“Maddox is working with the superintendent,” Matt said. “Did you tell him all this?”

“Yes,” Michael said. “Maddox is on it. He’s a solid cop.”

“Good. This might be it. What were the other cases that you flagged?”

“The lone survivor of a family in the same pileup outside Liberty Lake sued the hospital—and the Sheriff’s department and Liberty Lake PD and FD—for wrongful death. I don’t quite understand the reasoning here, but it was a young guy, sixteen, and he would have had to have had an adult working this for him.”

“Fucking lawyers,” Kara mumbled.

“Guy’s name is McCafferty, and we’re trying to track him down, too. Another lawsuit that Ryder flagged happened early in her career, where a pregnant woman died while Anne Banks was attending her. She had preeclampsia, came into the hospital, and they were trying to get her blood pressure down to perform an emergency C-section when the woman—and child—died.”

“Why Banks? She wasn’t in the OB department.”

“Emergency, I don’t know. Husband’s name is Holloway.”

“That’s it?”

“Nothing else stands out, but Ryder is running all the plaintiffs. It just takes time.”

“Where is Ryder?”

“His room. Said Kara and I were too chatty.” Michael laughed.

“I can multitask,” Kara said. “Read tedious lawsuits and play games.”

Ryder ran into the room waving a printout. “I think I have something.”

“Spill.”

“March 3—that was the night of the pileup. The one where Hamilton’s wife and McCafferty’s family were killed.”

Ryder handed Matt a printout of the newspaper article the day after the tragic accident. He skimmed it and his gut twisted in excitement. This was it. He knew it.

“It’s one of them,” Matt said.

He sent Catherine a text message, though she’d be sleeping right now. “It’s after eleven on a Saturday night. We’re not going to get anything on them now. But start the ball rolling—I want to know where those two men are before the briefing tomorrow. And if we can locate them, I want to talk to them. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Ryder sat at a computer and started typing.

“I left Jim Esteban at the lab,” Matt said, “I don’t know that he’s going to get back anytime soon. He and Miles Jordan are working on the forensics from Ogdenburg’s bathroom and think they might have something. Plus they’re going back to Joanne Grant’s house to make sure the CSU didn’t miss anything when they processed. The guy was in a rage—he might have left blood, hair, his fucking wallet.”

“That would be nice,” Michael said, “however unlikely.”

“Point is, we don’t have anything else until morning. Go to bed. Meet here at oh-eight-hundred. Everyone needs sleep—including you, Superboy,” he said to Ryder.

“I will,” Ryder said with no reaction to his new nickname. “I’m just starting the criminal search on the names, and sending a note to Tony to assign someone to run a thorough background on both of them. I can do it, but not as fast as headquarters.”