"Rivers."James's voice was tight."Look at this."
He was standing by the desk, holding a stack of papers he'd found in one of the drawers.Isla moved to his side and took them, her pulse quickening as she recognized what she was looking at.
Printouts.Information about closed restaurants in Duluth—addresses, closure dates, reasons for shutdown.Bella Ristorante was there, with notes about the salmonella outbreak and the dates of the health department closure.The Shoreline Diner, with details about the renovation timeline.Harrington's Steakhouse, with information about the kitchen fire and the insurance dispute.
Three crime scenes.All of them documented in Jamie Thornton's files.
But there were others, too.A downtown café called The Copper Kettle, closed three months ago when the owner retired and no buyer materialized.A French bistro called Maison Laurent, temporarily shuttered while the owners converted it into a Mediterranean fusion restaurant.A sandwich shop near the university, closed for winter break and not scheduled to reopen until March.
"He's been researching," Isla said, her mind racing through the implications."Tracking which restaurants are closed, which ones might have working freezers."
"Building a list of potential dump sites."
"Not dump sites."The distinction felt important."Display cases.He's preserving them, James.Presenting them.The freezers aren't about hiding the bodies—they're about keeping them perfect."
She thought about Rebecca Thornton's photograph, about the way grief could twist love into something unrecognizable.Jamie Thornton had lost his wife to fire—the ultimate destroyer, the force that consumed everything and left nothing behind but ash and memory.Of course he'd turned to cold.Of course he'd sought preservation over destruction, permanence over loss.
"He's not here," James said, stating the obvious."But this—" He gestured at the wall of photographs, at the files documenting closed restaurants."This is enough for an arrest warrant.Maybe enough to prove premeditation."
"If we can find him."
Isla turned back to the photographs on the wall, scanning the faces for anyone she recognized.Monica Hayes was there—her picture cut from theI Love Duluthmagazine feature, the same warm smile that had greeted customers at The Looking Glass.Amanda Pierce, her Teacher of the Year photograph carefully trimmed and mounted at eye level.Sarah Ramsey, her professional headshot arranged alongside the others.
Three victims.Three women already dead.
But there were more photographs.More faces she didn't recognize, more women who fit the profile—blonde, attractive, mid-thirties—more potential targets who might not know they'd been marked.
"We need to identify these women," Isla said."Get their names, their addresses, figure out who's at risk."
"That'll take time."
"Time we don't have."She turned from the wall, her mind already racing ahead to the next step, the next move, the next decision that might mean the difference between saving a life and arriving too late."He's escalating.Three victims in three days, and today is Valentine's Day.If he's working toward something, if this date means something to him—"
"He might already be hunting his next target."
The thought sat between them like something with weight, something that pressed down on Isla's chest and made it hard to breathe.Somewhere in Duluth, a woman was going about her day—working, shopping, living—without knowing that a man consumed by grief had chosen her to be preserved.To be kept.To become another frozen echo of the wife he'd lost.
"He needs a location," Isla said, the pieces clicking into place even as she spoke."A closed restaurant with a working freezer.That's his pattern—he selects the victim first, then finds a suitable place to take her."
"The files," James said, following her logic."The restaurants he's been researching—"
"Might tell us where he's planning to go next."
Isla pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for.Daniel Murphy answered on the second ring, his voice carrying the particular wariness of someone who'd recently been suspected of murder.
"Mr.Murphy, this is Agent Rivers.I need your help."
A pause."You mean you're not calling to apologize for tearing apart my warehouse?"
"We can discuss apologies later.Right now I need your expertise."Isla kept her voice professional, urgent."Closed restaurants in Duluth—specifically ones that might still have working freezers.I need to know which locations would fit that profile."
"That's...a pretty specific question."Murphy's tone shifted from wary to curious."Is this about the case?The women in the freezers?"
"Mr.Murphy—"
"I'm not asking to pry.I'm asking because I might actually be able to help."She could hear movement on his end—papers shuffling, maybe a chair creaking."I keep pretty detailed records, as you know.Let me think...There's The Copper Kettle on Second Street.Downtown café, closed about three months ago when the owner retired.I was hoping to buy their espresso machine, but the estate's still in probate."
"Would the freezer still be operational?"
