But as Isla climbed into her car and turned toward the shipyard, she found herself almost grateful for the cold.It preserved things.Evidence.Footprints.Bodies, when the lake finally decided to give them back.
The engine protested in the frigid air, turning over twice before finally catching.She let it warm for a few minutes, watching her breath fog the windshield while the defroster worked to clear her view.Through the swirling snow, she could see the distant glow of the shipyard's floodlights, a beacon of industry in the white wilderness.
Twenty years or more, she'd told the woman on the phone.Someone who'd been there long enough to learn the patterns, to understand the routines, to know exactly when and where to strike.Someone who'd been patient enough to space out the kills, careful enough to avoid detection, smart enough to use the lake's deadly reputation as cover.
Isla put the car in drive and pulled onto the empty street, her tires crunching through the snow.Behind her, the wind continued to howl through the empty apartment, ruffling the evidence photos and case files she'd left scattered across the floor like the pieces of a puzzle she was finally ready to solve.
And maybe, if she was lucky, it would preserve enough for her to finally catch a killer.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time Isla's partner, James Sullivan's, familiar figure appeared through the shipyard's front entrance, Isla had already spent an hour staring at the scope of her task.Northern Star sprawled across forty acres of Lake Superior's shoreline, a maze of buildings, dry docks, and storage yards where massive freighters came to die or be reborn.The personnel office had provided her with a list of sixty-three employees who'd been there for twenty years or more, and she'd quickly realized that a single boot print wasn't going to narrow things down as efficiently as she'd hoped.
"Thought you might need backup," Sullivan said, stamping snow off his boots as he joined her in the cramped HR office.His cheeks were red from the cold, and his breath came out in small puffs despite the building's heating system working overtime.It was just like James to come help after Isla texted him to let her know what she was up to this morning.
"Tell me you brought better news than I've been getting," Isla replied, gesturing at the stack of personnel files spread across the desk."Sixty-three people, James.That's just the ones who've been here long enough to match our timeline."
Sullivan pulled off his gloves and picked up one of the files, scanning the employment record of a welder named Frank Morrison."Well, the good news is we can divide and conquer.The bad news..."He set the file down and met her eyes."Even if we find someone whose boot matches that print, it's not going to be enough to make anything stick."
Isla felt her jaw tighten.It was a truth she'd been avoiding all morning, the reality that had haunted every case since Miami.Evidence was only as good as the story it told, and a boot print at a crime scene was just circumstantial without witnesses, motive, or a confession.
"I know," she said quietly."But it's more than we had yesterday."
The HR representative, a nervous woman named Beth Kowalski who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, cleared her throat from behind her desk."I've pulled the additional files you requested, Agent Rivers.Would you like me to arrange for interviews?"
"We'll need a private space and access to the employees during their shifts," Sullivan said, taking charge with the easy authority that had made him a natural fit for the FBI."Can you start with the supervisors?Someone who can give us background on the long-term employees?"
Beth nodded and reached for her phone.As she dialed, Isla studied the employee photos clipped to each file.Weathered faces, mostly men, ranging from their forties to their seventies.They looked like what they were—blue-collar workers who'd spent their careers in the harsh environment of the Great Lakes shipping industry.But which of them had spent their off-hours hunting along the shoreline?
"Tom Hendricks is coming down," Beth announced."He's been a shift supervisor for fifteen years, knows most of the old-timers personally."
While they waited, Sullivan moved closer to Isla, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper."So we're really doing this?Going after the pattern?"
Isla glanced around the small office, making sure Beth was occupied with her computer."The boot print gives us an opening we haven't had before.If I'm right about the connection to the shipyard—"
"If you're right, we're looking at someone who's been killing for decades," Sullivan interrupted gently."Someone patient enough to space out murders so they look like accidents.That's a level of sophistication that worries me."
"It should worry you," Isla said."But we can't ignore the evidence just because it's disturbing."
Sullivan was quiet for a moment, and she could see him mentally reviewing the timeline they'd been building together over the past months.The deaths that never quite made sense.The head injuries that seemed too precise to be accidental falls.The pattern of victims connected to the port community.
"How many do you think there are?"he asked finally."Total victims, I mean."
"At least twenty years' worth.Maybe more."She paused, organizing her thoughts."We know about Sarah Sanchez, Marcus Webb, and Alex Novak.But those are just the ones that raised enough questions for us to notice.How many others were written off as simple accidents?"
The office door opened before Sullivan could respond, and a man in his fifties entered, his hands already extended in greeting.Tom Hendricks had the build of someone who'd spent decades doing physical labor, with shoulders that strained against his flannel shirt and hands that were permanently stained with grease and metal dust.
"Tom Hendricks," he said, shaking hands with both agents."Beth said you needed to talk about some of our long-term guys?"
"That's right," Isla replied, settling into one of the folding chairs Beth had arranged."We're investigating a case that may involve someone who's worked here for twenty years or more.We'd appreciate any background you can provide."
Tom's expression grew cautious."This about Alex Novak?Heard he was found out by the fishing holes.Damn shame, that boy."
"Did you know Alex well?"Sullivan asked, pulling out his notebook.
"Not well.Good worker, kept to himself mostly, but he was a new face, so I didn't know him too well.Real tragedy, but you know how the lake is this time of year.Ice fishing's a dangerous business."
Isla leaned forward."Tom, we're actually more interested in your long-term employees.People who've been here since the early 2000s or before.Can you walk us through some of the names on this list?"
