investigation was the “Resources” route. Most fugitives, Pops knew, went straight to their network of resources for funding or shelter when they were being pursued by police. But Regan had no living relatives, and no one at the apartment building where he had lived after his release had been able to recall seeing a single other person in the man’s company. He had no social-media accounts, no email, no registered phone. No waitresses, bartenders, bus drivers, or shopkeepers near his home recalled him when shown pictures and questioned. He was a shadow man. In the time he had been free from prison, Pops couldn’t account for Regan doing anything other than setting upon his plan to frame Sam Blue, and for that he had scarce evidence.
Regan is alone, Pops thought, looking at the photograph, at the black, empty eyes hardly reflecting the camera’s light. But does he avoid people, or do people avoid him?
A longer arm of the diagram read “Past,” but there were no leads there, either. No foster parents or siblings had seen or heard from Regan since his childhood. There had been no unexpected visits, calls, threats, or pleas, and the parents and families of his victims, like Diane Howes, had heard nothing.
Thinking of Diane led Pops’s attention to the last arm of the diagram, the one that read “First Kill.” Pops’s eyes wandered over the Georges River Killer’s victims. They had all been so like Doctor Howes. Regan had a type. Ambitious, beautiful brunettes. Wide-eyed, happy women, thriving, full of potential.
Was Rachel Howes indeed where it all started for Regan? Would he return to that place, the way it seemed he had with the Georges River, trying to connect to a moment lost or undo a terrible decision made? Killing Rachel Howes had been a pivotal moment for Regan, after all. It seemed that she had been the one to inspire his type.
Pops tapped his lip with a stubby finger, ignoring a group of young officers bashing the vending machine, trying to free a trapped can of Coke.
The “First Kill” arm of the diagram was right next to the “Family” section, which lay empty.
Pops looked at the two lines and took his phone out of his pocket.
Chapter 55
THE RECOGNITION WAS immediate. The tall, broad-shouldered ghoul from my nightmares, the hooded face that stalked my every move, leaving a trail of victims behind him. Rachel Howes, his first victim. Marissa Haydon, Elle Ramone, Rosetta Poelar, the Georges River girls. I was too late. Melina Tredwell would be Regan’s next kill. I ducked behind the low wall and watched as Regan paused at the corner of the house, seeming to look right at me through the dim blue light of impending night. He patted his pockets, as though he had forgotten something, and turned back the way he had come.
For the first time, I had to force myself to move. Terror had immobilized me. It would be so easy to stay where I was, call the police, let someone else rush into the danger. But in a moment I was up and following, my gun at my side.
I lifted the barrel and pointed it at the man as he reached for an open window at the side of the house. My thumb had already raked back the hammer of the pistol as the words spewed forth from my lips.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
My voice struck him like electricity. He jolted at each one, head bent, hands frozen in the air.
Even with him paused there before me, his broad back only centimeters away, my thoughts were racing. What was I doing? I’d come here to kill him, not arrest him.
I realized the hand that held my weapon was shaking. I drew a deep breath and put the barrel of the gun against the back of his skull.
Chapter 56
“HARRY?” SOMEONE CALLED.
Her voice barely penetrated the ringing in my ears. The boy in front of me was cowering, turned as much toward me as he would dare, one wide eye peering over his shoulder at my gun. I was aware suddenly of movement beyond the teenage boy under my gun, toward the front of the house. Melina Tredwell, older than I remembered, hugging a coat around her. The teenage boy bent and sank to the ground. I realized the ringing sound was his pitiful whimpering, along with the panicked screaming of a teenage girl just inside the window to my left.
“Harry!” Melina had been running toward me, and now she slowed, her palms