The only thing the team could get now was Hamilton’s DMV record, which was accessible to local law enforcement without a warrant. No tickets, no accidents, but they had a copy of his most recent photo, taken six years ago. Yesterday, they’d sent the photo to every cop in the Spokane Valley. A black Honda Civic was registered to his name, but Seattle FBI confirmed that it was housed in his garage in Tacoma. He was probably renting a car—hell, he could have bought a second car, registered it in any of the other states—but they wouldn’t know for sure until they could access his records. He had Spokane PD send out a notice to all other law enforcement agencies to run the name, but so far nothing had popped.

Sometimes playing by the rules was frustrating. One piece of solid evidence and he could get a warrant for everything he needed—but that solid piece of evidence was elusive.

Matt sent Ryder a message to bring everyone in ASAP to discuss how to flush Hamilton out. Maybe they were wrong about this guy. But the fact that they couldn’t find him—couldn’t talk to him on the phone or sit down face-to-face—was damn suspicious.

Just not suspicious enough for their lawyers to fight for a warrant.

As soon as he stepped out of the shower, Matt called Chief Packard. Though they’d had a rocky start—Matt still didn’t like the guy—Packard had definitely stepped up to the plate this weekend. Matt had Brian Maddox and Theresa Corrigan under twenty-four-hour surveillance all day yesterday and certainly today. The teams had been checking in regularly. But if they were wrong about the killer’s motive and potential targets, then the other cops who simply were using the buddy system might be at risk. They needed to verify that no one was missing at regular intervals throughout the day. The first check in was 6:00 a.m.; it was six-fifteen now.

“I was just about to call you, Costa,” Packard said in lieu of a greeting. “I’ve heard from every officer and civilian on payroll, and just received notification from Detective Knolls in Liberty Lake and the Spokane County Sheriff—all is clear among our men and women in blue. No one is missing.”

“Good to know,” Matt said. “Debriefing at eight?”

“Everyone will be here—on or off duty.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

It was nearly 6:30 a.m. by the time he stepped into the war room. Ryder and Michael were there; Jim was not. He was already at the lab preparing to meet the assistant ME, who was driving in John Doe’s remains from Bozeman through the night because of the pending storm. It was going straight to the morgue, where they could perform a second autopsy, if necessary.

“Brainstorm,” Matt said, and poured himself a cup of coffee. “How do we catch Glen Hamilton before he gets to a cop?”

“Release his photo to the press,” Michael said. “Someone has to have seen him if he’s in town.”