But this girl, Marie, went missing today. The man took her today, and all within the span of twenty-four hours had killed her.

  That was an extremely rapid timeline.

  Nicky looked at the scene again. Something was taped to the glass doors. Stepping over the scene, Nicky walked up to it.

  It was a Polaroid photo of Marie's body, taped right there.

  The killer's M.O.

  But this was the first time he had ever left a body.

  He was accelerating.

  "I guess he's getting more confident," Ken said, coming to stand behind Nicky.

  "Or he's just getting sloppy," Nicky said.

  "Maybe," Ken replied. "But what would make him feel confident enough to leave this body instead of moving it?"

  "That's exactly the question we need to answer," Nicky said. She looked at the chief. "We need footage from every traffic camera in town. We're looking specifically for a 1998 Hana Kuma without a license plate." Now that Mr. Dumond could be ruled out as a suspect, Nicky was sure the car detail was what they had to focus on.

  "I'll get on it," Chief Schmitt said. "And I'll have some officers canvass the area for anyone who might have seen something. There are some tracks in the mud, but it's hard to tell."

  "Thank you," Nicky said.

  The chief nodded and walked over to the officers at the car. He talked to them for a bit, then one of them went back to his car.

  A gust of wind blew through the air, rustling the trees and making the caution tape flap in the wind.

  They needed to catch this guy. Based on this timeline, he would choose another victim for his sick photography game.

  And he would do it soon.

  ***

  Nicky walked into the motel room, her eyes scanning the dingy space. She saw threadbare carpets and cracked walls, signs of neglect and disrepair. Nicky's bag landed heavily on the bed, making the cheap mattress bounce slightly. Ken followed her into the room, his footsteps heavy on the creaky floorboards.

  It was a small highway motel, but it was the closest spot--it would have to do. They needed a place to sit down with the information and find something to lead them to the killer, and they had to do it fast.

  Nicky set her laptop up at the table. No word from the police about the car yet, but she hoped something would come in soon. Until then, they needed to review every detail they had so far.

  The killer was methodical. He always left a Polaroid at the scene, showing his handiwork. But this time, he had left the body.

  And it was the first time he had done that. Why now?

  The killer was never careless, never left behind evidence that could be traced back to him. He was always careful, always careful to leave nothing.

  Nicky knew that leaving the body was deliberate. But why would he do that? She thought about the other victims. They were all pretty, slim, and had dark hair. They all looked like they could be related. That had to be a clue, but it was too broad of a hint to narrow down. Maybe there was a girl like that in the killer's life, a mother, sister, lover, who he was obsessed with, but she couldn't just look at men with an affiliation to every brunette woman in the country. That would put Nicky on the list too.

  No, they needed something else.

  As Ken sat with her at the table, Nicky splayed the four photos of the victims out. One was on the floor. The other in a chair. Two were on couches.

  "Could there be something in their poses?" Nicky asked absently.

  "What?" Ken asked.

  "The killer takes the photos to get a thrill, but they are ritualistic too. He takes one of the girls in a different pose every time." She tapped the photos. "He likes to act out a fantasy with every victim, but there has to be more to it than that. He must have a reason to select a certain position."

  Nicky leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the armrest. What could he be trying to get out of it? She looked down at the photos again. What was the significance of the framing?

  "What if he's trying to tell us something?" Ken said.

  Nicky looked up. "What do you mean?"

  "What if he's trying to communicate something to us?" Ken said. He leaned in, his eyes shining. "What if this is his way of showing us that he's in complete control of these girls?"

  "That would make sense," Nicky said. She picked up the photos. "He is showing us that he's in control, and he can do whatever he wants with them."

  "And he takes these photos to assert his dominance," Ken said. "He wants to show us that the girls are helpless, that they are completely at his mercy."

  Nicky's eyes scanned the photos again. She could see it now. The girls were posed in ways that made them look more like objects than people.

  "These girls were taken right out of their normal lives," Ken said. "Every time he takes a girl, he's stealing her away from her family, her friends, her job. He's taking her from everything she knows, and into this completely foreign world."

  "You're saying he's trying to show us how powerless his victims are?" Nicky said.

  Ken nodded. "It would make sense. He's trying to prove to us that he has absolute, complete control over these girls. If he can just take them away from everything they know and force them to do whatever he wants, then he's proving that he's in complete control of their lives."

  Nicky leaned back in her chair, looking at the photos again. The killer took his photos with care, framing them perfectly. He wanted them to look good.

  But was there more to it than that?

  She wasn't sure. What she did know was that her mind wasn't feeling like it was in the right place. She needed something, something to get her thinking on the right track. The thought of losing another girl frustrated her to no end.

  Nicky stood up, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. "I'm gonna take a walk."

  With that, she left the hotel room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sky had cleared, revealing a brilliant moon, as Nicky crossed the motel parking lot, her hands in her pockets. She needed to clear her head, empty all of these thoughts, but she wasn't sure how.

  There were too many things happening in her mind. It was like she was in overdrive, and her CPU was about to burn out. Worries about the case, about not finding the killer, the lack of clues, and, of course, Rosie. Always lurking in her mind, distracting her sometimes.

