“O’Hare.”
“O’Hare?”
“Fastest connection back to Seattle.” Grayson picked up the pace, passing a group of high schoolers in matching dance troupe shirts, chattering by the gift shop. “I think it was a setup. In Burlington.”
“The murder wasn’t real?”
“The murder was real, and someone’s gonna answer for it,” said Grayson. “But I don’t think the victim was an empath.”
“But the gloves were real,” Kenji said. “So you think—what? That someone put empath gloves on a decoy murder?”
Grayson slipped behind two elderly ladies in flowered pantsuits and hats pointing up at a Departures sign. “The victim had an ichthys drawn in UV ink on her hand.”
“You mean a Jesus fish?”
“That’s right,” Grayson said. “I found the band that was using the symbol to keep track of entrants for a sold-out show. Christian rock. They performed in a chapel last night with crucifixes everywhere.”
“Oh.” Kenji was married to an empath; he understood right away. “Maya can’t even bear the ones without a body; she looks away every time we drive past a church. An empath’s not going to a show in a chapel without a nervous breakdown.”
“I think whoever put the empath gloves on the victim couldn’t see the UV mark and didn’t know it was there,” said Grayson. “I could just barely smell it.”
“But why?” Kenji said. “Why would you ever want someone to think a murder victim was an empath?”
“I don’t know.” Grayson came to a stop at his gate. “But I know I was going to be in Seattle and I ended up in Burlington instead, because the Dead Man always goes when the crime involves an empath. And whoever set this murder up knows enough about empaths to fake a thrall.”
“Not a good sign,” Kenji muttered. “What’s going to happen with the Marie Pelletier case?”
They were already boarding the last group. “I’m gonna send it to the FBI,” Grayson said, keeping an eye on the end of the line. “But if someone out there wanted the Dead Man in Burlington, I’m gonna keep my itinerary quiet until I understand what’s going on.”
“Copy that. But if the body was someone else, then we’ve still got the problem of a Montreal-based empath who hasn’t been seen in days. Were those Ms. Pelletier’s gloves?”
“Stone Solutions Canada called the results inconclusive,” Grayson said, “which is just another way to say someone probably scrubbed most of that serial number off on purpose, so we couldn’t confirm who they were stolen from.”
“So we’re talking about someone who knows enough about empaths to fake a thrall and knew they needed to sabotage the serial numbers,” Kenji mused. “Someone who wanted you in Burlington?”
“Or maybe just not in Seattle,” Grayson said. “And not just me—Detective St. James is somewhere in Port Angeles. My calls are going straight to her voicemail and I think she might’ve been set up too.”
“But why would anyone want you both out of—oh.” Kenji groaned. “Seattle has the empath in the liminal state—Reece Davies. If someone wanted to target him, they’d definitely want the two of you out of the way first.”
“Mr. Davies has got no sense of self-protection whatsoever,” said Grayson. “If he’s alone, he’s a volatile target but also an easy one. All anyone would have to do is ask him to get in a car so he didn’t make his kidnappers sad. He’d do it.”
“And then next thing you know, Seattle’s got another serial killer loose.” Car keys jingled in Kenji’s background. “Did you get in touch with him?”
“I got his auto-response.” Grayson was going to have words with Reece about that. “EI stuck another tracker on his car, though. He’s up in Everett. Couldn’t tell you why, and probably won’t know until he stops driving and checks his messages.”
“I’ll see if I can get ahold of his sister,” Kenji said. “But I’m three hours away and Aisha is out in Montreal. If you think Davies could be a target and you’ve got anyone else who can run interference tonight, you better call them.”
As they hung up, Grayson stepped to the back of the boarding line, phone still in hand, considering his options.
Back in November, he’d had background checks run on all the employees at the fake empath club, McFeely’s. He hadn’t expected to discover the bouncer was vastly overqualified for the job. Grayson was still putting together how an ex-marine with Diesel’s record had ended up bouncing at a club modeled on empaths, but he might be able to manage the one empath Grayson would try to send his way.
Jamey stood in the light snow that coated the grass at the shoulder of a narrow road and eyed the third destination on her list: a hiking trail in Olympic National Park. In the summer, it was popular with Washington residents and visitors alike.
In the winter, it was deserted.
Why would an empath tourist have been here two days ago? Or at any of the other destinations she’d checked, like the empty park cabin that hadn’t had a renter since October? Or the tackle shop she hadn’t bothered to go in—very few people were fishing in Washington in this weather, and an empath in particular wasn’t fishing at all or even setting foot near the unfortunate worms used as bait.
Who exactly had given Stensby these addresses?
