Page 254 of Chameleon Killer

Flint Carter was predictable in entirely different ways. Mallory had kissed him before shoving him toward the door.

That had been less predictable. Not the kiss. The ease of it. Something had changed between them. I suspected I knew what. Some questions did not require investigation.

I scrolled through the feeds.

Lobby.

Parking garage.

Elevators.

Executive floor.

Newsroom.

Carter stood at the far end of a conference table arguing with three people whose titles were more impressive than their usefulness.

I muted them. Nothing they were saying mattered. Another window displayed the loading dock.

Nothing.

The service entrance.

Nothing.

The street.

Nothing.

I returned to Mallory.

She was studying one of Reardon's records again.

She had found it. I knew before the software completed its work. Not because I could see the enhancement.

Because I could see her.

She had stopped pacing.

Mallory became very still when the facts finally aligned. She had done the same thing in the room I prepared for her.

A slight cessation of movement. A narrowing of attention. Then the head tilt.

I watched her sit.

The image resolved. She enlarged it. Again and again. Then stopped.

I could not read the screen clearly from this angle, but I didn't need to.

I knew what was there.

E. BREWSTER.

There were easier ways I could have given her the name. I could have sent her the document. I could have identified Elliot outright. I could have provided dates, evidence numbers, laboratory records and the transfer history.

She wouldn’t have believed me and more importantly, I wouldn’t have wanted her to just accept my word.

Evidence handed to her by a man she associated with multiple homicides would always be contaminated by its source. Evidence I couldn’t confirm immediately. It would have been circumstantial at best.