted every airport and border officials—Canada was a hop, skip, and jump from Spokan
e. If Hamilton was smart, he would have an exit plan that would take him into Canada, because they wouldn’t extradite on a capital offense. The US government would then negotiate on a life in prison charge, which was fine with Matt as long as Hamilton was under lock and key. But all that was above Matt’s pay grade. He didn’t want it to get that far; he wanted to find him now. In the US. Where he could be prosecuted for multiple homicides.

  As soon as the SWAT team arrived, Matt told them to clear the house. He itched to be part of the team, but he had to let those trained do their job. He had been a SWAT team leader in Arizona, up until he received his own office in Tucson, but that had been years ago. Sometimes, he missed it. By the look on Michael’s face as they waited in the tactical truck, watching the operation through a body camera attached to the team leader, he missed it, too.

  It was immediately clear that Hamilton wasn’t there.

  A secondary team of two searched the garage. The Camry was inside; Hamilton was not.

  “Where the fuck is he?” Matt asked rhetorically. He called Ryder. “I need everything on Hamilton—he’s in the wind. Search far and wide under his name and the corporation for a second car. Find out if he has more than one shell corp. Also contact SPD and see if there are any cars reported stolen in this neighborhood. Do you have his credit reports? Anything pop?”

  “Yes, but as we’re going through them I’m certain he has more than one corporation. I’ve reached out to the white collar team to help navigate a series of shell corporations because we don’t have all his financials yet. This guy is smart, at least on paper. The corporation that leased the Camry also leased the house. But that corporation is tied to several others through layers of paperwork. Weeding through it is going to take time, plus we have to expand the warrant to get those records because we have to name the corporations individually. Once we have them, we may need additional records. It just depends how far he extended this out.”

  “Faster is better,” Matt said. “Good work,” he added before he ended the call.

  The SWAT team leader told Matt that the house was clear—Hamilton wasn’t there, and there were no booby traps. “Keep a perimeter in case he’s watching,” Matt said, and slipped on latex gloves. “I need to find out where he’s hiding. And if you can conduct the canvass, show his picture around? Someone must have seen something.”

  “You got it,” the team leader said, and gave orders to his men.

  Matt and Michael walked through the house themselves. It was an older home and had once been attractive—a lot of detail work including crown moldings, wainscoting, and hardwood floors. But the paint was dull and tinged gray, the heavy drapery so outdated it was almost in style again, and throw carpets were worn and stained. It had been a rental for a long time and had certainly seen better days.

  The smaller bedroom had a double bed, where Hamilton had been sleeping. Clothes were strewn in the corner, the bed was unmade. The bathroom reeked—Hamilton had been there, taken off his bloody clothes and showered. A first aid kit was spread out on the counter. The clothes were still on the floor in a pile, blood from both his gunshot wound and his victims seeping into the bathroom rugs.

  They needed someone to process the house, and Matt wasn’t going to pull Jim or Miles Jordan from the crime scene in Liberty Lake. SPD would have to send another team here.

  The larger bedroom in the back of the house was clearly used as Hamilton’s office. Matt flipped on the light switch.

  “Well, shit,” Michael said.

  The room was empty of furniture except for a small desk and color printer. The walls were covered with photos of his two recent victims and Brian Maddox. A large wall calendar mapped out their routines, neat and color-coded. Victoria Manners was in red, Jeffrey Ogdenburg was in green, Maddox in blue. A map of the region had been tacked up on another wall. He’d highlighted different routes. Matt stepped closer and tilted his head.

  “He had an escape plan this morning. Look—he has different routes marked from Maddox’s house, plus routes from the Richmond house. He has six different routes from here. This guy wasn’t leaving anything to chance.”

  “But everything is local,” Michael pointed out. “There’s no route to the airport, for example, and this map doesn’t even show Canada.”

  “Good point. He was here, left—without his car. I think he has another one. Maybe stole one, so we need to check the reports hourly. Must not have been wounded too badly. He didn’t take his pictures and maps, but he took his computer.” Matt put his hand on the desk where a computer most likely had been sitting until recently. “See—cords going to the printer would have hooked up to a laptop. He grabbed what he needed and bolted.”

  “He could be watching.”

  “I told SWAT to be aware, but I still think he has another hidey-hole. Maybe another lease under a different name.”

