And then a voice yelled, "Cut!"

  A short, blond haired man turned and hurried over to them, with an annoyed expression on his face.

  "We're filming. That was a take, and we're going to have to redo it. What is it? What do you want?"

  "FBI. We need to ask some questions in connection with a murder," Connor said. "We're looking for Mr. Nolan."

  The man's face went very still for a moment.

  "Mr. Nolan?" he repeated loudly.

  "Correct," Connor said.

  "He's . . . he's not here," the man stammered but Cami was sure he was lying.

  "Not here? This is a movie shoot, and he's the director?"

  "I'm managing this scene," the man said firmly. "If you want to speak to him, you'll need to come back."

  "I think you're lying to us. Do you know there are consequences for lying to law enforcement?" Connor threatened.

  But Cami, as she watched and replayed that scene in her mind, had realized something.

  The lead actor had only turned his face to them for a moment, but his features had looked remarkably like Nolan's. He wasn't directing, because he was in the movie, playing a starring role as the killer.

  Now, as she looked at the screen, she saw that he was no longer there. He'd run for it. He'd fled the scene with a knife in his hand.

  In his left hand, Cami now realized with a clench of her stomach. That might mean he was, in fact, left-handed. And now, they needed to find him before he got away completely.

  "Get the lights on! Get that man back here!" Cami heard Connor bellow as he ran. He pounded through the warehouse in pursuit of the fleeing suspect.

  But Cami was sure that Nolan was no longer there and could not hear the words. She was sure he'd snuck out of a door and was even now fleeing through the darkened streets beyond.

  Nobody else did anything as they ran past. The actress and cameramen just stared, frozen in shock, as Connor sped through the scene, heading to the area behind the green screen where Nolan had melted away.

  Connor was chasing him surprisingly fast, Cami saw. She hadn't expected that this tall, solid agent in his fifties could actually move like lightning. It was taking everything she had to keep up.

  She followed Connor, racing to a door she now saw behind the green screen area. This was where he'd bolted to. For sure, he was out now, running in the dark.

  Connor burst through the door, and Cami followed.

  The door opened onto a narrow back road with a damp, potholed strip of blacktop cutting between the bulk of the warehouses. It was dark, filled with shadows and silence. Where had he gone?

  Connor hesitated, breathing hard, looking from side to side. Cami guessed he was using all his senses to try and locate this suspect.

  "You stay with me," he muttered to Cami. "Guy's got a knife, and we don't want any heroics going wrong."

  Cami felt a strange mix of relief and inadequacy. She wanted to help, to be proactive, to get out there and chase after this suspect on her own, and not be a burden to Connor. She could see how two trained agents could split up, left and right, covering both directions on this narrow road, bringing the chances of catching this suspect close to one hundred percent.

  But at the same time, she knew she didn't have the skills to cope with such a chase down.

  He had a knife. He might already have killed with it, and she didn't know how to defend herself. And that meant she would be tagging along behind Connor and their chances were all the way down to fifty percent or less.

  Was there any way of figuring out where he'd gone? She couldn't see any footprints or any indication. Both directions looked equally unappealing.

  He must know the area. So perhaps he had somewhere in mind. Could he have gone into another warehouse? She didn't think so. Everything looked securely locked up at this hour.

  Deciding on the left, with a frustrated shrug, Connor began jogging along the blacktop, pulling a flashlight off his belt. The beam didn't go a very long way in banishing the shadows and darkness that lurked in every corner. Cami's eyes strained as she jogged behind him.

  There was something! Her eyes spotted movement, and her head whipped around. But it was nothing more than the flutter of a black trash bag, abandoned in the corner and now ruffled by the cool breeze that was being channeled down this narrow road.

  Her ears strained for the sound of breath, footsteps, or any sign of his presence. But there was nothing.

  "Look," Connor whispered and Cami saw something further on.

