smile. “Why would you think I’m too tired?”
“Because you ordered a triple-shot latte.”
And because she looked tired. But Joel didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing that.
“I’m fine.”
As he got in the Jeep, she stowed her giant beverage and checked her reflection in the mirror.
“Okay, so I look like crap. I know. I was up all night,” she said.
“Working on this?”
“Yeah.”
He wondered if there was more going on with her. She seemed stressed-out. Edgy. He was, too, but as lead detective it went with the territory.
Miranda pulled out of the parking lot and merged into downtown traffic. She’d gone above and beyond to help him with this investigation, and he should probably feel guilty for using so much of her time. But he didn’t. He needed her. The clock was ticking on the most challenging case of his career, and Joel wanted all the help he could get. Miranda was sharp and thorough, and she’d managed to spot critical clues that other CSIs would have overlooked. She was an asset.
Not to mention—if he was honest with himself—he really liked spending time with her. He liked her insights and her opinions. He liked her, and it wasn’t just about work.
“Thanks for introducing me to Conner,” he said. “It was a good idea to consult him.”
She cut a glance at him. “Are you glad we came in person? By the time we get back, this will have burned a whole day.”
“It was worth it,” he said. “We have a new lead. I’m not sure how it fits, but it feels significant.”
“Alpha Omega Now, you mean.”
“Yeah. It’s a connection we didn’t have before. It gives us an idea of why our two victims were on the island when they were killed. They weren’t just tourists. Still . . .”
“What?”
“The whole thing raises more questions than answers.”
“Well, the link to this group might explain the feathers at the crime scene,” she said. “Maybe the feathers are some kind of message about the destruction of fragile ecosystems or the loss of endangered species.”
“An ideological killer. Just what I didn’t want to learn today.” Joel raked his hand through his hair.
“Why?”
“That would mean our case isn’t a one-off.” He shook his head. “A person like that is trying to rid the world of some evil by killing people. For example, the Unabomber, Eric Rudolph, killers like that.”
“So, they’re on a mission.”
“Exactly. In terms of motive, it doesn’t really fit, though,” he said. “When it comes to Randall, yeah, I can see it. But what about Elizabeth Lark and Will Stovak? They were so devoted to their cause that they got matching tattoos of the group’s logo. And Elizabeth used her social media platform to help promote the group to all her followers.”
“What do you know about Randall’s business?” Miranda asked. “I’m wondering how he got permission to carve up all that land on the coast.”
“I’d be willing to bet it was through a wetlands swap program. Companies can sometimes get a permit to develop land in certain areas if they donate land somewhere else.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “What a sham. Wetlands aren’t just interchangeable. If you destroy breeding grounds and disrupt migratory patterns, the long-term impact can be devastating.”
Joel pulled his phone from his pocket and entered some search terms. He wanted to know more about the Corpus Christi victim.
Miranda sipped her coffee and then offered him the cup. “Want some?”
“I’m good.
He didn’t need a caffeine fix. He was already wired from the barrage of new clues flooding his brain.
“Are you reading about Randall?” she asked.
“And about Randall Enterprises, LLC. I need to find out whether his company had any run-ins with this protest group.”
What he really needed to do was call up Corpus PD and see if their detectives had pursued this angle, either before or after Henry Lind’s retirement. An Internet search was one thing, but really exploring this lead would require digging deep. Had Randall’s company faced threats or protests or possibly litigation at any point?
Joel scrolled through search results until a headline snagged his attention.
“Bingo.”
Miranda looked at him. “What?”
“‘Flash Mob Protests New Development in Rockport,’” he recited.
“That’s, like, fifty miles up the coast.”
“Yep. And looks like it’s one of Randall’s projects.”
“What’s the date on the article?”
Joel scrolled to the top. “Almost two years ago.”
“So, that means almost one year before Randall was murdered on his boat dock.”
Joel read the full article, filing away names and dates. He needed to follow up on this, and it wasn’t going to be easy to do it from