"There are actually reports of one of his crimes on a local group," she told Connor. "They discussed it and referred to it as 'shocking' and 'unacceptable'. Most people, that is. Others seemed to think that he's just very broken and damaged, and they do refer to that article as the pivotal piece that changed him.”

  “So, they noticed it?” Connor asked.

  “Yes. And they are divided about how they see him, but it doesn't look as if he's done anything else since coming out of jail."

  It was interesting to read the historic chit-chat, Cami realized. Neighborhood groups were definitely a fount of helpful information. As well as unwanted opinions, and several clear instances of defamation that she could see within a minute. People really needed to be more careful online, Cami thought, shaking her head at how misguided society could be when they got in front of a keyboard and had the world, or part of it, as their audience.

  "He might not have had time to do anything else since he’s been out," Connor said.

  "If he'd been planning these crimes in jail?"

  Connor nodded. "I'm the first to say, as an FBI agent, that going to jail is not the solution for everyone.” He gave Cami a sidelong glance, knowing that it had almost been a solution for her.

  “Really?” she asked guardedly.

  “Yes, it's punishment, and it gets criminals out of circulation so they can't be a danger to society. But sometimes, people who've had mild psychological problems and go inside can come out with them worsened. For obvious reasons. If he'd been battling with that before his prison sentence, he might have tipped over the edge afterward."

  "So, he might have been angry and vengeful toward society," Cami said. It was a chilling thought, to be confronted with the fact that someone with a mental health issue might be out there in the world, with only the barest sliver of control over their actions.

  "Or feel compelled to recreate the scene that had affected him psychologically," Connor suggested.

  Cami thought that was a very valid point. Undoubtedly, this was a highly damaged man.

  He could be dangerous. And he could have killed these women, playing out the nightmare that was now lodged in his head, while heading back on a route that took him to the accident scene.

  If he feels compelled to recreate the scene, then he must be thinking about that family's death. He must be thinking about what happened to them, and why it happened. He's reliving the trauma, trying to make sense of it for himself."

  "And then he's taking his anger out on society by killing people," Connor said.

  Cami hoped that he was right. That they'd found their criminal.

  Connor slowed the car as it approached the house. Cami took a look at the street. It was a quiet, residential area, with neat houses set back from the road with well-kept gardens. She wondered what James had thought, coming out of prison and then returning to this ordered and attractive place. It clearly hadn't done much to calm his mind if he'd embarked on a killing spree.

  They stopped the car outside and climbed out. They walked up the path to the door.

  Cami wondered if she'd ever stop feeling a thrill of fear and anticipation at this moment, knowing that they were about to come face to face with a criminal strongly suspected of committing murder. She'd already seen how things could go wrong. She hoped this wasn't going to be another one of those times.

  But it seemed that instead of a confrontation with an angry killer, they were going to be disappointed in other ways. Because nobody was coming to the door. The doors and windows of this house were closed up tightly. And it seemed that James wasn’t home.

  "He's not here," Connor said, sounding frustrated. "I'm going to call Ethan and see if there's any recorded place of work listed. He might even be at a parole check-in. Ironic if he went there from a killing site," he added.

  "I'll keep looking online." Cami walked back to the car with Connor. Surely there must be some hint, some clue online about where this man was. He could have briefly veered back toward normality after his killing spree. He could be reporting to the police station or job hunting or visiting friends. There was nothing to stop a criminal from returning to ordinary behavior after a crime had been committed, and in fact, as she'd learned, many of them did.

  So, assuming that he'd fled the latest murder scene and returned home again, where might he be now, and could she find any clue to it online?

  Cami searched, sitting quietly in the car, using her laptop as well as her phone so that she had all available devices focused on the job.

  She wasn't picking up anything from his own social media. That had stayed dark and unused since he'd come out of prison. People were talking about him, not to him. And not very kindly, either. Like this thread of conversation that she'd just picked up now.

  "Would that be our resident parolee?"

  Parolee. Cami pricked up her ears, reading more carefully. Undoubtedly, they were discussing James in this conversation thread, which looked to be current.

  "I guess so."

  "Doing it again?"

  "Doing it again, yes."

  "Should we call the police?"

  "He's not doing any harm to anyone. It's wasting police time."

  "He might harm himself, surely?"

  "And your point is?"

  "Look, if he does harm himself, he'll be wasting other people's time. Paramedics are also busy people."

  "True, but like I say, he's there often."

  "This time looks different."

  What were they talking about? Cami wondered. This seemed to be something they had discussed before. So, maybe she could backtrack in the conversations and discover more.

  She searched, using key words as well as the names of the people in the neighborhood who seemed to like discussing this the most frequently.

  And, to her astonishment, she was able to figure out what they were referring to.

  There was even a grainy photo of a featureless person, taken on a cloudy day and from a far distance. But the description of the location tied it in. It all made sense, logically. Of course he would be here. But the fact he was meant there was a risk attached. And the clock was ticking down.

