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Ella moved down to the man'scriminal history. 'Aggravated assault, two years ago. Multiple bar fights.'
'Ugh,' Ripley said.
An arrest for aggravated assaulttwo years prior painted a picture of a man who might have trouble controllinghis anger. However, while the criminal history was enlightening, it wasn't whatElla needed most. She needed to find him.
‘Address?’ Ripley asked, moving tostand behind Ella, peering over her shoulder at the glowing monitor.
‘None listed. No previousaddresses. Which is weird. Shouldn't an ex-con be tracked for at least tenyears?’
'Yeah, but some of these assholesknow how to play the system.'
Frustration crept into Ella’s voiceas she clicked through various tabs, hoping for any scrap of information thatwould give her a place to start looking.
‘Let me try,’ Ripley said, takingthe seat as Ella stood back. Her partner's eyes flicked across the screen withcalculated precision, but after a moment, she shook her head. ‘Nothing. We'vegot ourselves a ghost. Might need to use a different system. Tax records,license plates. Something old school.’
Ella chewed on the inside of hercheek, the barren trail gnawing at her resolve. She glanced towards the door,an idea forming. Sometimes the old-fashioned methods were best.
‘Chief!’ Ella called out, her voicecarrying out of the office and down the hallway. A moment later, a weary ChiefCaldwell appeared at the door.
'All therapist offices withinfifteen miles have been alerted. There were only twenty-seven,' Chief Caldwellsaid.
‘Good work,' Ripley said. 'Do wehave any officers spare? We could do with keeping a close eye on any therapiststhat fit our killer's victimology pattern.'
'I do, but not twenty-seven ofthem. You'll need to narrow things down.'
'We can do that,' Ella said, 'Butfor now we're trying to locate a suspect. A guy named Frank Harlowe.'
'Harlowe?' Caldwell asked with abite of his lip.
'Yeah. The guy's a phantom—noaddress history on the database.'
‘Frank Harlowe...’ Caldwellrepeated the name, his gaze drifting upwards. Ella watched him closely,searching his face for any sign of recognition or insight.
‘Actually,’ Caldwell began. ‘Noneed for any database. I know exactly who that is.’
Ella felt a surge of surprise. 'Youdo?'
'Only nine thousand people in thisplace and I've been here fifty years. I've learned a few names.'
Ripley jumped in, 'Who is he? Wherecan we find him?'
‘There's a Frank Harlowe that runsthe Iron Horse gym. It's over on Easton Street, about two miles from here.’
Ella's head snapped up. She shovedback her chair and stood, her movements brusque, driven by an undercurrent ofnewfound energy.
‘Then that's where we need to go,’Ella declared, not allowing any hint of doubt to seep in. Her fingers curledinto fists at her sides, readying herself for the confrontation that lay ahead.‘It might be a long shot, but it's the only lead we have.’
Ripley nodded. ‘Agreed. Let'sroll.’
Ella quickly gathered her things.Time was a luxury she couldn't afford.
'I don't know if Harlowe will bethere, agents. He owns the place, doesn't run it day to day.'
Ella said, 'Doesn't matter. Even ifhe's not there, someone will know where he lives. What’s our guy look like?’
Caldwell leaned against the doorframe. ‘Harlowe’s a giant. Seven feet of pure steroids. Tattoos on every inch,including his head. Believe me, you’ll know him when you see him.’
Ripley pulled on her jacket. ‘You know himwell?’ she asked.
