Page 112 of Forever Gone

Selena and Kelly would be back soon. Dana could help organize the files. Perhaps he had been foolish thinking he could do this himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Connor was still in the briefing room when Selena arrived with Kelly shortly after seven.

The murder board stood behind him, the photographs of Karen Sloane, Ruth Keller, and Linda Mercer arranged across its upper half. Two computer screens covered the table with spreadsheets and exported HearthSpace posts. A paper cup sat near Connor’s elbow, cold, with a skin formed across the surface.

He had not shaved. Creases ran through his uniform shirt, and the skin beneath his eyes carried a gray cast.

Selena placed her bag on the nearest chair. “Did you sleep at all?”

Connor continued scrolling. “A little.”

“That could mean ten minutes.”

“It means I’m fine.”

Kelly removed her coat and hung it over the back of a chair. “You don’t look fine.”

“Thank you, Agent Voss.”

Selena stepped closer to the table. “Connor...”

He finally raised his head. “The HearthSpace production came in after you left. I stayed late to go through it.”

“How late?”

“Late.”

The reply did nothing to ease her concern. Connor’s attention kept shifting toward the phone beside his keyboard. It vibrated against the tabletop before Selena could ask another question.

He caught it at once, checked the screen, then turned it face down.

Morimer came to Selena’s mind. So did Jessie, and the details Selena had no business giving her at the diner. If Connor was under pressure, she had already widened the circle of people who could be caught in it.

Selena watched him. “Did something happen last night after you got that message?”

“No.”

“You’re acting like something did.”

Connor pushed his chair back. “Three women are dead. We have thousands of anonymous posts and no idea which ones they wrote. That’s what happened.”

His voice remained controlled, but the effort showed.

Selena held his attention for another second. Years earlier, she would have pressed until irritation broke into truth. Their marriage had taught her how quickly concern could become an interrogation when neither person trusted the question.

“All right,” she said. “Show us what came in.”

Relief passed through his posture, which troubled her more than an argument would have.

Connor turned one screen toward them. “HearthSpace produced account tables, activity times, closed-group archives, message indexes, registration emails, and all the material covered by the order. Most users registered under disposable addresses. Historical source IP records are gone under the company’s retention policy.”

“We knew that might happen,” Kelly said.

“I tried searches for Elmsview, Eagleton, Loyall, the victims’ employers, their husbands, the storage burglary, and every phrase I could think of.” Connor indicated the columns of usernames. “I got nowhere. The files probably contain what we need, but it’s buried under years of people discussing marriages, money, affairs, abuse, and everything else they didn’t want attached to their names.”

Selena leaned over the table. Each record carried a username, account-activity time, group identifier, and post reference. The production was thorough without being helpful.