“Which is?” Kara asked.

“You said it earlier, Matt, that this feels like revenge. Maybe retribution, or punishment for past crimes or perceived crimes. So even if his pattern is interrupted, he’s going to continue down the same path. Nurse. Teacher. Cop. Watch yourselves, please.”

Matt heard the emotion in Catherine’s voice, though she tried to conceal it.

“Matt—be careful with this guy,” Catherine reiterated.

“Catherine, I have some ideas on what to say at the briefing, I’ll call you while I’m driving.”

He nodded for Ryder to disconnect the calls.

“That was enlightening,” Andy said.

“Andy,” Matt said, “get one of your people to put together a list of every teacher, substitute, principal, or administrator in the Spokane Valley.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What? Isn’t there a master list somewhere? The state’s Department of Ed? The local school boards? Anything?”

“I suppose.”

“I don’t want to lose someone else. This is the closest we’ve gotten to this bastard’s pattern in advance of his next murder. I want to throw a wrench in his plans. Get the teacher list and everyone you can to start calling with personal warnings. If they don’t watch the news, we need to reach them somehow. Door-to-door will take too long.”

Matt turned to Kara. “I can tell you’re carrying. If you’re going to blend, you can’t carry. It’ll peg you as a cop.”

“I promise,” she said with a smile, “you won’t be able to pick me out of the crowd.”

He doubted that.

18

Spokane
3:50 p.m.

Matt sent Michael to track down the public information officer and make her his other best friend while he waited for Chief Packard.

And waited. The press conference was inching closer, and Matt needed Packard on the same page. He was going out on a limb with what he planned to do, but if Catherine was right and the killer would say or do something to reveal himself if his victim were taken away, he had to try.

Because they had next to nothing, and the clock was ticking.

Matt was used to getting the shaft from local law enforcement, but he’d been emboldened and optimistic after the reception he’d received from Andy Knolls and Brian Maddox. Packard reminded him that every department—and every cop—was different.

Fortunately, he had plenty of work to do while he waited. He sent Andy a message:

Can you run property records on that Newman Lake house? Go back as far as you can. Our profiler is wondering if there is something important or special about the house, at least to the killer.

It was ten to four by the time Chief Packard walked up to where Matt waited outside his office. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He shook Matt’s hand and motioned for him to join him in his office.

Sorry my ass.

The trappings of the office bordered on ostentatious egotism. Plaques, photo ops, commendations, framed medals. It wasn’t the awards per se that bugged Matt, it was the display—lights highlighting the more prestigious awards, pictures of Packard with politicians, including four different presidents in two political parties. No family, no friends, no fishing expeditions or hunting trips. Half a minute and Matt had a profile of the guy. No wonder he petitioned the city council to extend his term. He was nothing without his job. Matt wondered if he’d once been a good cop—hence the commendations—but as he saw his own mortality and retirement looming, he clung too tightly to the past.