  Nicky sighed as she walked aimlessly. If she could clear her head, maybe she could get a blank slate to work off. But it seemed like an impossible task.

  Nicky was so lost in thought that she didn't pay attention to where she was going. Her mind was just spinning with possibilities, ideas, and plans. Her feet carried her forward, walking her past the highway and into the woods.

  Nicky looked up. The trees were tall and spindly, the branches making it seem like the stars were further away. Nicky could see the narrow road curving off, but there were no cars driving on it.

  She was alone, and she needed a break.

  A chill went down her spine, sending shivers up her arms. The woods were quiet tonight, not a single noise from a bird or an animal. It was dark, oppressive, and she never felt like she was safe within the trees, not after what had happened when she was younger.

  Turning away from the trees, she made her way back over to the motel parking lot, no closer to clearing her mind.

  Normally, in a time like this, Nicky would be able to call her psychiatrist, Dr. Graham. It had been a while since she'd seen him; she had been focusing on her cases, and her own healing, but giving little time to care for her own mental health. It was late, almost midnight, but she wondered if Dr. Graham might be around to talk. She took out her phone and tried his number.

  "Hello," Dr. Graham said. He sounded tired.

  "Dr. Graham, it's Nicky," Nicky said. "I know it's late, but I'm having trouble coping. I just need to talk."

  "Nicky? I haven't heard from you in a while--you know I'm always here to take your calls. How are you holding up?"

  Dr. Graham asked.

  "Well, I guess I'm having a rough time of it," she said. "I'm working on a case that I just can't seem to get a handle on. I'm having trouble thinking straight about it."

  "You need to step back from the case," Dr. Graham said. "Take a break, clear your mind."

  "I know, I know, I've tried that, but when I close my eyes, all I see is another girl, another victim."

  "I know it's hard, but you need to focus on your own self-care. You can't help anyone until you're able to help yourself," Dr. Graham said. "Don't get me wrong, I know you want to save these girls, but you can't do anything if you're not healthy yourself. There's nothing worse than helping someone when you're unstable."

  "I know, I know. I'm just having a hard time with it," Nicky said. She was thankful to have Dr. Graham to talk to. He always understood her and her worries, and there was something about his voice that was soothing. "I'm just not sure what to do. I've tried everything."

  "Well, I know you won't divulge much about your case to me, Nicky," he said. "But I know you. Sometimes, when you're not on the right track, it's because you've focused too much on one thing and missed details. Maybe the clue has been right in front of you all along, and you just need to look at it from another angle."

  "I know what you're saying, but I feel like I've already tried that," Nicky said. "I'm open to suggestions, I just don't know what to do."

  "Then try not to focus too much on one thing. Try to look at the big picture... who are you really hunting?"

  Nicky stopped to think about it. Maybe Dr. Graham could help her sort out a profile of this guy.

  "If I tell you a few things we know, do you think you can help me build a profile?" Nicky asked.

  "Well, of course, I'd love to help if I can."

  "Okay." She took a deep breath and paced, looking up at the night sky for a moment. "We have a man who takes vintage-style Polaroid photos of women he's killed and leaves them in antique stores for people to find. We've found three photos in antique stores, and more recently, he left a body outside of one with a photo as well."

  "Wow," said Dr. Graham. "That's no small feat. But this can say a lot about him. It sounds like it's art to him... you might be dealing with a narcissist, maybe a failed photographer or artist who believed their work deserved more praise, and this is their way of forcing people to acknowledge and see them."

  The moment Dr. Graham spoke, it clicked for Nicky. That made perfect sense.

  "It's sad, because that means he probably has low self-esteem, and he might be socially awkward, maybe even shy," Nicky said.

  "Well, that's the thing about narcissists. That's why they feel the need to be better than everyone else. It could be that he feels the need to be on top, better than everyone else, to be worthy of anything," Dr. Graham said. "It's sad that he feels that way, but it's also a weakness. It means you can use it against him. But Nicky, don't start to empathize with him too much. This is a person with no conscience, based on what you've described to me."

  "I know," Nicky said. She was silent for a few moments more, and Dr. Graham remained quiet and calm. He knew that she needed time to think.

  "He's been killing for a while, because he's smart," Nicky said. "He doesn't leave any evidence behind, and he's careful about everything he does. He's a perfectionist, and he must be very organized. He's had to plan this for a long time before he started, because he's smart enough to know that he's leaving a lot of evidence that could be found, even evidence he can't control." Nicky bit her lip. "I don't really know what to think of this guy. It's like he thinks he's a movie star, or something, doing these murders to get attention."

  "Yeah, that could be. It's strange... but it's not strange if he's a narcissist. They will do anything to make sure they're seen. In this case, it's probably because he's not getting the attention he needs. Being a murderer isn't strange in the slightest to him. He's probably done it to others in the past, as well."

  "You know, you're probably right about that," Nicky said. "I'm going to have to look back at the other cases... but I'm also going to have to figure out where he'd go from here. I mean, he's already done all this, so what's the next step for him? How does he get his victims?"

