murder rate for the year just doubled. “Sweet Jesus, there’s a lot of blood.” He’s the younger of the pair, and he looks pallid and sweaty.
“Go on outside,” I tell him. “Radio for the coroner’s office and get forensics moving. Better advise the sheriff’s office and TBI, too—we don’t need some jurisdiction bullshit right now.”
He nods and walks out. Grateful for the chance to be out of here. I don’t blame him; the rank smell of old blood hangs heavy.
“Stay here,” I tell the other officer. I go to the other end of the house—the side the officers checked—and find a home office with a cheap desk loaded with computer equipment. There’s a separate monitor for the surveillance system. I’ll need a warrant to seize the stuff, but if they have a hard drive saving the recording, then we’re in business.
But I look down and realize that though the display is still showing a live feed, there are dangling wires beneath it.
The killer took the evidence.
I’m on the phone to Sergeant Porter as I walk back out to stand guard over the dead woman to tell him I’m going to need a warrant that covers cloud storage of data, too, just in case.
But our killer would have thought of that too. Maybe he forced one of those two dead people to give him access so he could scrub his dirty fingerprints, just like he probably has in this house.
I can’t help but feel a little tingle of unease. Nobody was following me and Gwen out here, I’d stake my life on that. We’d have noticed a car tracing us. So how the hell did anyone know we’d been here at all?
I can feel invisible eyes on me, though. Watching.
And I shiver.
11
GWEN
The morning starts early. I don’t know what wakes me, just that it brings me instantly awake; I listen, and I hear nothing. It’s still dark and, as far as I can tell, peaceful.
I get up anyway to wander the house like a ghost for the next two hours—putting dishes quietly away, cleaning counters, sweeping floors. Busywork, meant to keep my mind off those damn flyers and the consequences that are most certainly coming for us. When I run out of household tasks, I head to the office, shut the door, and tap into the rushing river of hate that’s always running our direction.
Our new stalker’s been busy. I see him popping up in various troll-friendly hotbeds to leave messages, and when I check, he’s done the expected: he’s posted the wanted poster, complete with our new address. In short order, of course, someone got hold of our home phone number. I’m not terribly concerned; I have a device attached to block unknown numbers, and a one-button block for harassers. So far, no sign of our cell phones being compromised, which is my biggest worry. I do not want these assholes getting to my kids.
He hadn’t signed his earlier work, the initial email, but now he has a handle he’s using. MalusNavis. I make a note of it. That’s striking enough that I’m confident I can track it down.
I take a little while to decompress, and go back to Kez’s case. Sheryl Lansdowne and her shadow identities. Kez doesn’t answer her phone, so I start putting it all into an orderly email document.
Kez calls me back before I finish. It’s a short conversation, but I can hear the stress in her voice. She’s relieved about the new leads I provide, but at the same time, she can’t fail to understand how much this complicates her investigation.
I’ll need to help her however I can. It isn’t like Kez has unlimited resources in Norton, and I’m well aware of the TBI’s jurisdictional supremacy. They won’t want her in their business, and she isn’t going to give it up . . . so I’m in it too.
It occurs to me that I’ve done nobody any favors opening this up as a multistate investigation; the FBI will have their hands on it soon, and that sidelines Kezia even more.
I’m making tea when I hear a door open quietly, and the pad of footsteps coming down the hall. I look up to see Lanny standing there. She’s got on a black Henley tee, Halloween bat-themed pajama pants, and a pair of battered bear-feet slippers that Vee bought for her about the same time Vee’s white yeti slippers made their first proud appearance.
I make her a mug of hot tea, too, and add honey just the