Page 97 of Forever Gone

“Do HearthSpace retain identifying data?”

"Their privacy policy says they keep registration metadata, device records, login IPs, etc."

Selena picked up her phone and opened the contact list.

Connor watched her. “What are you doing?”

“We need a warrant for HearthSpace’s records.”

Kelly moved closer. “We’ll need to specify accounts.”

“We don’t know the usernames yet, but we have the victims’ known IP addresses and access windows. HearthSpace can match those against login records.”

Selena selected the number for the Commonwealth’s Attorney who had handled the provider warrant.

“If we match the service records to the victims’ personal IP addresses, we can identify their usernames and find out what they were discussing.”

Connor glanced at the three photographs on the board.

Selena pressed the call button.

“Maybe it has something to do with the killer.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Earlier that Thursday, a light rain had passed over Harlan County, leaving the roads dark and the trees bright with moisture.

Wind moved along the ridges and through the narrow streets below, stripping more gold from the branches. Leaves lifted from lawns, spun across driveways, and settled against curbs in loose bands. Others came down one at a time, turning slowly before touching the pavement.

The killer drove through a neighborhood on the eastern side of Elmsview and watched them fall.

The houses there had been built close together, each with a short walk, a clipped patch of grass, and porches decorated for autumn. Pumpkins sat beside one door. A child’s bicycle leaned against another. Someone had tied orange ribbon around a mailbox, and the wet fabric snapped lightly in the wind.

Beauty remained possible in places that did not deserve it.

The killer eased past a row of maples. Their leaves had turned the color of old coins. Rain clung to the branches and released in small drops whenever the wind pressed through.

For several seconds, the road seemed clean of everything people had done to one another.

Then the killer remembered where Deb Mosley worked.

The car continued toward Main Street.

Traffic thickened near the center of town. Delivery vans occupied two loading spaces beside the pharmacy, and a county truck moved slowly through the intersection ahead. The killer kept to the speed limit and turned toward the southern end of Main Street, where storefronts gave way to the old municipal buildings and a small park.

A space opened near the curb, half a block from Harry’s Print Shop.

The killer pulled in and shut off the engine.

Rainwater clicked beneath passing tires. People moved along the pavement with collars raised against the wind. A woman wrestled with an umbrella outside the bakery before giving up and folding it beneath one arm.

The killer checked the time.

Deb would appear soon. She always took a late lunch.

Routine had always been one of Deb’s weaknesses. The same route to work. The same lunch break. The same place to sit when the weather allowed. Even after the divorce, when Deb moved from the house in Elmsview to a smaller place in Eagleton, the habits survived.

People changed addresses more easily than they changed themselves.