  It was an opening under the awning of another warehouse, that seemed to lead off to the left. He turned toward it, and they both ran closer.

  Leading off to the left? Where would that get him? It didn't seem to be the most logical place to hide. It didn't seem to lead to anywhere except to the front.

  And maybe that was his purpose, she realized with a flash of insight.

  Maybe he wasn't planning on running through this darkened corridor. Why would he do that after all, when he had a perfectly good vehicle parked out front?

  It could be that he had gotten out of the back as the easiest exit, but that what he really planned to do was get away. And the way to do that would be in his car. By darting up this passage, and then getting away on the main road.

  She and Connor reached the same conclusion at exactly the same time.

  "He's going for the parking lot. He's going to drive out of here. That's what he's doing," Connor realized.

  If Cami had thought he was running fast before, it was nothing compared to the speed he now showed as he turned up the alleyway, storming along the path to the building's front. Cami followed, her legs burning, her breath gasping in her throat, as she tried to keep up with Connor's long strides.

  Their hunch was right, she realized. Ahead, a car door slammed.

  And then they burst out into the warehouse's front yard, in time to see the blinding glare of headlights. An engine’s roar split the night.

  He was getting away! This was what he'd intended to do. Double back, grab his car, and flee the scene. For all she knew, he might be intending to go further. Flee the state. Hide out. Avoid them for long enough for this case to go cold.

  "Stop!" Connor shouted, racing for the car. Cami’s heart leaped into her mouth. What would it take to stop this man? Connor was putting himself in danger, at risk of being run down or hit by the car, that was for sure. With a flare of adrenaline, she realized how much risk he took on in his everyday work. A chase down meant balancing on a knife-edge of variables, and a perilous outcome was all too likely.

  And what could she do? In this emergency situation, none of her hacking skills would help. The only other choice she had was to try and physically block the car, since it wasn’t even electric.

  The gate, she realized. The warehouse gate. At the moment, it was standing open, and if he got out of that gate, he would be gone. But if she could get there in time, she could close it.

  Connor was racing for the car, and the shadows veered sharply as it backed at speed out of the bay.

  Cami made a dash for the gate, giving it everything she had, not wasting a moment worrying about Connor now, but putting all her strength into grabbing the edge of the heavy steel gate and dragging it closed.

  She heard an angry shout and a clatter of feet, and guessed that Connor had been forced to leap out of the way of the car, or be mown down.

  And then, the headlights were blazing around in a sharp arc, and the car's engine reached a scream, and Cami felt her breath, hot and harsh in her throat.

  Her legs burned. The rust-flecked steel bit into her hands. It was painful, cutting into her palm, and she didn't know if she'd be strong enough to get that heavy gate, on its protesting hinges, where she needed it to be in time. This could all go so horribly wrong, and now she was pinned by high-beam headlights, blinding and terrifying, as he aimed the car at the gate in what was now a race against time.

  For a moment, she felt a chill of pure dread that she was going to be too slow, that he'd sideswipe the gate and her, that he'd burst through and be gone while she sprawled onto the blacktop, bleeding and hurt with broken bones.

  And then, with a final gasping effort, she dragged the gate closed.

  Brakes screeched, and smoke billowed from the tires as Nolan braked to an emergency stop with the hood just inches from the gate. With a pounding of feet, Connor was at the car door, wrenching it open, grabbing Nolan by his dark jacket and pulling him out.

  "You're under arrest," he gasped. "Failure to comply, fleeing and eluding, and reckless endangerment. There may be more once we’ve questioned you. And you'd better be ready to give us answers."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It gave Cami an uneasy chill to see Nolan sitting in the FBI interview room, pinned on the hard chair, under the bright, unrelenting overhead light. It brought back her own experience, just a couple of weeks earlier when she'd been on that side of a similar desk in the same building herself.

  And she could be there again. The knowledge simmered uneasily within her. Who had traced her hurried exit from the archives, following that breadcrumb trail of her sister's corrupted case file?