  "Connor," Cami said as he got off the phone from yet another frustrated call to the office. "Look here. I think I know where he is."

  "Where is he?" Connor's voice sounded urgent. Cami could hear the stress and tension in his tone. He was feeling desperate now, as was she. This killer had to be stopped.

  "He's at the bridge where the accident happened. Where the family's car drove off the road," Cami said, hearing the shock in her own voice. "It seems he goes there regularly," she said. "And from the conversation, he's most definitely there now."

  "We need to get there immediately." Connor's voice was filled with resolve.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cami keyed in the coordinates of the bridge and put them up on Connor's GPS. He was already accelerating away from the suspect's home, taking them on a southerly route that led to the bridge where James the journalist turned criminal might even now be standing.

  "What if he's been thinking about suicide?" Cami asked. If this man died, they would never know if he was the killer or not. And if he was innocent then there was even more reason to rush there and help him.

  "We're on our way now. We'll figure something out."

  "Hurry," Cami said as Connor took a sharp turn.

  She was filled with dread. If he jumped into the water and drowned, their investigation might even go cold. That was unacceptable. It was becoming personal to her now.

  Cami guessed that he must have been drawn back here again and again by some compulsion, some urge she couldn't understand. But she knew one thing. While they had time, they had to try to prevent him from harming himself.

  Another thought came to her, chilling her as she considered it. "What if he goes back there to gain more resolve to kill again?" she suggested. "That might be the place where he relives this crime, and it keeps triggering him to murder."

  "We're going to be there in five minutes," Connor said. "In five minutes, we'll be able to ask him that question." He sounded the same way Cami felt, that five minutes was too long a time. All they could do was watch the road scroll by in tense silence.

  And then, the bridge came into view.

  Cami was shocked by how high the bridge was. It arched over the lake, which was a sizeable drop below. It made her stomach feel queasy to imagine how the car must have skidded, slid, and then fallen, arcing down in a rush of silence before the explosion of hitting the water.

  And there he was. She saw him and drew in a breath. He was standing, staring out over the water, a dark-haired man, broad shouldered, wearing a gray shirt and faded jeans.

  Strong looking. Cami noticed that immediately. Without a doubt, this journalist would have had the physical power to carry his unconscious victims to the final place where he had drowned them.

  Connor pulled over about twenty yards away from James. It was as if the journalist didn't even notice his arrival. The bridge was fairly busy with cars passing in both directions. But, standing on the pedestrian walkway next to the road, it was as if he didn't notice anything except the dark, cool waters of the lake below.

  "James McCallum," Connor said, striding fast toward the lone man.

  The disgraced journalist didn't turn around. He just kept staring out over the water.

  "McCallum," Connor said more loudly, breaking into a run.

  Cami's heart was racing as she rushed behind him. She had a horrible feeling that they were too late. James was going to jump. And he was going to do it now. And as Connor reached him, he did just that.

  He clambered over the rail, causing Cami's heart to accelerate wildly. He stood staring out over the gray waters.

  And then he let go of the rail that he was holding with his right hand. He leaned out over the water, and Cami heard a terrified, "No!" burst from her mouth.

  But at that moment, Connor reached him. He grabbed the man's arm with both of his own, even as James's feet slipped off the narrow concrete shelf beyond the rail. Now James was crying out, but Cami couldn't tell if it was in terror or regret. His feet were flailing. Connor's grasp was literally the only thing between him and the fifty-foot drop to the waters below.

  Cami rushed up, feeling absolutely terrified but determined to help. Now, she could see, James regretted his decision to jump. He was grabbing with his hands, desperately trying to get a hold of the rail again as Connor's iron grip kept him from the lethal fall.

  But James's jacket was slipping, he dropped lower as Cami rushed up. He let out a shout that was filled with purest terror.

  "I can't hold on," he gasped.

  His voice was trembling. His legs made frantic, desperate movements as if he was trying to find a foothold on the smooth concrete of the bridge. Cami had to do something! She had to try to help.

  Even though it filled her with a dizzying fear, and she worried she'd be dragged right over the rail herself, she leaned over, grasping James's belt. Connor got a better hold on his arm. James writhed around, this time grasping the rail tightly, and keeping the hold on his arm, Connor helped to lift the now shaking man back over the rail.

  "I've got you," Connor said, his voice tight with tension. "I've got you."

  With a flailing of limbs, James landed in a heap on the paved pedestrian walkway, breathing fast. Now, suddenly, he seemed to realize that he'd gone straight from one predicament into another that was potentially more serious. He stared at Connor and now there was shock and betrayal in his gaze.

  "You're police! What are you trying to do? I've done nothing illegal. I'm not going back to prison!"

  "Is there a reason you're scared of that?" Connor countered.

