As soon as the SWAT team arrived, Matt told them to clear the house. He itched to be part of the team, but he had to let those trained do their job. He had been a SWAT team leader in Arizona, up until he received his own office in Tucson, but that had been years ago. Sometimes, he missed it. By the look on Michael’s face as they waited in the tactical truck, watching the operation through a body camera attached to the team leader, he missed it, too.

It was immediately clear that Hamilton wasn’t there.

A secondary team of two searched the garage. The Camry was inside; Hamilton was not.

“Where the fuck is he?” Matt asked rhetorically. He called Ryder. “I need everything on Hamilton—he’s in the wind. Search far and wide under his name and the corporation for a second car. Find out if he has more than one shell corp. Also contact SPD and see if there are any cars reported stolen in this neighborhood. Do you have his credit reports? Anything pop?”

“Yes, but as we’re going through them I’m certain he has more than one corporation. I’ve reached out to the white collar team to help navigate a series of shell corporations because we don’t have all his financials yet. This guy is smart, at least on paper. The corporation that leased the Camry also leased the house. But that corporation is tied to several others through layers of paperwork. Weeding through it is going to take time, plus we have to expand the warrant to get those records because we have to name the corporations individually. Once we have them, we may need additional records. It just depends how far he extended this out.”

“Faster is better,” Matt said. “Good work,” he added before he ended the call.

The SWAT team leader told Matt that the house was clear—Hamilton wasn’t there, and there were no booby traps. “Keep a perimeter in case he’s watching,” Matt said, and slipped on latex gloves. “I need to find out where he’s hiding. And if you can conduct the canvass, show his picture around? Someone must have seen something.”

“You got it,” the team leader said, and gave orders to his men.

Matt and Michael walked through the house themselves. It was an older home and had once been attractive—a lot of detail work including crown moldings, wainscoting, and hardwood floors. But the paint was dull and tinged gray, the heavy drapery so outdated it was almost in style again, and throw carpets were worn and stained. It had been a rental for a long time and had certainly seen better days.

The smaller bedroom had a double bed, where Hamilton had been sleeping. Clothes were strewn in the corner, the bed was unmade. The bathroom reeked—Hamilton had been there, taken off his bloody clothes and showered. A first aid kit was spread out on the counter. The clothes were still on the floor in a pile, blood from both his gunshot wound and his victims seeping into the bathroom rugs.