  "Well, narcissists usually don't like to follow the rules of society. They feel like the rules don't apply to them because they're so special," Dr. Graham said. "So it might be that he chooses a conventional way to meet victims, like in a bar or at an event or the grocery store. If he thinks he's so good that he won't get caught, he's probably bold enough to go in public."

  "Yeah, that makes sense," Nicky said.

  "It's sad that he has low self-esteem, but it's good to know how he thinks. It can help you catch him," Dr. Graham said. "But Nicky, the most important thing, is that you have to take care of yourself. You have to focus on your own mental health. If you don't, you're useless to all these girls. You can't help if you're not capable of helping yourself first."

  "I know. I know," Nicky said. "I'm just sorry that I've been so bad at it."

  "Well, that's why you have me," Dr. Graham said. "And you can always come back to me. I'm always here for you."

  "Thanks, Dr. Graham." Nicky smiled, feeling warm inside. "It was good talking again. I promise I've made progress in other aspects of my life, and I'll come see you in person soon to talk it out."

  "I look forward to it. Good luck, Nicky."

  With that, the call ended. But Nicky was feeling more confident and motivated now. The idea that this guy was a narcissistic artist leaving his mark on these antique stores seemed to be the right track. And Nicky realized that she'd been focusing so much on the details of the poses, and the equipment the killer used, that she did let one crucial detail slip by her: the actual stores in which they were found.

  Yes, they were all antique shops. But what if it was more than that? Each photo was found at a different antique store, which showed them that the killer, most likely, was a fan of antiques. Harriet's Antiques. Olden's Antiques. And at last, Smithson's. Harriet, Olden, Smithson.

  Nicky paused, the gears in her mind turning. A thought came to her: What if the names of the stores are a clue?

  This could be it. She rushed into the motel room to tell Ken.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "The names?" Ken asked, lifting a brow. "How do you figure?"

  Nicky sat across from him in the motel room. She hadn't fully figured it out yet--but something told her this was the ticket.

  "Well, first, there was Harriet's Antiques. Then Olden's. Then Smithson's," Nicky said. "It could be a longshot, but maybe there's some sort of code in the names."

  "Maybe," Ken said, "but what makes you think that?"

  "Because this guy wants to be known," Nicky said. "He's not doing this for fun. It's more personal to him. He wants to leave his personal mark, and I don't believe he hasn't put his name on this thing. If we look closer, we might find something."

  Ken nodded. "I see where you're going. Let's see what we can find."

  Nicky sat up a little taller in her chair. "This could be it. I'm sure of it."

  "Okay, then," Ken said. "Let's look closer. The first store was Harriet's."

  "Harriet," Nicky said, thinking. "Harriet. Harriet..." She scribbled the name down on a sheet of paper.

  "Alright, the next store was Olden's," Ken said. "Olden. Olden... Olden... "

  "Olden," Nicky said. "Olden... Olden..."

  When she wrote it down, she noticed something interesting. Harriet was a woman's name, and Nicky felt sure they weren't looking for a woman in this case. It was possible, but she doubted it, especially with the footage of the man with the car.

  But could it be part of the name?

  She squinted. "Could it be... Harold?"

  "Harold?" Ken lifted brow.

  "Harriet and Olden. Combine them, you get the first name 'Harold.'"

  Ken nodded, understanding filling his eyes. "Then the last name could be Smithson? Or just Smith?"

  "Harold Smith," Nicky said aloud. "If we narrow down any Harold Smith or Smithsons in Florida with a 1998 Hana Kuma, then we might be onto something."

  Maybe it was a longshot. Maybe this whole idea was off the mark, but based on this guy's profile, it seemed completely possible he'd leave a mark like that.

  "That's a good start," Ken said. "You're right. He's narcissistic, but he's also very careful. He isn't an idiot."

  "Right," Nicky said, nodding. "He knows what he's doing, which means he's using his name."

  "Right. But it's still a lot of work. We'll have to go through every Harold Smith or Smithson with a Hana vehicle registered in 1998. It's going to take a while."

  Nicky grabbed her laptop and opened it up. "Not if we narrow down the list," she said. "We're looking for a man named Harold Smith or Smithson, with a Hana Kuma, between the ages of twenty and fifty. Likely with a criminal record. Let's start there. We can do this."

  "Okay, you narrow down the list," Ken said. "I'll make some calls."

  Nicky began to type. "Thanks, Ken. This means a lot to me," she said.

  "You mean a lot to me. We're in this together," Ken said, putting a hand on Nicky's shoulder.

  She smiled, feeling herself blush. She cleared her throat and got back to work.

  There were many people with the name Harold Smith or Harold Smithson in Florida. However, only fifteen of them were registered to have a Hana Kuma car--and only three of those happened to have the 1998 model.

  Harold Smith from Miami. Sixty-one years old, a bit older than their profile, but still possible. He had no criminal record, but had been reported for sexual harassment once in his fifties. Miami was also where Paris Conner went missing, so it was possible, although it seemed he still resided there, which made his guilt less likely. They were looking for someone in the area nearby, judging by the way the killer had taken the photos in a basement then dropped the fresh body.

 

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