"James, what if we're wrong about this?"
Sullivan looked up from his notes."Wrong about what?"
"The whole approach.The assumption that our killer works here, that he's one of these long-term employees."She gestured at the remaining files scattered across the desk."What if the boot print was a coincidence?What if someone just happened to be in that area for completely unrelated reasons?"
"You don't believe that."
"No, I don't.But look at what we're doing here."She stood and walked to the small window that offered a view of the shipyard's main assembly area.Workers moved between buildings with the purposeful efficiency of people accustomed to dangerous, precision work.Any one of them could be her killer, but with each interview, she was becoming increasingly certain that none of them were.
"We're conducting official FBI interviews with men who've worked the same jobs for decades.Word's going to spread, James.If our killer is here, he knows by now that we're looking for him."
Sullivan joined her at the window, his proximity sending that familiar flutter through her chest that she'd been trying to ignore for months."So we're making him nervous.That could work in our favor."
"Or it could make him more dangerous.Push him to accelerate his timeline, or change his methods, or just disappear entirely."She turned away from the window, forcing herself to focus on the case rather than the way Sullivan's presence affected her concentration."Serial killers who've been successful for years don't usually panic when law enforcement gets close.They adapt."
The thought that had been nagging at her all morning finally crystallized into words: "What if we're on the right track with the shipyard connection, but Sarah Quinn was killed by the same person who murdered Alex Novak and the others?What if Brennan was just a convenient cover?"
Sullivan was quiet for a moment, considering the possibility."You think our killer used Brennan's public conflict with Sarah to deflect attention?"
"Think about it."Isla returned to the desk, spreading out the timeline she'd constructed over the past year."Look at this.Sanchez—connected to the port through her job at the shipping company.Marcus Webb—worked part-time at the marina.Alex Novak—shipyard employee.All clear connections to this community."
She pointed to Sarah Quinn's photograph, which she'd added to the timeline that morning."Sarah Quinn doesn't fit the pattern of port connections, but she was killed using identical methods—artificially weakened ice, body positioned to look like an accident.And her murder came right when we started asking questions about Alex Novak."
"You think our killer knew about her conflict with Brennan?"
"I think our killer is smart enough to monitor local news and community conflicts.Sarah's environmental activism was well-publicized, her disputes with recreational fishing guides were documented online.It would have been easy for someone to identify her as a potential victim whose death could be blamed on existing tensions."
Sullivan sat on the edge of the desk, close enough that she could smell his aftershave mixed with the coffee he'd been drinking all morning."So what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we may be dealing with something more complex than a simple serial killer."Isla stared at the photographs of their victims, trying to see past the patterns she'd constructed to whatever truth lay beneath."Sarah Quinn's murder fits our killer's methods perfectly—artificially weakened ice, body discovered in circumstances that initially appeared accidental.But the victim selection is different enough to suggest either adaptation or coincidence."
"Adaptation to what?"
"To law enforcement attention.If our killer has been monitoring police activity—and serial killers often do—he would know that we've been asking questions about port-related deaths.Sarah Quinn's murder gives him a victim who doesn't fit the established pattern, since she had no connection to the port.”
The possibility sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the January air seeping through the building's inadequate insulation.A killer smart enough to deliberately muddy his victim patterns was far more dangerous than someone simply preying on targets of opportunity.
"We need to finish the interviews," she said, though her conviction in the approach had weakened considerably."Even if our killer isn't among these employees, we can't afford to leave possibilities unexplored.But we also need to start looking at this from a different angle."
"Such as?"
"Such as the possibility that our killer doesn't work at the shipyard at all.That he's someone with access to the port community—a vendor, a contractor, someone whose job brings them here regularly but who isn't a permanent employee."
Sullivan nodded, already reaching for his phone."I'll get Kate to authorize expanded background checks.Anyone with regular access to Northern Star over the past five years."
As he made the call, Isla returned to the window, watching the afternoon shift change bring fresh workers onto the yard.Somewhere in the sprawling industrial complex, or in the wider community it supported, a killer was going about his routine.Confident in his ability to avoid detection.Secure in the knowledge that his crimes would continue to be mistaken for accidents.
But he'd made two mistakes—the boot print that had started this investigation and the evidence of the tampered ice.And mistakes, Isla had learned over her years with the FBI, had a way of multiplying once you knew where to look for them.
The question was whether she could identify the next mistake before he claimed another victim.Because whatever else she was uncertain about, one thing remained clear: the killer who'd taken Alex Novak and the others wasn't finished.He was simply waiting for his next opportunity.
And in Duluth's harsh January climate, opportunities to make murder look like accident were never in short supply.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The January wind cut across the shipyard like a blade, carrying the scent of oil and rust that had become as familiar to him as his own breathing over four decades of labor.From his position beside the maintenance shed, partially hidden behind a stack of steel girders waiting for transport, he had a clear view of the federal building's temporary command post that Agent Isla Rivers had established in Conference Room B.
She was back.
