"An appointment? With who?"

  Nick was looking increasingly flustered. "I'm not a killer," he said. "I'm not trying to find victims. I'm trying to get my life back on track. Change direction. I had a meeting with my life coach nearby."

  "At the aquarium?"

  Nick looked down, shaking his head. "I was early for the meeting, so I stopped off there. Our meeting was at a coffee shop."

  "You knew that Patti Browne would be here. You must have known."

  Nick looked down. He had known, Cami was utterly sure.

  Connor’s voice was relentless. “Either you tell us the full truth now, or we are arresting you on suspicion of this murder.”

  "I—okay, I thought she was a very special woman. Attractive. I wanted to see her again. And yes, she did say she was going to be there for the dolphin feeding. I'm very shy. I don't have good social skills. I wanted to be near her. But I didn't want to intrude. I didn't want to risk her thinking I might be some kind of stalker." His voice was high and shaky.

  A stalker was exactly what he was, Cami thought, confused by his denial.

  "I thought maybe it would work if I arrived and coincidentally met up with her. But I left before she did because she had an extra meeting with a couple of others from the drama group, to discuss one of the upcoming performances. Then I heard that there was a big crash on the highway. I didn't see her and guessed she'd been delayed. So, it didn't work out. I left after the dolphin feeding and went on to meet my life coach. I knew I should just forget about her."

  Cami looked over at Connor and saw that he was regarding Nick with narrowed eyes. He looked suspicious of Nick's story.

  "Did you know Leanne Hind?"

  "Is she the other woman who was killed? That happened near here, I think. We have fields and trails nearby, by the lake. It was there, wasn't it?"

  "Did you know her?"

  "No, but I knew of her. I thought she was very beautiful. I followed her on all her social media when she posted the other day about our area. She said she was going to be highlighting some of the walks and trails. I thought that was amazing."

  "So, you say that's when you followed her? Were you aware of her movements? That she was coming out here to your area the day before yesterday?"

  "No," Nick said, but Cami thought it might as well have been a yes.

  "Did you make a plan to be nearby there yesterday?"

  Now, Nick looked shamefaced. "I wanted to. I would have made a plan. I did know she was going to be there. But I couldn’t because I had to be at work. I work long shifts, three days a week. Well into the evening. It's why I want to make a change, move into a different field."

  "What work do you do?" Connor asked.

  "I'm doing cab driving and transportation part-time."

  "And were you busy in the afternoon, the day before yesterday, when Leanne was out on the trails?"

  "Yes, I was. I was doing transportation for a function that took place downtown.”

  “What did that involve?”

  “When the people finished at the function, they all had to be taken back to their hotels. So, I was driving nonstop from two p.m. through to about nine p.m. I can show you the route because it's mapped out on my GPS and dashcam. It was boring. Go to the venue, wait, pick up guests, take them to their hotel, and come straight back. I had to check in at each point with my GPS location. They insisted on that, or I didn’t get paid."

  "Where's your phone?"

  He glanced at a bag near one of the deck chairs. "It's in there."

  "Let's have a look. Open it up for me."

  He undid Nick's handcuffs and watched the man closely as he got up, gripping the towel, walked to the bag, and rummaged through it, producing an old-looking phone, which he opened.

  "That's where I was," Nick pointed. "I can show you the route I took, the streets I drove. I can show you the time I picked up and dropped off the last of the guests. Then I signed off. It's all here." He swiped the screen and pointed again.

  Cami was longing to know if there was any incriminating evidence on that phone, but the question didn't arise, because when Connor checked the mapping log and his cab bookings, he gave a reluctant nod.

  Cami knew this meant he was not in the area when Leanne was killed. Since it was a serial, with those blue silicone bracelets left at the scenes, this meant he was cleared. She felt a thud of disappointment. She'd been so sure this was their man.

  "You can go," Connor told him. "And stay out of trouble, you hear? Next time a cop or an FBI agent wants to speak to you, the smart thing to do is to cooperate."

  He sounded annoyed, and Cami could see why, as Nick hurried off, looking relieved. Now, Connor was soaked to the skin. But luckily, if she knew her boss, he'd have a full change of clothes in the car.

  "I'm going to get my bag," Connor said, confirming Cami's theory. "Wait here."

  Connor stomped, or rather squelched, in the direction of the car. As soon as he'd left, his phone, which he'd left by the side of the pool with his gun belt, began ringing.

  She edged over and took a look at the screen.

  It was the office number on the line. She recognized it. That must mean Ethan was calling, and Cami wished she could pick up and speak to him. But answering her boss's call would be out of line.

  The phone stopped and then restarted again.

  Was this urgent? Cami had the feeling that it was. Ethan wouldn’t be trying to call again and again unless something serious had happened.

  Cami got her own phone out and dialed the office.

  In a few rings, Ethan answered. He sounded stressed.

  "I saw you were trying to get hold of Connor," she said. "He's getting changed into dry clothes after chasing a suspect. Is there a problem?"

  "Yes, there is. There's been another murder," Ethan said, and Cami gripped her phone tighter, feeling horrified.

