The director grabbed a folder off his desk and opened it in front of him, rifling through papers inside it. “Jeff Baxter, thirty-three, resides in Silver Spring, Maryland.”
“He’s not from Apex?”
“Depends on what you mean, Agent Warren. He’s originally from Richmond, has resided in Silver Spring for five years now. But in between, he spent some time at Apex U. Did his undergrad in physics there. He’s a rocket scientist.”
“Most physics nerds are,” Lincoln said, and Carter bit back the threatening pot-kettle joke.
The joke was on both of them. “No,” Beverley said. “He’s an actual rocket scientist. Works for an aerospace contractor.”
“He passed the psych test?”
“For his employer, yes, but not for NASA. He tried but he didn’t hold up under the stress tests. So he builds them now. Doesn’t go up in them.”
“He must have crossed paths with Dr. Fear here in Apex,” Lincoln said. “What were the years?”
“I’m emailing you his transcript, along with some other documents.”
Lincoln refreshed his inbox, and once the email from Beverley arrived, opened the attachment titled AU Transcript. Carter saw it a second after Lincoln did and echoed his curse. “He was here,” Lincoln said, slumping back in his chair. “He was fucking here the last time Dr. Fear was active.”
Carter scooted his chair closer to Lincoln. “This helps us narrow down the archives and searches, and now we’ve got at least one face to look for in the pictures. We need to see who else is in those pictures with him.”
“You’re thinking he attached himself to Dr. Fear when he was here? Developed a fascination with him?”
Carter nodded. “That fits with our copycat profile.”
“Also fits with Baxter’s pattern of behavior,” Beverley said. “Check that second attachment. Harassment reports from two former colleagues.”
Lincoln opened the file. Complaints lodged by a physics department professor at UMD, then by a work supervisor at his first employer post-NASA flameout. Men who were older than Baxter in both cases. Also experts in their field.
“Was he trying to replace Dr. Fear?” Carter asked.
“Transference.” Lincoln hummed. “But this is all still years before Baxter made a kill.”
“Unless he made other lesser ones that didn’t get Dr. Fear’s attention. Or law enforcement’s.”
“So he went looking for a bigger, flashier target,” Lincoln said, following Carter’s train of thought. “The agent who tried to catch Dr. Fear.”
“Kirk posited that too,” Beverley said. “O’Shea’s looking into it.”
“Have him look at missing meth addicts in and around Apex,” Carter suggested. Like Stacy Weathers, they were a population of ready-made victims. Easy to lure, easy to disappear. “There’s a mountain of meth-related missing persons cases, and Apex PD seems to turn a blind eye.” Which Carter intended to investigate himself. Maybe Baxter or Clyde Weathers knew more about that situation.
“We need to question Baxter,” Lincoln said. “And I need a DNA panel on him.”
“Good luck, on both counts. He lawyered up.”
Carter cursed and moved to shove back, frustration boiling over.
Lincoln’s foot on the base of his chair kept him in place. “We’ve got a lot to go on already. A ton more than we had last night.”
“There’s more in the email too. What we’ve got so far on Baxter, together with Kirk’s interview notes. He got some info out of him before the lawyer showed, advised him not to talk anymore, and buried us in motions.”
Carter continued to stew as Lincoln wrapped up the call. Thumbs drumming the top of the chair, he pushed out from under Lincoln’s foot and spun in the aisle. Yesterday’s feeling of being disconnected from the action of the case had multiplied. He felt trapped here, in this lab and in Apex, while so much of the case was progressing elsewhere. Granted, he logically knew it all led back to here, but a part of the investigation was effectively cut off to him. He couldn’t do his job, couldn’t do what he was good at, from two hundred fifty miles away.
Lincoln interrupted his mental spiral, rolling into the aisle to face him. “I know you’re frustrated.”
“If we’d been in DC, I could have questioned him. Gotten eyes on him and tried to get the answers we need to catch Dr. Fear.”
“I know it’s not ideal, but O’Shea’s a good agent, and Ollie and Beverley are the FBI’s best. They’ve got their eyes on 2020 Jeff Baxter. They need us to get eyes on 2005 to 2009 Jeff Baxter. Guess where the best place to do that is.” Lincoln tilted his head toward the window and the library visible two buildings over. He made an exaggerated motion that direction, then hilariously waggled his brows. “You catch my drift?”
