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It took a few seconds to quote-search the ID number. But then, the search returned a prize pool from a raffle at a nearby library. She stared, excitement mounting.
"Kilmer," she breathed, eyes scanning the screen. "Tamara Kilmer."
"Starting with social media," Ethan announced, the blue glow from his phone casting shadows across his focused face.
Rachel's voice was curt. "Check financials. Purchases, travel."
"Right," Ethan acquiesced, fingertips dancing over his device.
Silence, save for the hum of the air conditioning fighting a losing battle. Rachel's gaze darted between windows—digital and glass—each click a step deeper into Tamara's life.
"Last credit card swipe was at a bar," Ethan finally broke the stillness. "Two towns over. Night before."
"Patterns," Rachel murmured, more to herself than to Ethan. "Patterns tell stories."
"Bar's popular with law enforcement," Ethan added, leaning closer to his phone, squinting. "Locals mainly."
"Reservation cops?" Rachel's question sliced through the thick air.
"Doesn't say. But it's a start."
"Get a list of employees. Regulars." Rachel's commands punctuated the space between them, her mind assembling pieces of a puzzle only she could see.
"Sending a request now." Ethan's thumbs were a blur.
"Good." She nodded, her focus never wavering from the screen. "Dig into the victims next. Relatives, associates."
"Already on it."
"Find the thread," Rachel whispered, almost to herself, her thoughts a tapestry of theories and possibilities.
"Here," Ethan tilted his screen towards her.
She frowned, glancing at the screen. A social media page of Tamara Kilmer, before she'd been horibbly murdered and burned.
Rachel tensed, wrinkling her nose.
"What?" Ethan said.
"She doesn't look native."
Ethan glanced at the screen as well, and cycled through the social media photos of Tamara Kilmer. Rachel nodded more adamantly, the more photos they saw.
The woman didn't look native at all.
Instead, she had blonde
hair, fair skin, and blue eyes—traits that didn't match the profile of the previous victims. Rachel's mind raced, searching for a connection, a common denominator that could tie Tamara Kilmer to the other victims.
"Keep digging," Rachel said, her voice firm. "There has to be something linking her to the reservation."
Ethan nodded, his fingers flying across his phone's screen. As he scrolled through Tamara's social media posts, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing an important piece of the puzzle.
"Wait," she said suddenly, her gaze fixated on one of the photos. "Go back."
It showed an image of Tamara standing next to a tall, handsome man in uniform. A brown uniform--at first, she'd thought it was a police outfit from the rez. But now, she realized her mistake.
"Marine," said Ethan hesitantly. "Sniper?"
