If there was anything to be saidfor the situation, Zoe was at least glad that Flynn showed some commitment. Thathe wasn’t going to let the case drop to escort her back to the airport, or makethe travel arrangements for her. She could at least manage that on her own,secure in the knowledge that he was still working hard to catch the killer.
“Fine,” she said, shortly, with noenergy left to say anything else. She turned toward the car and walked awayfrom the body, ready to give it all up and go home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flynn sat at his temporary desk inthe sheriff’s station. It was clearly some poor deputy’s normal desk, stillequipped with photographs of his loved ones by the screen, but at least it hada computer and enough space to spread out a few files for comparison. Now thathe was the only adult professional actually dealing with the case, he had evenmore reason to focus.
There was a new file waiting forhim; the sheriff had obviously been busy while he was driving back to themotel, getting Prime situated, checking her room for more pills so that shecouldn’t get herself an overdose while his back was turned, and giving herstrict instructions to call SAIC Maitland for her transfer home. It contained abrief overview of the victim, whom they had been able to identify almostimmediately thanks to her uniform and name tag.
Flynn spread the three informationsheets out over the desk, looking at them side by side: Olive Hanson, ElaraVega, Shacora Maxwell. There was nothing the three women had in common: notage, not race, not their looks or physical type, not the location of theircrimes, not even the method of murder. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’tsomething that linked them.
There still had to be a link.Maybe Ed Baker had an alibi, although Flynn still wasn’t entirely convincedabout that one. He hit the desk with his open palm, feeling the flash of painreverberate up his arm. Whoever it was, Baker or someone else, they’d been slowenough to allow him to kill again. Flynn was glad the crime scene photographsfor Maxwell weren’t in yet—he wouldn’t have been able to look at them. They hadlet her down. Left her to suffer at the hands of a maniac, all because theycouldn’t pull their fingers out quick enough to catch the killer.
Because Prime had been drinking,not to mention obsessed with that weird pi tangent. Flynn shook his head,willing the pieces of paper to come to life and speak to him, to tell him whereto look. He didn’t want another death on his conscience. He needed to put thiscase to bed, on his own. He couldn’t use the excuse of waiting for a newpartner. This had to be closed, and now, before the killer had another chanceto strike.
Flynn leafed through the otherpapers for inspiration, all of the bits and pieces he had put together over thelast twenty-four hours. One of the sheets was the list of planetariumemployees, with Ed Baker’s name and address still circled. Employees—that wasanother place to look. He should check out the people that worked with Maxwell,and the people in her class. Maybe there would be something. A shared surname.A day student who also worked at the planetarium. Something.
Maxwell was security at the statepark; that meant she worked with rangers, maybe even other security guards onshared shifts.
Security…
Flynn searched down the list fromthe planetarium again, scanning job titles. He saw astronomers, tour guides,lecturers, janitorial staff, all of it—but no security. It wasn’t possible thata place that big, with that much expensive equipment inside, went unpatrolled.That meant they must be outsourcing to a different firm.
He’d overlooked it.
Flynn grabbed for his phone,calling his contact at the planetarium—a dour office manager type who wasresponsible for HR as well as other duties. It wasn’t a huge firm. “Hello, thisis Agent Flynn,” he said, rushing on quickly without waiting for pleasantries. “Ineed to know the name of your security company.”
“Oh, yeah,” the contact said,slowly; he had a habit of drawing out his vowels that annoyed Flynn no end. “IfI remember correctly, that’s Syracuse Secure.”
“You’re sure?” Flynn asked. Hedidn’t need vagaries. He needed precise and correct answers, and he needed themnow.
“Let me just… you know, it mightbe Secure Syracuse…”
“Can you get me their phonenumber?” Flynn cut in impatiently.
“Oh yeah, I’ve got that righthere,” the man said.
Flynn took it down, ending thecall with a brief word of thanks that wasn’t entirely done with feeling. Theman was slow, infuriatingly slow when everything could depend on the minutesand hours it took him to get to the bottom of all of this.
“Syracuse Secure, how can we helpsecure you today?” came the syrupy response down the line as he dialed thenumber.
“Yes, hello, this is FBI SpecialAgent Aiden Flynn,” Flynn said, getting right to the point. “I need someinformation on your employees.”
“Oh.” There was hesitation on theother end of the line. “Do you need, like, a warrant or something for that?”
“Not if you cooperate with thisopen murder investigation to prevent any more of your fellow citizens from losingtheir lives,” Flynn said. “Like a good person would do.”
“Erm.” There was a brief silence. “What’sit for, did you say?”
“We’re trying to stop a serialkiller,” Flynn said, through gritted teeth. “I need to know who works securityat the planetarium.”
“Right.” The person on the otherend of the line seemed to come to a decision. “Do you have a fax line overthere?”
Flynn rolled his eyes. They weren’tthat far out of New York City. Email was a thing. “Sure. I’m at the sheriff’sstation.”
“I’ll get the list sent over toyou right away.”
Flynn put the phone down andpractically ran to the sheriff’s office, which happened to be the only roomwith a fax in it. The sheriff was sitting at her desk, looking over casereports through half-moon spectacles balanced delicately on her nose, when heentered.
“Some kind of fire, Agent?” sheasked, with a look of alarm.
“Waiting on a fax,” he explained,just as the machine lit up and beeped the sequence indicating an incomingmessage.
“Where’s Agent Prime?” the sheriffasked. “You
