Page 63 of Chameleon Killer

They wanted us to think the Auditor did it. So were their sins even a part of it? That seemed a stretch, but I couldn’t shake the question.

Mallory’s phone vibrated.

We both looked down. Another image arrived. This one had been taken at the memorial.

Mallory and I stood near the far wall, half-turned toward each other. She was speaking. I was watching the room behind her.

Habit.

Icy dread climbed up my spine. He’d been there. At the memorial…

A red circle had been drawn around a man in the background.

Gray suit.

Red tie.

Expensive watch on his right wrist.

The man Mallory had overheard saying he was grateful Guy never woke up.

Five words appeared beneath the image.

Start with what he feared.

Mallory enlarged the face. This time, the photograph was clear.

“I know him,” I said. That was the problem.

“Who is he?”

I looked from the screen to her.

The oversized shirt. The bare feet. The exhaustion under her eyes. The stubbornness that had put her in danger more times than I could count and would probably keep doing so until one of us died of stress.

“Mallory,” I said, “that’s Meridian Media Group’s chief compliance officer.”

Her gaze snapped back to the photograph.

Then to our board.

Thank God Reardon never woke up.

The pieces finally had edges. Not enough to reveal the whole picture. Enough to show us where it could start.

Mallory uncapped the red marker and wrote his name beneath Guy’s. Then she drew a line between them.

We had so many more questions than answers. The biggest one was what did the Auditor want?

He hadn't contacted the FBI. He hadn't leaked information anonymously to the station.

He'd chosen Mallory.

Again.

A cold certainty settled somewhere behind my ribs. Maybe he wasn't helping her solve the investigation. Maybe she was the investigation.

He kept feeding her just enough truth to pull her farther in, counting on the one thing neither of us had ever been good at: walking away from a story.