  "Same MO," Ethan explained. "Same signature left at the scene. The victim lives south of Milwaukee. She's just been found, drowned in her own bathroom."

  CHAPTER TEN

  As Connor approached the crime scene, he saw it was already swarming with cops, as well as concerned bystanders. He parked the car and got out, feeling frustrated and worried that this killer was clearly on a spree. He—Connor was guessing it was a man, though not ruling out a strong woman—was making these kills at a rate that seemed far swifter than the average serial murderer.

  It was almost as if he was on a specific mission. This felt like a rampage of death. That was how the angry mayor had referred to it.

  “The FBI had better stop this rampage of death!” he’d said. “Our tax dollars aren’t going to be wasted on incompetence and delays!”

  And that had been before this latest victim had been found. He could only imagine what the mayor was saying now.

  Distressing and devastating as another murder scene was, Connor hoped this one would provide more clues, because so far, there had been a worrying lack of them. Cami had realized that the victims were advertising their locations on social media, but it wasn’t as if they weren't alone in that.

  It sometimes seemed to Connor that everyone, apart from himself and a few others, was living their life firmly in the social spotlight. He acknowledged how dangerous it was. Connor didn't have children himself, but he had nieces and nephews whom he was constantly advising to be cautious. To think about what they put online. To not tell the world where they were going.

  It only took one wrong person to follow you.

  And this proved it.

  "Let's take a look at the scene," he said, climbing out of the car, feeling heavy hearted as he always did when approaching the scene of a murder. A life had been taken, and Connor couldn't help feeling in his heart that he'd failed. That he should have been faster, should have somehow prevented this death.

  One of the cops at the scene saw him approaching and hurried over, calling out, "FBI's here."

  "I'm Detective Davies," the cop said.

  "Agent Connor. This is IT expert Cami Lark."

  Connor was used to the curious stares that Cami attracted with her edgy hairstyle—even though it was camouflaged by an FBI baseball cap—and her tattoos, even though they were mostly invisible under the jacket. Her multiple earrings in both ears were on display. It was only now that he saw her fingernails were painted black. To his surprise, Connor found he'd stopped noticing these physical details. It was as if his eyes passed over them, even though they'd annoyed him intensely on the first case he had handled with her.

  Connor strode over the tidy lawn to the open front door of the house.

  "The killer broke in. In broad daylight," the cop explained. "A passing neighbor was coming home from the shops, and saw the door standing ajar, and realized that the lock had been smashed. They went in, took one look, and called us."

  That was interesting, Connor thought. Even though he knew Cami would be more focused on the online world, he was intrigued by that behavior. Because it did not signal clear planning. Rather, it was an impulsive, almost reckless crime. This killer could have broken in at night and killed this victim with far less risk of being discovered.

  But he hadn't. He'd smashed the door and stormed the house in the late morning. That was hugely risky. And it indicated that they were dealing with a killer who was—in Connor's mind at least—probably not an organized or rational killer.

  The smashed lock spoke of desperation, of seizing the moment. That was the mindset he sensed here.

  He trod inside, through the small hall where he stopped to put on head and foot covers. In a scene like this, where the killer had acted frantically, there was far more chance that he'd made a mistake and perhaps left some trace behind. Maybe they'd been lucky.

  "What's the victim's name?" he asked, knowing that Cami would be at the ready, researching it.

  "Marion Albert," the detective replied. "She's forty years old."

  Sure enough, Cami was already researching the victim.

  "I’ve gotten into one of her online social media platforms. It looks like she sells homemade chocolates and cookies from home,” Cami said. “Before she came home, she was at the planetarium. Not viewing the show. She was making deliveries to a kiosk there. She pinned her location there and then came back, probably just over an hour ago."

  Someone had known, without a doubt, that she was coming home, Connor thought.

  "And she's blonde," Cami said, hanging back as they approached the master bedroom where Connor guessed the drowning had occurred in the ensuite bathroom.

  Another blonde. Was it a coincidence? Or was the killer seeking out women with this hair color for a reason?

  Perhaps viewing the body would give him an insight, although as he stepped into the bathroom, he saw Cami hang back. She was not comfortable with seeing the crime scene and as always, Connor felt a flash of irritation because the crime scene was exactly where he needed the eyes, ears, and impressions of his partner.

  The victim was floating in the bath, face down. Her fair hair fanned out around her head. There was a trace of blood in the chilly water, and Connor guessed that the killer had hit her over the head in the same way he'd killed the others, before dumping her in the bath to make sure she drowned. Since she was fully clothed, she hadn't been in the bath at the time. She must have been moved there, dragged or carried.

  That indicated some strength, because she was a well-built woman, not petite. Again, Connor felt the parameters in his mind shift. Someone strong. Someone with the power and physical strength to move these victims.

  There was the blue bracelet with the same red stud earring in place, set carefully on the side of the tub.

  "There's no footprints, no trace of him to be found so far," the detective said. "We can't find any fingerprints so far, but we're continuing to look. The only ones on the scene appear to be the victim's."

  The coroner was already on the scene, crouched over the tub, carefully examining the victim before draining the water.