  Trouble lurked ahead, and the fact it hadn’t yet hit her hard, didn’t mean it wasn’t going to. In fact it was worse, because trouble might be biding its time.

  Connor opened the door and led the way into the room, bringing Cami's mind back to their current situation. What was important now was solving this crime, and in this chair, they had a strong suspect.

  Nolan stared at them. His pale, dramatic stage make-up was smudged, and his dark hair, which had been gelled back for the movie role, was now flopping untidily over his face.

  And yet he didn't seem to want to be cooperative. His arrogant expression had not budged while he was being processed, and his crossed arms were a clear indication of his contrary mindset.

  Connor didn't seem in the least perturbed by this early show of resistance. Cami guessed he was just glad to have this man in the FBI offices, and not at large in the back streets of the warehouse district.

  "Mr. Nolan," he said firmly, sitting in a chair opposite and checking the recording equipment. The action of double-checking seemed to be automatic, Cami saw, something he did without even thinking. "You know why you're here?"

  Nolan pressed his thin lips together and shrugged. Then, reluctantly, he spoke, "You broke into our filming session. You entered without permission. And you’re asking why I’m here?"

  "The door was opened to us," Connor said calmly, countering this accusation with the ease of long expertise.

  "I still don't understand what the hell you were doing there," Nolan insisted. "You gave us all a huge fright. I literally thought this was an armed robbery in progress. You know, we are at risk when we film late. Robberies often happen."

  "You don't know what we were doing there? Let me explain. We're investigating a series of murders."

  "And you've brought me in? How am I connected with all of this?"

  "The victims' names are Brooke Perkins and Cleo Booth. Do you know those names?"

  Cami knew this was an important question, even a pivotal one. But to her disappointment, he kept his face entirely blank.

  He was an actor, she reminded herself. He didn't only produce movies but starred in them too. And an actor might be able to suppress the natural flare of guilt that hearing those names would produce. Especially if he was cunning, thinking ahead, and had expected to hear them.

  "You've got a fake social media account in the name of Peter Frost," Connor said.

  Again, Cami had hoped for more reaction, but Nolan nodded calmly. "I have a few different accounts."

  "Why's that?"

  "I'm a filmmaker. I'm a studier of human psychology. It's helpful to me in my work."

  "You made threats to both the victims before they died."

  Nolan shrugged. "Some of the films I make are edgy. They push people's buttons. I like to know how that plays out in real life. What the reactions are in groups, when threats are made. Who says what. Assuming you equate social media to real life."

  The supercilious expression was, if anything, more obvious now, and Cami found herself briefly hating him for it.

  Connor was, on the other hand, far more in control. He seemed resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get a full confession out of Nolan any time soon. But he kept on questioning him. Pressing him.

  "Threats made to both victims, just a few days before they both died? That seems like a huge coincidence."

  "Strange, but true, I guess."

  “Made under a fake profile?”

  “I explained that already.”

  Cami watched Nolan's expression for any sign of shock or dismay. Until now, there had been nothing that seemed to push him out of his totally unconcerned facade. But looking more closely at him, she sensed that he was starting to be uncomfortable with this line of questioning. She wasn't an expert in picking up these signals, but he was beginning to fidget. His long, bony fingers were rubbing together, and a shuffling noise under the desk told her he was tapping one foot against the other.

  "It's a big coincidence, and I’d like to discuss it some more. You need to tell us how you knew these two victims, and why you made the threats you did," Connor said, clearly also picking up that they might be pushing Nolan to a place where he was ready to talk.

  “I don’t believe what I wrote online can possibly incriminate me.”

  A sudden thought occurred to Cami.

  He'd said 'other profiles'. That meant he had more than one. They had only found Peter Frost so far, and on seeing those threats, they had stopped there. But what if there were other fake profiles associated with this strange, arrogant man, and he'd made more serious threats using them? Maybe that's why he was starting to look uncomfortable, she reasoned.

