Faith watched him and Turk both closely as she said that.Turk remained cautious but not particularly excited.He had stopped looking for clues in Marcus’s house too.Marcus, for his part, reacted with a little fear but mostly irritation.He sighed and said, “Well, I spend my nights at a hookah lounge in downtown.The Rajah’s Den.”
“A hookah lounge?”Jessica asked incredulously.
“It’s very relaxing.It’s also the only place I can interact with other human beings without them looking at me the way you two are.Judge me if you want, but if any of your victims died at night, I was probably smoking flavored tobacco and boring some poor girl with a lecture on the psychology of domestication.”
Faith looked at Jessica, who sighed and stepped outside to call the hookah lounge.Faith remained, and when her partner was outside, she said, “Matthew Brooks was killed in the morning.Around seven-thirty yesterday morning.”
Marcus lifted his hands.“Can’t help you there.I haven’t been up before nine in four months.Can’t prove that, though.No security cameras here, and the neighbors here aren’t the type to know or care where their neighbors are at any given time.”
Faith watched his eyes flick back and forth.She suspected there was more than alcohol in his system right now.The right kind of stimulant could cause temporary blackouts where users became violent without remembering the incidents upon coming down.
But now she was grabbing at straws.When Jessica returned and confirmed video evidence of his alibi, Faith knew they had exhausted this lead.
Still, they had one more shot in the dark.She pulled a notepad from her pocket and jotted down his name along with the date and time.Then she extended the pad to Marcus.“Would you mind signing this to indicate that you’ve talked to us?It helps me keep track.”
Marcus took the notebook absently and scrawled a signature underneath.He started to hand it back, and Faith asked, “Print and date too, please.”
He giggled softly and printed his name and the date.He handed it back to Faith, and when she saw the shockingly dainty, well-organized handwriting, her last bit of hope dissipated.This was nothing like the heavy-handed scrawl of their killer.
“Thank you for your time,” Faith said.“We’ll keep in touch.”
“Sure.I’ll be here.”
They left him on the couch, bloodshot eyes staring vacantly at the television mounted on the wall of his living room.Faith felt deflated.It wasn’t common to be without solid leads at this point in the case, but her focus was intermittent at best, and this killer was moving lightning fast.If she couldn’t bring herself to a hundred percent soon, then it was all but guaranteed that they’d find another victim with a note attached to their mutilated corpse.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The last twenty-four hours had been very productive for David.He’d finally convinced Rogers and Hammerton that it wasn’t necessary for them to be in his waiting room when he was at work, since work was the literal headquarters of the FBI Academy.No one was going to kill him here, not even the US Marine Corps.
After assuring him that they could and would track his cell phone, the two beefcakes had agreed to spend the day touring the academy and enjoying the gardens and food court while he cared for his patients.
And he did.He had a full slate of patients, and he tended to all of them thoroughly.
And quickly.Years of experience as an in-demand veterinarian and then as a subcontractor for the FBI had honed his ability to effectively but very quickly see patients.Usually, he had only five to ten minutes between patients, but with a combination of efficient work and the assistance of the other staff veterinarians, he was getting closer to fifteen minutes between patients today.
And each gap, he would go to his office and continue researching the 93rdTesting Brigade.He was locked out of Marine Corps records, but he could still look for stories about missing working dogs and K9s and official records with confusing or missing parts.
His list had expanded so there were now over fifty dogs possibly involved in the program.In six of those cases, there were records of owners claiming that the dogs were spirited away.Either they were kidnapped with no sign of the kidnappers, transferred with no record of where or why, or they were “euthanized” but with no body left behind for the owners to pay final respects to.
What he still didn’t have was any idea what the 93rddid.Why did they want all these dogs?He couldn’t believe that this was really some kind of research into telepathy.
But…
He rubbed his chin, frowning at the stubble under his fingers.He needed to shave.He couldn’t let himself go.People would notice, and not just Faith.With all of these eyes on him, he needed to look like hewasn’tobsessed.
He reached reluctantly for the keyboard and searched for records of telepathic research into dogs.He wasn’t sure where the reluctance came from.Maybe the idea of mind-controlling dogs was just too horrible for him to imagine.
Most of the search results that popped up were clearly entertainment.Cartoon dogs with hats covered in lightbulbs or wearing robes and levitating, young adult novels featuring animal-human pairs, and spoof articles with headlines such as MY DOG CAN READ MY INTERNET HISTORY IN MY MIND!
But a few didn’t look like spoofs.It appeared that a few scientists had actually considered the possibility of a telepathic connection between dog and owner.Notably, a Dr.Martin Ramsey, once a well-respected psychologist, had argued that dogs were telepathic and could be trained to share a mental link with their owners.Dr.Ramsey had been found dead in his home next to a bottle of prescription pain pills, evidently a victim of suicide.
The time of death made David wonder, though.Dr.Ramsey had been killed shortly after David examined Sierra.They could be unconnected, and suicide was definitely a possibility since Dr.Ramsey had been excoriated by the medical community after doubling down on his claims.
But David had seen it.He had seen Sierra try to resist telepathic control and fail.It seemed impossible, and his mind screamed at him that it was, it had to be.
But…
He opened the article and began to read Dr.Ramsey’s research.Most of it was clearly crackpot stuff, attempts to interpret anecdotes of extraordinary dog behavior as “raw” telepathic potential.