  "She's been dead about an hour, I'd guess," he said, turning to Connor. "Taking into account the temperature of the water which would have cooled her faster. This is very recent."

  Connor bit his lip. Recent was still not good enough. An hour sounded like a short time, but in an hour, the killer could have escaped the city completely.

  One of the cops carefully lifted the bracelet and placed it in an evidence bag. Connor hoped forensics could get something from it, but there had been nothing found on the others, he recalled.

  From the other room, he heard Cami calling out, "Connor, can you come here real quick?"

  Connor knew that she should come to him but wouldn’t because of her dislike of murder scenes. As right now didn’t seem like a good time to push that particular argument forward, Connor walked out. But then he saw what she had seen.

  The victim's purse was hanging over a chair in the bedroom. And in the purse, Connor could see the shape of a phone.

  "I might be able to find something on there," Cami told him, her face earnest. "It looks to be an older phone and a type I can unlock easily. Do you want me to take a look?"

  Connor knew this was where the powers of his unusual partner could come into play. Her abilities would give him the chance to get ahead.

  "Take a look," he said, after checking that she had gloves on and would not contaminate any evidence. The phone would need to be signed in and form part of the scene's evidence, so unless there was a compelling reason to sign it out again, what Cami found here—if anything—would be their only clue.

  He turned back to the bathroom, glancing around him as he searched for any sign of where this might have happened. Where had she been attacked? He guessed it was very possible that, having been confronted by an intruder wielding some form of weapon, she’d fled. There was nothing visible on scene, so he must have brought it with him. Perhaps in terror, she'd run into the bathroom, and he'd attacked her and delivered the killing blow there. That would have made it easy for him.

  But why her? That was what was puzzling Connor. What had made this killer target her?

  And then, from the bedroom, he heard Cami call out again, this time sounding excited.

  "I've got something!"

  "You have?"

  Quickly, Connor rushed through, to see what secrets the phone had yielded.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cami glanced up as Connor hurried back into Marion Albert’s bedroom. She had been perched on the bed but quickly got up, not sure if sitting on a bed counted as contaminating the scene.

  "This phone." She held it up in her gloved hand. "It's got malware on it. I've just found it running in the background."

  Malware, thanks to her recent escapades in the FBI database, was something she was on the lookout for. It might be her own guilty secret, but perhaps it could help them on this case.

  "What type of malware?" he asked.

  "It's originating from a phishing scam, and it seems to have been used to collect personal information." She pressed more keys, keenly scrutinizing the program she'd just unearthed.

  "You think that might be how he's targeted them?" Connor asked her. "Because that's what I've been wondering. Why them? There's nothing in common between them, besides that they are all blonde, which might be coincidental, and they all advertised their locations."

  "I'm sure the fact that they advertised their locations is not a coincidence, and it's how he's tracking them, but I've also been asking myself how he's been finding them. Perhaps he put this onto social media and followed the people who downloaded it."

  "And how would he have done that?" Connor asked. He sounded genuinely interested and Cami was surprised by how engaged he was over the process.

  Was this really the same agent who'd seemed to shut down when anything IT-related was mentioned? She felt glad that he was becoming more interested in the world that she was so passionate about.

  "In a quiz, it looks like," Cami said. "Online quizzes are the worst for that."

  "They are?"

  "They're information gathering in every way. If it's not trying to get passwords, it's harvesting personal details that can often be narrowed down by the quiz responses and even used to hack other confidential portals. There's risk in the quiz itself and in associated malware that tags along. My lecturer always says that when he advises younger people on how to stay safe online, and companies on their company policies, doing quizzes is one of the big no-nos, because people do them innocently and they think it’s just fun. It's not like messaging a stranger or advertising where you're going—as these victims also did."

  "Did the others do quizzes too?"

  That was a good question. Turning to her own phone, Cami checked back on Patti's and Leanne's activities online.

  "Yes, they did. Both of them did quizzes often. And all types too. Totally random ones."

  She shook her head in disapproval. “Is there really a need to find out what type of car you would drive if you were a millionaire, or who your ideal celebrity boyfriend is, or what type of thunderstorm you are?” she asked.

  “What type of storm? Seriously?” Connor’s voice sounded like he thought some people had way too much time on their hands.

  "I'm an electrical storm, powerful and dangerous. My lightning bolts will scorch you, and you can expect third degree burns if you get caught in my epicenter. Stay on my good side, and I'll bring you a shower of refreshing rain," Cami read aloud in disbelief.

  "People do that?" Connor made a face. "Assuming, obviously, the answer is 'yes,' how can we track where this originated? I always thought that these types of quizzes originated in Eastern Europe for some reason."

  "A lot of hacking activity does come from that region," Cami agreed, digging deeper into the quiz's code. "But it looks as if this particular malware is local. It's been launched from an IP address near here."

  She turned to her mapping software to see if it would be possible to map the IP. Given that they'd had issues narrowing down IP addresses in the past, Cami had since gone hunting on the dark web and had found a few helpful programs that could pinpoint the origins of the IPs with more accuracy.

 

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