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Kit toggled to the correct tab. “What are you looking for?”
“Weapons. None registered to him.”
She frowned. “The victims were strangled. No bullet wounds.”
“I know. But I don’t want to be surprised when we knock on this guy’s door. Let’s go pick him up.”
“Fine, but for now we look at him as a witness versus a suspect.”
Baz shrugged. “I hope you’re right.”
San Diego, California
Friday, April 8, 11:45 p.m.
Sam turned from his “crime board” to look down at Siggy with a tired sigh. “It’s not going to make any more sense no matter how long I stare at it, is it?”
Siggy just stared up at him adoringly, his tongue lolling.
“You’re no help at all,” Sam grumbled. “But you’re a good boy.”
It had been a ridiculous thought, that maybe he could create a crime board with maps and pictures like the cops used. But he couldn’t get those two young women out of his head. They were in danger. Or one of them was, at least.
As much as he’d hoped Detective McKittrick would have leapt on his second tip this afternoon, she hadn’t. He’d heard suspicion and distrust in her voice.
His disappointment was... huge. He’d had such high hopes that she’d be eager for information. She was dedicated to finding justice for the dead and he’d admired her for that. He’d even liked her—or what he knew about her, anyway.
But even bigger than his disappointment in Detective McKittrick was his fear for whichever young woman Colton Driscoll had chosen as his newest pretty young thing.
I have to do something. The phrase had been thrumming in his head for hours on an infinite loop. Even his mother noticed he’d become lost in thought at dinner, tuning his parents out, which was something he never did. It wasn’t like he could tell his parents what was going on, after all.
His mom had sent him home with chicken soup when he’d claimed a headache.
He glanced wryly at the can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup on his dining room table. His mother meant well, but she wasn’t the best cook. Luckily his father was, but as delicious as Sam was sure the lasagna had been, he’d picked at his portion, not tasting any of it.
I have to do something.
So he’d taken the elevator three stories up from his parents’ apartment to his own, planning the crime board. He’d propped a piece of poster board on the dining room sideboard and fired up his laptop, searching for information on Colton’s potential victim.
So far, he’d taped up a photo of the lacrosse team that he’d printed from the school’s website. He’d zoomed in on the two petite blondes, printing their faces as well. They went up on the board, along with their addresses. He’d printed a map of the city, marking their homes and Longview Park, where Colton had claimed to visit his last pretty young thing’s grave. He’d even added Colton’s home address, hoping to see a pattern, but there was nothing.
He’d checked the social media accounts of the two young women, hoping for something that would connect with Colton’s ramblings during their session. He’d pulled up his personal notes from the man’s sessions, poring over every detail, willing something to jump out and say It’s me. I’m in danger.
He’d checked the young women’s social media for any mention of Avondale, the show that Colton claimed to watch with his newest “love,” but he hadn’t found anything. Both teenagers had boyfriends at school—within their grade level. No older men. No mention of older men. Not even any posts about any famous actors that were older.
There was nothing whatsoever to indicate that either young woman was being pursued by a mysterious man of Colton Driscoll’s age. Of course, they might be hiding the relationship from their family and friends. That was probable, even.
Sam wished that his boss had been able to drive to the park tonight, but she would tomorrow and they’d find out if there was any sign that the cops had listened to his first tip. If they hadn’t, they weren’t likely to have acted on his tip this afternoon.
If the cops didn’t move to protect those young women, Sam would have to find a way to warn them himself. If he couldn’t figure out which teenager was Driscoll’s likely target, he’d warn them both. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it within the confines of ethics and the law, but he was certain that he couldn’t live with himself if either young woman was hurt—or worse—because he’d done nothing.
Sam sighed again. “I think it’s time for bed, boy.” He’d already walked Siggy for the night, so he could just go to sleep. If he was able to sleep.
He turned from his attempt at investigating, then paused, eyeing his gun safe. He remembered that brief moment during Colton’s session when the man had been poised to strike him. Colton had recovered quickly, controlling himself, but it had left Sam more shaken than he’d wanted to admit.
What if the cops had acted on his tip this afternoon? What if they’d already warned the teenagers on the lacrosse team? That would be good for the young women, but if Colton figured out that Sam had been the tipster...
The man had beaten his neighbor for confronting one of his many lies. If he discovered that Sam had been the one to turn him in, he might strike out. Sam didn’t intend to be Colton’s next assault victim. He drew the gun from the safe. It was loaded, with a bullet in the chamber.
