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I said, “True. Our knowledge base is evolving by micrometers. But we know that Blackout is a fan of Evan Burke.”
Alvarez took a folded sheaf of paper out of her jacket pocket.
“Okay, Lindsay?” she asked me.
I looked around. The diners at the counter had left. Lynn was in the kitchen. We had the place to ourselves. “Sure.”
Sonia unfolded photocopies of the screenshots I’d taken this afternoon and put them in the center of the table.
My newest partner said, “We have no background on him. Nothing. But by assessing his methods, I can say withconfidence he’s an extremely careful SOB. Professional grade. He likes to kill with his hands, but he’s not opposed to garrotes, stun guns, and handguns. And he’s a braggart. Blackout has sent Lindsay hard evidence of him committing murder. Of half of his known victims, anyway. Who in their right mind has the balls to do that?”
Yuki asked, “Why only half?”
“Don’t know,” said Alvarez. “Maybe it was a late-breaking idea. Or he recorded them all and only started sending them once Cindy did her book signing in Corte Madera. His kills in Pasadena and Vegas were local to where Cindy had book signings. We were sure this freak had Cindy on his kill list.
“But apart from those signings, we never found a closer connection to Cindy until the day she disappeared.”
Yuki had a well-honed prosecutor’s ability to screen out all but the indictable specifics.
She said, “So, from what I understand, discounting the homage to Burke, you haven’t found motives for any of the murders.”
“Let’s build on what we know,” I said. “He called Burke ‘his mentor’ and wants Cindy to give him information about Burke like no one else. She’s a direct link to Burke, and Blackout sent a video of himself threatening her. He said that as long as she talks about Burke, she’ll live.”
“When was this?” Yuki asked.
“Lindsay just took these screenshots this afternoon.”
Sonia Alvarez is an exceptional cop and was as interested as Yuki in what she saw in these images. We all focused on the printouts.
“He could be keeping Cindy here—wherever ‘here’ is—orthis could be a red herring location,” Alvarez said. “He shoots his videos with his glasses, so this is his view of the sofa. Here, he’s twirling the glasses in his hand …”
“That’s him?” Yuki asked, pulling one of the photocopies closer to her.
“Yep,” said Alvarez. “Claire thinks he may have had work done on his face. I’m interested in this,” Alvarez said of the swooping shot of the bookcase behind Blackout’s chair. “I enlarged it so I could read the book titles and they cover a wide range of subjects. Criminology, classical music, physics, calculus, military history. More books on music, and here, biographies of great creative geniuses of Western Civilization.”
“He could have bought the lot at a tag sale,” Yuki cautioned.
“I agree,” said Alvarez. “And this room could be a rental or abandoned or who knows. But if it’s his, Blackout’s reading range is a full circle. He’s a polymath.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“He’s knowledgeable in a lot of different areas of learning. If this is Blackout’s library, it’s a screenshot of his mind.”
CHAPTER 75
IT WAS AFTER seven that evening and I was home with Martha. I’d set the table, thrown the whites into the wash, and taken a quick shower. Claire had gifted me with an extra-large lavender-blue T-shirt, and I’d pulled it on over sweatpants. I fed Martha, then got into my big chair and closed my eyes.
Joe was out with Julie, picking up takeout dinner from Lucky Duck Best Chinese Food. I wasn’t even slightly hungry, but I could still push rice around my plate with chopsticks, distracting my daughter so that she didn’t read my mind. I could no longer read my own mind. It was that freaking chaotic inside my head.
Cindy had been missing for three days and it had been five hours since I’d heard from Blackout as if his email, video, and phone call were a ticking box of roses delivered to my desk.
I dozed off in the chair and was awoken by a blast of exuberance: Joe calling me, Martha woofing, Julie singing “Mommy we are home” to the tune of “Dashing through the snow.” I got up and hugged her, took the bags of food from Joe, and as hemade tea, I dished up the shrimp with broccoli and chicken yat gaw mein. As we exchanged looks, I noticed that Joe’s expression mirrored my own.
He looked confused, worried, and like he had something to tell me.
I asked Julie to go wash her hands before dinner, please, and signaled to Joe that we should go to his home office. Once inside, I closed the door.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