  “A guy like this,” Michael said, “who has so many backup plans around all his targets, is going to have a second car as well as an alternative hiding spot.”

  “Did you reach out to the aunt?”

  Michael nodded. “She doesn’t believe Glen could hurt anyone, but she sounded cooperative and said she’d call if he contacted her. I also talked to the Kennewick PD and they have a patrol sitting on her house.”

  “Good.”

  Matt studied the pictures mounted on the wall, snapping his own pictures so he could study them more carefully and send them to Catherine.

  Everything was attached to the wall in a neat and orderly fashion. Sticky notes gave minimal information; some were only a word that made no sense to Matt, but would to Hamilton. Pictures of the victims going about their daily routine. Notes of deviations. Of Maddox. Family. A note that indicated wife worked from home. The kids’ schedules. A chart that indicated what time Brian left for work every day.

  6:37: warm car; 6:48: leaves.

  6:29: warm car; 6:38: leaves.

  And a photo of Kara and Brian at the hotel, in the lobby, as Brian was leaving.

  “Kara was right,” Matt said.

  “About?”

  “Hamilton was at the hotel.” He tapped the picture. “He thinks Detective Quinn is one of ours.”

  The note read: Blonde with FBI

  “Because he’s been here for weeks stalking Maddox and hadn’t seen her until we came into town,” Michael said.

  “He’s been watching us. Here’s you—me—nothing on Ryder. The kid doesn’t look like a fed—he might not tip him off. He assumed Kara was with us because she went up to the war room after having drinks with Brian. Shit—he does have Ryder.” There was one picture of Ryder in the lobby talking to the clerk. A note underneath read:

  Likely FBI.

  He had photos of Andy, Andy and Kara, and one of Matt and Michael coming out of the hospital after they picked up the boxes of lawsuits from the administration. Matt hadn’t seriously thought that Hamilton would go after his people. His target was Maddox; now that his plan had been shot to hell, he could go after anyone because he knew who everyone was.

  “We have a patrol at the hotel,” Michael reminded him.

  “But it’s a public place, and we know that this guy can disguise himself. He’s nondescript as it is. It would be easy for him to make some minor changes and someone might not recognize him at first glance. And there are four entrances to the hotel. If he steals a card key—he may already have done it—he can get in through any of them, and two are open from 6:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. without a key.”

  Matt called Ryder.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do not leave the room. Do not open the door to anyone until I can send backup.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hamilton knows everyone on the team. The only person he doesn’t have a picture of is Jim Esteban, but Jim has been spending most of his time at the lab. He has you, Quinn, Michael, me. Maddox and Andy Knol
ls and any cop who has been with them over the last week.”

  “I’m good, sir.”

  “You’re an analyst.”

  “I’m authorized to carry a sidearm, I won’t leave it behind.”

  “Glad you’re calm. But stay put.”

  Matt hung up.

  “You don’t think he’ll go after Ryder in the hotel.”

  “I think that’s down low on his list, but I’m not going to leave my people unprotected.”

  “What about Quinn?”

  “As far as this case, she’s one of ours because Hamilton thinks she’s one of ours. She’s good right now because she’s at SPD with Maddox. And...” Matt narrowed his eyes at another photo. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s Quinn’s grandmother’s house. He knows where she lives.”

  First thing Matt did was call Maddox. “Brian, it’s Costa. We have a potential situation.” He told him they found Hamilton’s house. He was in the wind, but they had evidence that Hamilton had stalked everyone involved in the investigation. “He followed Kara home.” Or, he may have followed Matt to Kara’s house on Sunday. “He has a photo of her house. I know every cop wants to be searching for Andy’s killer, but we need a pair on Emily Dorsey.”

  “Agreed. I’ll make it happen. But Kara isn’t going to stay here if her grandmother could be in danger, and I’m not keeping that information from her.”

  “I know. Make sure she has backup. Does she know about Andy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?

  “She doesn’t want to be here, that’s for sure.”

  “Do not leave the station until we bring in a detail to take you to the hotel, and that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.”

  “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

  Matt ended the call. He wanted to call Kara himself, but he trusted Maddox to relay the information. Still... He should have called after he learned about Andy. There’s just so much he had to do right now that he couldn’t take five minutes to make sure his team was emotionally okay.