The director printed out a copy of the record for Matt. It was thin, but it gave them what they needed—a Glen Vincent Hamilton, now thirty-one. He’d been twelve when his mother was killed, nearly fourteen when he was taken from his father and sent to live with his mother’s sister in Kennewick—two hours away.

“Is this all you have on him?”

“He wasn’t in the system as a juvenile delinquent—he came through here only because his father went to prison. I wasn’t here at the time—this was years ago. We facilitated locating his closest relative, an aunt. Followed up—” she looked at the file, flipped a page “—twice to make sure that he had adjusted. He did tell the counselor he didn’t want to visit his father in prison. We don’t force kids to see their incarcerated parents, but if they choose to, we will arrange for regular visitation.”

“You’ve had no contact with the son since.”

“No, Agent Costa, there was no need. There’s a notation here that he continued to live with his aunt even after his father was released, but that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

Matt and Michael walked out.

“Shit,” Matt muttered.

“You want to drive down to Kennewick?” Michael said as he slid into the driver’s seat.

It was noon. Two hours there, an hour of conversation, they’d be back before dark.

“I don’t know. The killer is most likely here.”

“What other leads do we have?”

“We’re going to waste half the day. But if this is our guy...we need to talk to his aunt in person.” But should he call her and give her a heads-up? Or make a surprise visit, even if that meant she might not be available? He sent Ryder a note that he needed to confirm the information about Glen Hamilton’s aunt in Kennewick.

He then called Catherine.

“Hello, Matt.”

“I’m stuck. We have twelve hours till midnight and McCafferty didn’t pan out.”

“What’s his story?”

Matt briefly told her. “It’s not him. I have the Boston field office verifying he didn’t travel to Washington in the last week, but I talked to his family who’s still here, and I don’t get the vibe that any of them had the motivation or desire or even the capacity to kill methodically in cold blood. McCafferty is employed and settled in a Boston suburb, married with kids.”

“Unlikely.”

“It’s not him.”

“And Hamilton?”

“We can’t find Zachary Hamilton anywhere. It’s Ryder’s number one priority right now—we traced him to Montana where he disappeared ten years ago. He has a son named Glen, who went to live with an aunt after Hamilton was sent to prison for drunk driving—not his first arrest. But the kid is thirty-one now, and I don’t know where he’s living or what he’s doing. There’s one relative—Hamilton’s sister-in-law, the kids’ maternal aunt.”

“She may have insight into her brother-in-law Zachary, as well as the son. It’s something.”

When Catherine didn’t elaborate, Matt said, “What is?”

“We need to know more about this family, Matt. I’ve read through the lawsuit. In Hamilton’s deposition, he blamed the Spokane hospital and specifically ER nurse Anne Banks for his wife’s death. But it was the words he used.” She shuffled papers. “He said, ‘She killed Lorna. She left her to die.’ Later, he repeated that Banks had ‘killed’ his wife, and that she ‘chose’ to save others instead of Lorna. A lot of rage there. Hamilton’s attorney should have made it clear to his client only to state the facts and the emotional impact his wife’s death had on his family. But the rage was clearly pent up, and where there’s rage, there can be the motivation to kill.”