“I’ll do that and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Tammy.”

Matt hung up and considered his options.

“APB?” Michael said.

“I’m thinking yes—but let’s keep it internal for now. Cops only. Not the press. I want every cop to have this guy’s picture. A person of interest—no trigger fingers on this. I don’t want anyone getting the idea that they’re getting justice for two dead cops by killing my suspect. And dammit, I want a warrant for his phone.”

He sent Tony Greer a priority text message that they had a number for Hamilton from his aunt. He wasn’t asking for a phone tap, just a warrant for records, so maybe Tony could craft an argument that would get it.

“I’m going to tell Maddox and Corrigan that we have our guy,” Matt said. “They in particular need to be on alert, Michael. We need to get back pronto.”

“Thirty more minutes, boss. I’m busting past eighty.”

Matt sent the information he learned to everyone on the team. He didn’t want anyone caught unawares.

“We’re close. I feel it.”

But time was running out—Matt feared they wouldn’t find him before he struck.

Failure is not an option.

39

Liberty Lake
6:45 p.m.

Glen Hamilton’s plan was simple in its brilliance.

He’d had to make adjustments because of the newspaper article that said all cops would be riding with a partner until the Triple Killer was caught.

Triple Killer. What a stupid name. What did it mean? Nothing.

But they had given him a name. He was important enough for that. That had to mean something, right?

Deputy Chief Brian Maddox was his last prey; there would be no substitute. Maddox had taken everything important from him. If it weren’t for Maddox, his father wouldn’t have been evicted from the only real home Glen ever had.

He had been given no chance to intervene. He was never even aware the bank took all their stuff—no one had bothered to contact him! Maddox should have told him, giving him a chance to retrieve his things. But no one told him all the family belongings would be sold. Everything! No one gave him a chance to save anything.

His mother’s sewing machine.

His mother’s pretty vase collection where she would put the roses she’d cut from her garden, beautiful flowers that added hope and cheer to a dark house.

His mother’s clothes. They were only things that Glen imagined might still smell like her.

He didn’t care about his own things—toys he’d outgrown, outdated video games, broken furniture, his sagging mattress.

He wanted his mom back, and the house was his mom.

And then everything was gone. Stolen from him, just like his mother.

Originally, he’d planned to wait for Maddox at his house when he came home from work. The cop didn’t park in the garage, and there was a perfect hiding spot among the trees that separated the Maddox property from his neighbor. Because Maddox was a large man, Glen wasn’t certain if the drugs would take effect quickly enough, and he couldn’t risk having him struggle or cry out or try to go inside before he collapsed. So he had bought a Taser, practiced with it. It was the most powerful Taser he could buy, and he was pretty certain it would take a big man down instantly. Then he’d poke him with the drugs, drag him into his car, and keep him under lock and key until midnight. Until 12:01 a.m. when he could slice him open and watch him bleed out.