“Time of death?” he asked.
Vivi peered through her readers. “Estimated between eight and nine. About an hour after we sent the message to the killer.”
“So he killed her, then responded to our message by posting about it,” Hawk said, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Sick bastard.”
Claire’s hands were clenched on the table. “He wanted me to know. Wanted me to feel responsible.”
“Which is exactly what we’re not going to let happen,” Garrett said. The concrete in his chest still weighed him down, but he knew he had to keep Claire angry, not feeling guilty. “He’s playing psychological games to disempower you. Are you going to let him do that, Agent Dawson?”
Her eyes met his. “Hell, no.”
Garrett smiled. “Hell, no.”
Claire’s Bureau phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, her expression shifting. “It’s Reeves.”
“Answer it,” Garrett said. “Put it on speaker.”
Claire hit the button. “Marcus?”
“Claire.” Reeves’s voice filled the room. He sounded tired, stressed. “I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. I’ve been running down a lead.”
“What kind of lead?”
“Your ex-boyfriend. James Cohen.”
The room went still. Garrett watched Claire’s face carefully. In it, he saw confusion, then recognition.
“James?” she shook her head. “I haven’t talked to him in three years. We both had extremely stressful jobs and eventually realized it just wasn’t working. We broke up and moved on. There’s no way?—”
“I know. I investigated him anyway so that we could rule him out.” Papers rustled in the background. “James Cohen, thirty-two years old. D.C. lawyer working for the CIA’s Office of General Counsel. Married eighteen months ago, has one kid. He’s been thoroughly vetted by the Agency. Multiple background checks, polygraphs, the works. His wife confirmed he’s been home every night for the past six months. Security footage from his office building corroborates his whereabouts during all the D.C. murders.”
“So he’s clear,” Garrett said.
“Completely. No connection to the Countdown Killer. No motive or opportunity.” Reeves paused. “But I did find something else while I was digging.”
Claire leaned forward. “What?”
“I went to Derek, one of your IT support guys, to help me get the info on James. You know Derek?”
Claire’s brow furrowed. “Derek Sullivan? Of course. He’s been with the Bureau for... I don’t know, as long as I have? He’s always been really helpful whenever I have tech issues.”
Garrett’s instincts prickled. “What about him?”
“He hasn’t shown up for work in two days,” Reeves said. “No call, either, to ask for time off. He has a spotless record and has never even taken a sick day until now. His supervisor tried reaching him yesterday but there was no answer. Went by his apartment this morning. No one was home. His car’s gone. It’s like he vanished.”
The room went silent.
“Two days,” Lynx said quietly. “That’s when Claire arrived in Montana.”
“Could be a coincidence,” Hawk offered, but his tone said he didn’t believe it.
“Or it could be our guy,” Garrett said.
Claire was staring at the phone as if it might explode. “Derek Sullivan.” Her voice was incredulous. “You think Derek is the Countdown Killer?”
“I think the timing is suspicious,” Reeves said. “I’m having his apartment searched right now, and we’re checking all flights to Montana. So far, we’ve found nothing on the manifests under Derek Sullivan, but we’re looking for anagrams and scrambled versions of his name in case he’s using an alias. His computer forensics are being pulled. Financial records, travel history, everything.”
“What’s his background?” Garrett asked. “Military? Law enforcement?”