  Tuning out Connor's relentless questioning, Cami opened her phone, discreetly glanced down, and went looking for further links. She knew she'd have to work quickly and that in the time, she might not be able to pick up what she needed. But if she was able to, then this might get them the breakthrough they needed. Because at the moment, Nolan seemed smug in the knowledge that he knew something they didn't—yet.

  And then, with a widening of her eyes, she found it. There were two linked profiles. And one of them, Nash Taylor, hadn't stopped with making overt threats. Nash Taylor had sent messages. Cami read them, feeling quite horrified. These messages were nasty. They were most definitely threatening.

  He'd messaged Brooke a week ago.

  "You'd better be careful what you say online. Because you never know who might be waiting in real life. Got a good lock on your door?"

  Cami gritted her teeth. This could get them somewhere, she was sure of it.

  She waited for a pause in the questioning and then, in a casual voice, she said, "Tell us about Nash Taylor, Nolan, why don't you?"

  She'd done it, she saw, feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the shock that was now evident on his face. Connor's quick, surprised glance was the only sign he gave of this bombshell.

  "Nash Taylor seems to have specialized in messaging people privately. That's not conducting experiments in groups. That's one on one. It's serious. I think those messages would be dynamite if they were read out to a jury, especially the one you sent to Brooke last week."

  In a slow, clear voice, Cami read it out again. It sounded even worse when spoken.

  There was a long, drawn-out silence. The man sitting opposite them obviously wasn't used to being cornered. He had probably survived on the strength of his bluffing skills in tough situations for years, but now he had nowhere to go. No room to maneuver. His gaze was darting everywhere and she was sure that now, he felt utterly trapped.

  "I don't know anything about Nash Taylor," Nolan spat back, his bravado suddenly deserting him.

  "How can you say that?" Connor said, sounding almost amused by this change in the suspect's mindset. "It's one of your alternative profiles."

  "No, it isn't!" Now he looked panicked.

  "It's very clearly linked to your profile. I can show you the step-by-step process I used to confirm that," Cami said. “I think a jury would be able to follow it quite easily.”

  Nolan let out a long, shaky breath.

  "Look, I'll be truthful with you, okay? I promise. I don't want to get into trouble for this. I . . . I didn't think you would find that profile. It changes often because it gets blocked and removed. But I . . . I had it for a reason."

  "And what reason is that?" Connor said.

  "Justice." The word sounded weak and unconvincing on Nolan's lips. "I know it's wrong, but I hate seeing the bullying that goes on in the online world. The way people hide behind their anonymity and taunt and torment others. I can't handle it. And I used that profile when I wanted to make sure that someone listened—really listened—when I thought they had behaved in a way that was out of line."

  "And did you take that further? Decide to mete out this justice in real life?"

  "No!" Nolan twined his finger together anxiously. "No, I would not do that. But I knew how it would look if you did find those profiles and saw that I'd made the threats. I didn't want to get in trouble for . . . for trying to make things right in the world."

  Connor looked at him for a long moment.

  "Can you account for your movements earlier this morning at approximately seven a.m.?"

  Nolan thought for a moment. Then, with a defeated sigh, he looked down. "I can't. I was home alone. I was asleep."

  "And two days ago, in the evening?"

  Nolan now looked hunted. "Every weekday until tonight, I've been working late. Editing, splicing."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes, alone!" Nolan shot back. Now, Cami saw, this tall, strongly built man was starting to sweat.

  “Did you ever meet either of the victims in real life?”

  “I—look, I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said no. I do a lot of work in communal areas, cafés, artists’ retreats. I find those environments inspiring. I see a lot of people there. It could be that I bumped into them. I don’t want to say no, and then you show me camera footage of me saying hi to one of them? Know what I mean? I accept I might have seen or spoken to them, but I didn’t seek them out.”

 

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