They needed someone to process the house, and Matt wasn’t going to pull Jim or Miles Jordan from the crime scene in Liberty Lake. SPD would have to send another team here.

The larger bedroom in the back of the house was clearly used as Hamilton’s office. Matt flipped on the light switch.

“Well, shit,” Michael said.

The room was empty of furniture except for a small desk and color printer. The walls were covered with photos of his two recent victims and Brian Maddox. A large wall calendar mapped out their routines, neat and color-coded. Victoria Manners was in red, Jeffrey Ogdenburg was in green, Maddox in blue. A map of the region had been tacked up on another wall. He’d highlighted different routes. Matt stepped closer and tilted his head.

“He had an escape plan this morning. Look—he has different routes marked from Maddox’s house, plus routes from the Richmond house. He has six different routes from here. This guy wasn’t leaving anything to chance.”

“But everything is local,” Michael pointed out. “There’s no route to the airport, for example, and this map doesn’t even show Canada.”

“Good point. He was here, left—without his car. I think he has another one. Maybe stole one, so we need to check the reports hourly. Must not have been wounded too badly. He didn’t take his pictures and maps, but he took his computer.” Matt put his hand on the desk where a computer most likely had been sitting until recently. “See—cords going to the printer would have hooked up to a laptop. He grabbed what he needed and bolted.”

“He could be watching.”

“I told SWAT to be aware, but I still think he has another hidey-hole. Maybe another lease under a different name.”

“A guy like this,” Michael said, “who has so many backup plans around all his targets, is going to have a second car as well as an alternative hiding spot.”

“Did you reach out to the aunt?”

Michael nodded. “She doesn’t believe Glen could hurt anyone, but she sounded cooperative and said she’d call if he contacted her. I also talked to the Kennewick PD and they have a patrol sitting on her house.”

“Good.”

Matt studied the pictures mounted on the wall, snapping his own pictures so he could study them more carefully and send them to Catherine.

Everything was attached to the wall in a neat and orderly fashion. Sticky notes gave minimal information; some were only a word that made no sense to Matt, but would to Hamilton. Pictures of the victims going about their daily routine. Notes of deviations. Of Maddox. Family. A note that indicated wife worked from home. The kids’ schedules. A chart that indicated what time Brian left for work every day.

6:37: warm car; 6:48: leaves.

6:29: warm car; 6:38: leaves.

And a photo of Kara and Brian at the hotel, in the lobby, as Brian was leaving.

“Kara was right,” Matt said.

“About?”

“Hamilton was at the hotel.” He tapped the picture. “He thinks Detective Quinn is one of ours.”