  James's eyes narrowed. "I'm not scared of anything," he said, sitting up, and wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked absolutely terrified. "Except for falling," he said in a low voice.

  "Might be a good thing to be a little frightened of the police," Connor said, his voice steady and even. "Especially if you've been breaking the law."

  "I haven't been. I was here because I always come here. I feel drawn to this place. To the horror of these deaths. You know about it, right? Everyone here knows about it. How the family fell. They made me do the report on it even though I didn't want to. I felt unprepared for digging into that story. And the footage—that was shocking."

  "The footage? Of the accident?"

  Cami glanced at Connor. There had been footage? That could be important to watch. But James was shaking his head.

  "I can't show you. It was sent to me in private when I was assigned to do the story. Someone filmed it and . . . and I watched it twice, but then I deleted it off my phone."

  "You did?" Cami asked.

  "It was too horrible. Too traumatic."

  "Can I see your phone?"

  James reached into his pocket with shaking hands and took the phone out. He looked surprised to see that it was even still there, Cami thought. And so was she. It could have easily fallen out and tumbled down to the waters below.

  But she still felt confident that even without the phone, she could trace the footage. This kind of footage always lurked online. It was very hard to truly erase something from the archives.

  "I don't know if I want to give my phone to you," James said uneasily. Cami wondered if that was his guilt talking. Was there evidence on this phone of what he'd done and where he'd been?

  "In fact, I'm not going to!" Instead of handing the phone to her, James half-turned, and in a swift, awkward motion, he flung it over the edge of the rail.

  It went tumbling down. The waters below were so distant that they barely heard the splash as it disappeared from sight forever.

  Cami stared in consternation at the traumatized journalist. That was destroying evidence, clear and undoubtedly. And Connor thought so too.

  "You're under arrest," he said. "Failure to obey and destroying potential evidence. We're bringing you in."

  As he escorted James to the car, he turned to Cami.

  "I want that footage," he said. "It could be important. Find it if you can. Find it now."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The drive to the police department should take twenty minutes, Cami estimated from a glance at the GPS. But the way Connor was driving, they'd probably make it there in less than fifteen. That meant, on this twisting and turning rollercoaster ride, she had to focus on all her devices, stop them from flying into the back of the car where James was handcuffed, and work out what this video was that he hadn't wanted them to see.

  Of course, there might also be other information on the phone that he didn't want them to see. She might be able to retrieve traces of that but ultimately, throwing the phone into a deep lake had put a pretty big spoke in that particular wheel.

  What could she find in time before they arrived to start the questioning?

  It had been a video. Most probably a graphic video, because shocking stuff that showed people dying would align with what he'd said. So shocking that it had probably been deleted from public forums if it had been played there at all. The main social media sites would have removed it. Footage that showed people plunging to their death was way too intense and disturbing. It could trigger exactly the problems their journalist was displaying now.

  The news sites might have been sent it but would never have shown it.

  So, it would be available underground. On people's personal devices if they'd gotten it before it was erased and saved it in such a way that it wasn't deleted when the link was.

  The dark web would tell her, but she'd have to search in a specific way. Even Cami did not like going on those type of sites, the graphic sites that played accident footage where people were injured or died. It was only one step away from a snuff movie in her view.

  But those sites existed. They had millions of followers.

  And somewhere among them, Cami had no doubt, she would find this video.

  She searched quickly. It was hard to concentrate because Connor was speeding through traffic. He was weaving through cars, making it hard for her to type. When she waited for her screen to refresh, she glanced back at James.

  He was staring down, seemingly immersed in his own private world.

  Cami turned back to her screens. Finally, one had refreshed. It was shortly followed by the other.

  Now, the work began. Sifting through the junk, the irrelevant footage, and the torrent of information that was swirling around in the dark web, each video time consuming and traumatic to watch.

  And not what she was looking for. She needed to set better parameters.

  Bracing herself as Connor took yet another hairpin bend at full speed, Cami narrowed her search. To do so, she used Connor's advice. She remembered his words that once you'd been to a scene, you had important information you could use.

  And so, she did. She had more details to add to the search that might be helpful.

  "High bridge. Concrete ledge. Arched bridge. Deep lake. Family. Family car."

  She added more and more information to the parameters that already included the place name.

  And then, at last, just as she was despairing and feeling she'd have to give up, the search got results. Something flashed up. She took a look.

  It wasn't what she had expected. It was blurry and faraway. There would be little detail to be made out from here. But without a doubt, it was the right location, and a car veering off of an icy road into a plunging, fatal descent.

  "I've found the video," she said, just as Connor burned rubber screeching into the police department.

  "Great," he said. He said it in a tone that told her he'd expected nothing less. With her brain still steaming from what it had taken, Cami felt briefly nonplussed. Connor had been so critical, so disbelieving when they'd first worked together. Now, it seemed like his expectations had veered the opposite way, and he assumed that when she got online, anything was possible.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17