He’d had only one true success in all the hours he’d spent searching. He tacked the photo of eighteen-year-old William Holly—a.k.a. Boaz Travis—next to a photo he’d found in the archives of an L.A. newspaper. The photo featured Pastor, his wife, and their twins, five years old at the time, and had been taken for a Christmas newsletter the year before he’d been accused of embezzling tens of thousands of dollars from his church.

The quality of the photo wasn’t good. The original had been photocopied for the newsletter before being included in the newspaper article, and the result was dark and grainy. It had been one of the few articles that Tom had been able to find on the investigation into Pastor’s embezzlement and identity fraud.

It told the story of Craig Hickman, who’d been a college-aged member of Pastor’s L.A. church. He’d become suspicious of Pastor after beginning his own degree in psychology, because Pastor had claimed to have a degree that didn’t exist. Digging deeper, Craig had discovered that church money was missing. That had eventually led to charges being leveled against Pastor.

And then Craig was beaten badly by a group of masked brutes brandishing baseball bats shortly after Pastor disappeared. A few weeks later, Craig’s family home had been burned to the ground. The young man had disappeared soon after.

Some of this information Tom had found online. Some had been in a month-old report prepared by Jeff Bunker, the teenage journalism major who’d brought Cameron Cook to the field office on Wednesday morning. Jeff had started searching for Craig Hickman a month ago.

“I wonder what he’s found,” Tom murmured, and sent Jeff a text.

Any progress on locating Craig Hickman?

The reply was instantaneous. Got sidetracked with finals, but they’re done now. Will get back on it. The woman who mentored Hickman is a kickass reporter with the L.A. Times. Now mentoring me on research. The text was followed by a gif of Kermit the Frog flailing excitedly.

Tom had to smile. He often forgot that Jeff was only sixteen. LMK when you find something.

A thumbs-up emoji from Jeff popped up seconds before Tom’s phone screen was filled with an incoming call.

Raeburn. “This is Hunter.”

“We have a situation. Texting you an address. Meet me there ASAP.”

A text popped up with an address near the airport. “I’m on my way. Can you tell me what it’s about?” Because his mind was spinning images of Mercy dead, of Gideon dead. Of Liza dead.

“SacPD got a call from one of its off-duty cops who was working a private security gig.”

Tom’s gut twisted. “Bowie Security?”

“Yes. I understand you hired them?”

“I did, yes. For Mercy Callahan’s birthday party and out of my own pocket. No connection to the Bureau. What happened?”

Raeburn sighed. “You need to stop paying for things out of your own pocket, Tom.”

Tom blinked, unaccustomed to hearing Raeburn address him by his first name. “That’s fine, sir. Can you tell me what happened first?”