“Yes. I’ve pulled the photos and other information from those two scenes and sent them to you. Family members also reported missing photos.”
“Of what?”
“Family pictures. Mostly older photos. No one seems to know why.”
He was stealing pictures of the families he killed? For a souvenir? To relive the killings? “Okay, I’ve made note of that. Thanks. What else?”
“That’s all for—” A pause. “Hold on, Caden, we might have something more for you.”
We?
In a short minute, she came back. “Okay, Daria’s got more information for you.” Daria Nevsky, another analyst with mad skills in all things technical. “And as of twenty seconds ago, she’ll be your go-to on this one. Gary’s handed me something else to work on.” Gary Smith was Annie’s supervisor.
Caden went still. Daria had worked on other cases with him, but . . . “This is a big one, Annie. Probably a serial killer. You think she can handle this?”
“Without question.”
Her complete lack of hesitation settled his momentary twinge of anxiety. “Fine.”
“Truly, Caden, she’s better than I am. I’m putting you through to her. Hold on.”
Better than Annie? Not likely. The line clicked. “Caden?”
Man, she sounded too young to be as good as Annie said. “Yeah.” Not that age had everything to do with skills or being a good agent, but still . . .
“. . . has a camera in the den facing the sofa, so I’m sending the footage to your phone. You can watch it yourself.”
“Wait, you actually got something?”
“Yes. Our speech reader even got some of the words from Mr. Fields’s lips before . . . well . . . before.”
Before he’d been shot. He just prayed the father had been the last one to die and the kids hadn’t seen—
“Caden?”
He blinked the images away. For now. “I’m here.”
“Did you get the video?”
He checked. “I did.” Along with everything Annie had sent him.
“I added the captions to it so you can see what the words are.”
“Impressive.”
“I aim to please. Unfortunately, the camera in the kitchen area wasn’t working, so I’m not sure what happened after you see the gun fly back into the living area.”
“What?”
“Just watch it. It’s self-explanatory. Call me if you need anything else. I’ve also texted you my direct line.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” She’d managed to reassure him she was up to the tasks ahead of her with that one conversation. Caden hung up and filled Zane in.
His partner rubbed his head. “Three?”
“Yeah. And at the moment, it looks like they could all be connected. Too many similarities not to be, even without the full workup of this scene.”
“Then it’s got to be the same person or persons doing this.” Zane’s hoarse, flat words pierced Caden’s carefully constructed emotional barrier. “I hate to say it,” Zane said, “but . . . I think we’ve got a serial killer running loose in this country.”
“Probably.” Caden kept his voice calm, detached, even as his heart thudded hard enough to hurt. Focus. “Serial killers don’t usually have a territory this wide. Three different states? And opposite ends of the country?”
“True. Not that it’s impossible, but what’s the connection that made them targets?”
“That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?”
“So, once again, we circle back to motive,” Zane said. “When we find out the connection, we’ll figure out the motive. Or vice versa. You know what I mean.”
“Exactly.” Caden rubbed a hand over his chin. “So, this is it. We don’t leave here until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Yeah, because if we don’t, what you wanna bet there’s going to be a fourth?”
“I agree.” He looked up as the officer Zane had assigned to find Mickey stepped next to him.
“No one seems to know where the teen is,” the man said. “The neighbor had the kid’s number. I’ve called it, but it went straight to voice mail.” He handed Caden a piece of paper with the number on it.
“Thanks.” He texted the number to Daria and asked her to find the phone. He looked at Zane. “We’re going to need to set up a task force.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” His partner coughed and pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. “Be right back.”
Caden let his gaze scan the room, ignoring the chatter of the other officers coming from the open front door. He stopped at the mantel. Pictures lined it. Mostly of the children. Some of the family.
“Hey, Caden?”
He turned at an agent’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to want to see this.” She handed him a box. “Found it in the