Page 61 of Chameleon Killer

“What?”

She tapped the message. No text. Only a photograph.

The whiteboard in the newsroom conference room filled the screen.

Not the one in front of us.

The original.

Victim names. Arrows. Dates. Guy’s name circled in red.

The image had been taken from the corridor outside the glass wall before we covered the board with butcher paper.

Someone had added a sentence along the bottom.

Better. But you’re still asking the wrong question.

I stepped closer. “When was it sent?”

“Six minutes ago.”

“Number?”

“Blocked relay.”

I reached for my phone. Mallory caught my wrist. Her fingers were warm. “Don’t call Brewster.”

I looked down at her hand, then at her. There was chasing the story and then there was this. “Someone is watching you.”

“Someone has been watching me for weeks.” As counter arguments went, that was nowhere near as comforting as she seemed to think.

“This was sent while we were here.” While she was in my place, the guy was reaching out to her.

“Which means he doesn’t know where I am.”

“Or he does.”

She released me. “This is from the office, not here.”

The absence of her hand was more noticeable than it should have been. I took the phone from her and enlarged the photograph.

“Look at the angle.”

She leaned against my shoulder to see the screen. The image had been taken from the corridor, slightly left of center. Reflected in the glass behind the board was a blurred section of the newsroom.

A figure stood near the assignment desk.

Dark jacket.

One arm.

A hand holding a phone.

I zoomed until the pixels broke apart.

No face.

No badge.