Matt followed the ATV tracks fifty feet north, along the water’s edge. Then they turned and went back up to the trail. Why had the killer not returned the way he came? Had he disposed of something in the lake? Was someone else in the vicinity he didn’t want to come in contact with?

He started back up the slope toward his car and called Ryder for the second time that morning. It took several rings before he answered. “Sorry, sir, I was speaking with—”

“No need to explain. Call Jessica Torino—she’s the SSA in charge of the Spokane Resident Agency. First, explain our unit and what we’re doing in her jurisdiction. Apologize that I didn’t call her myself, that I’m with the locals or whatever sounds good. If she pushes back, call her boss in Seattle.” He hadn’t had time between last night and this morning to smooth over jurisdictional issues, even though it was on his list of things to do. Tony had made it very clear that he needed to befriend the locals—including regional FBI offices—to help with the MRT image. He hoped Torino wouldn’t cause a problem. This killer wasn’t going to wait around for pleasantries, and neither was Matt. “Find out if they have an underwater search and rescue or recovery unit. If not, find out who they use and whether they’re good. I need divers at the lake. I’ll send you the area I want searched.”

“Looking for a body or evidence?”

“Evidence,” Matt said.

“Agent Harris is certified for underwater search, rescue and recovery.”

Matt knew that; he’d forgotten the fact. Michael was a former Navy SEAL and had many skills that were useful to the FBI.

“We’ll still need equipment and support.”

“On it, sir.”

“Don’t—” But Ryder had already hung up.

6

Spokane, Washington
9:05 a.m.

Detective Andy Knolls was taller than Matt by a good three inches—and Matt wasn’t a short guy. Knolls was also reed thin with a long face and pale blue eyes. He walked with a slight hunch as if he hadn’t been comfortable with his height growing up.

“Good to put a face with a voice,” Knolls said, and extended his hand when Matt met him outside the morgue.

“I just came from the crime scene,” Matt said. “The witness showed up. Kara Quinn.”

Knolls smiled widely. “Ain’t she something? Eyes like a hawk.”

“I gather you know her?”

“Not really. I mean, Liberty Lake is a small town. I know Emily Dorsey—her grandmother. Met Kara a few times back when she was a teenager and living with Emily. I was a rookie. She’s a cop now, down in Los Angeles.”

“You didn’t tell me that our witness was a cop.”

“I guess I didn’t. Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry or worried.

“I found blood on a rock near the crime scene—where the killer stopped and may have washed up.”

“You know how cold that water is, Agent Costa?”

“Call me Matt.”

“It’s barely above freezing, Matt. Most winters it freezes over, though we don’t let people skate on it. It’s deep, the ice is thin. The guy would have to be crazy to jump in that.”