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As the toxic mist burned his throat and filled his lungs, Roger's thoughts raced. Why? What had he done? And who was this man?
But as his vision blurred and his strength drained away, the answers to those questions slipped further and further from reach. He began to lose strength, falling to his knees, still with the nozzle shoved down his throat. As he hit the floor, he caught sight of a lone ant crawling across the linoleum.
Then, everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The first light of dawn seeped through the dingy motel curtains, casting a dim glow on Fiona's face as she stirred in her sleep, reluctant to leave the warm embrace of her dreams. Her eyes flickered open, and the memories of the previous night flowed back into her consciousness like ink spilling onto parchment.
Fiona and Jake had stood outside under the stars, simply talking, being in each other's presence. Fiona could still feel the chill of the night air on her cheeks, Jake's words whispering near her.
He never told her the full details of what he meant about his past, but his haunted gaze had told her it was much darker than she knew. It was a darkness she knew all too well, having her own hidden away within the confines of her heart. But despite the secrets that lingered between them, the connection they had shared left Fiona feeling renewed, her resolve to catch the killer burning brighter than ever before.
With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet on the floor. The adrenaline coursing through her veins chipped away at the remnants of sleep, and she dressed with a newfound determination.
As she stepped out of her motel room, the warm morning air wrapped around her. Fiona spotted Jake leaning against his car, two steaming cups of coffee cradled in his hands. He looked up at her approach, his eyes briefly softening.
"Morning," he greeted, handing her one of the cups. "Thought you could use this."
"Thanks, Jake," Fiona replied, taking a sip of the scalding liquid. The bitterness was a welcome jolt to her senses.
"Ready for another day?" Jake asked.
"Absolutely," Fiona answered resolutely. As they stood there in the warm air, her nerves built. They had already wasted one day with two leads, and they couldn't afford to spin their wheels in the mud more than they already had. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand--finding a new lead to work off.
"Where should we start?" she asked Jake.
He nodded at the door to his room. "Let's head to my room and see what we can dig up. If the pest control lead was a dead-end, then we might need to think a bit more outside of the box."
Fiona couldn't agree more. It was going to be difficult, but she was ready to put her mind to work.
The door to the motel room creaked open, revealing a dimly lit space that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and stale air. Jake entered first, flicking on the light switch, with Fiona close behind him. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the cheap furnishings – the chipped wooden desk, the mismatched chairs, and the frayed carpet.
"Make yourself comfortable," Jake said as he tossed his laptop bag onto the bed. The corners of his mouth twisted into an ironic smile, acknowledging the absurdity of their present situation. "Home sweet home. Hope your room was nicer than mine."
Fiona resisted a smile. "Barely, to be honest. But at least it's clean."
Jake laughed. "Sorry, Red. I usually take us to nicer places than this."
Fiona shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me where we work. I just want to stop this guy before he kills again."
She set down her own laptop beside Jake's at the table, then pulled out one of the chairs and sank into it. Her mind churned with all the possibilities that lay ahead – who was this killer, and how could they find him? It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, but she refused to let that thought deter her.
"Alright," Jake began, opening up his laptop and powering it on. "If we're not necessarily dealing with someone who works in pest control, we need to look into people who could reasonably access Cyphaclide anyway or have knowledge of it. Maybe a poison control guy or someone who used to work in extermination. Anyone with a criminal record."
Fiona nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. She booted up her own laptop and pulled up the database they'd been using for their investigation. "Let's cross-reference our list with criminal records and see if anything pops up."
"Good idea," Jake agreed, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The frantic tapping filled the room, punctuating the silence, their focus never wavering from their screens. She thought about what Jake had said--poison control. Someone in that field would certainly know enough about the agent and may even be able to access it, considering their clearance. She decided to start there, opening up a database with information on Portland's poison control specialists so she could cross-reference them with anyone who had a criminal record. There were so many names, but only a few with records. As Fiona suspected, there weren't many people in this profession who had records due to the critical nature of it.
But some could always slip through the cracks, one way or another, and one person in particular stood out to her. The mugshot of a fifty-year-old man looked back at her from the file, his blue eyes sagging and devoid of life, his graying hair wispy atop his head. White skin splotchy and red. As she read the details of his file, it all came together.
"Wait," Fiona said suddenly, her heart leaping at a possible lead. "Here's someone. Samuel Whitmore. He used to work for poison control but got fired a year ago after failing to properly report chemical violations. He's got a criminal record, too: assault, drug possession…"
"Let me see," Jake said, leaning over to look at Fiona's screen. His face was inches from hers, and she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. But there was no room for distraction now; they had work to do.
"Looks promising," he agreed after a moment. "But it's not a perfect match. Look." Jake pointed to the screen, where Fiona had missed one crucial detail: Samuel Whitmore was currently in prison.
"Shoot," she muttered, Fiona muttered, her shoulders slumping as she crossed out the name on their list. Fiona should have known by now that leads rarely came that easy. Even still, she had felt like she was onto something, and that feeling fizzled away.
