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Lachlan
“Hey,” Ethan greeted as he opened the door to his loft in Midtown.
I’d been meaning to pay him a visit since I returned from Hawaii but kept putting it off. Thought with an FBI agent on the case, things would move along.
But when Ethan called over the weekend, informing me Agent Curran’s hands were tied and he couldn’t be a part of any sort of investigation until the FBI was officially invited in, I figured it was time to check in. See if I could do anything to help.
I doubted I could. I was a baseball player. Not an investigator.
Still, being here made me feel like I was doing something to get justice for Claire. For Piper. For the dozens of women whose lives had been tragically cut short by some sorry excuse of a human.
“Thanks for stopping by. I know how busy you are.” He stepped back, allowing me to enter.
His condo was in an old industrial building a few blocks from Piedmont Park. I knew how high the rent in this part of town could be. The podcast must have been fairly successful to allow him to afford this place.
The far wall was all windows with a panoramic view of the city. The rest of the room was brick, the ceiling made up of industrial metal and exposed beams. It definitely suited what I’d learned about Ethan over the past few weeks.
As did how clean it was, not so much as a used coffee cup sitting in the sink.
“And you worked closely with Claire?” I mused, unable to hide my surprise as I gazed around.
Everything about this place was at complete odds with Claire’s apartment.
“She was definitely a bit…disorganized.” He chuckled as he ran a hand through his blond hair.
“That may just be the understatement of the year.”
“She claimed she had a system.” He shrugged. “What that was, I can’t be sure. But it worked for her. Made her who she was.”
I nodded. “Yes, it did.”
A moment of silence passed between us as we remembered Claire in our own way. Then Ethan cleared his throat.
“Come on. I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”
“Did you catch a big break yet?” I asked, half joking, half hopeful.
“I wish. But I think I’m making some progress with what little resources I have.”
He led me into a smaller room just off the open living area, the only piece of furniture a simple metal table, four large corkboards hanging on two of the walls. The first three contained police reports, photos, and Ethan’s notes. The fourth held a giant map of the United States, thumbtacks marking certain cities, a date above each.
“What’s that?” I nodded toward it.
“I mapped his kills. Sometimes a visual gives you a clearer picture than just a list of places and dates.”
“Did it?”
“Sure did.” He walked up to the board. “Notice anything peculiar?”
“Seems like there’s a concentration in this area.” I gestured in the general vicinity of Georgia and South Carolina, some tacks even extending into Northern Alabama and parts of Eastern Tennessee.
“Serial killers often have a comfort zone,” Ethan explained. “They don’t like to stray too far from it, preferring to commit their kills where they feel most comfortable. They typically only go outside that zone if they have no choice. So, based on what we know about serial killers in general, it’s reasonable to say this is his comfort zone.” He circled his hand over the concentration of thumbtacks. “And if I were a gambling man, my bet is that he’s from right here.” He pointed to Atlanta, where there were two tacks. One with a date of March fifth five years ago. The other from a few weeks ago.
“Why? Because he killed two people in this city?”
“No. Because it’s the center of what his kill radius appears to be.”
“And the rest of the victims?” I looked back at the map. “There are kills as far out as Hawaii.”
