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The hum of their laptops filled the room as they delved deeper. Fiona could feel the weight of exhaustion bearing down on her, but the thought of catching the killer reignited the fire within her. She would not allow herself to rest until justice was served.
"Look at this guy," Jake murmured, leaning closer to Fiona so she could see his screen. "He has an entire blog dedicated to beekeeping. Seems to know a lot about different species too."
"Interesting," Fiona mused, scanning the man's detailed articles about various types of bees and hornets. A small shiver ran down her spine as she imagined the deadly hornet that had taken Carrie's life. "Let's keep him in mind," she suggested, jotting down the man's name and contact information in her notebook. "But let's see if there's anyone else in the area with a similar interest."
"Agreed," Jake replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he continued their search.
As they sifted through the digital haystack, Fiona couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency gnawing at her insides. With each passing moment, the killer was still out there, free to strike again. But she would not allow fear to cloud her judgment; she knew that diligence and thoroughness were essential in an investigation like this.
"Maybe we should go back to the victims," Fiona suggested. Trying to find a good profile clearly wasn't working for them, and they needed more direction.
"I mean, we tried that, and we got nowhere," Jake said. "But we could look again. I'll check Craig Tozer's financial records. Maybe there's something we missed."
Fiona nodded in agreement, her throat suddenly dry. She watched as Jake logged into Craig's bank account and began to scroll through the details of his transactions. Nothing jumped out at first glance, so Jake dug a little deeper. Much to Fiona's surprise, he found that Craig had made a purchase recently from a website called Insects in Amber.
"That's strange," she said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What could he have bought from such a place?"
Jake clicked on the link to the website and scrolled through its contents. The homepage was filled with photographs of various insects and beetles embedded within pieces of amber jewelry for sale. There were also scientific articles about preserving insects and other organisms in amber over long periods of time.
"It looks like some kind of jewelry store," Jake said, reading through the website's information more closely. "The owner's name is Fred Johnson. Let me pull up his file..."
While Jake looked into Fred's file, Fiona went to the website on her own laptop. Fiona's fingers drummed impatiently against the tabletop as she navigated Fred Johnson's website. It was a virtual museum of insects and arachnids, each specimen meticulously photographed and cataloged. As she scrolled down the page, her pulse began to quicken.
The hornet that had killed Carrie Puglisi stared back at her from the screen, its iridescent wings and deadly stinger on full display.
"Jake," she said, "I found it. The type of hornet that killed Carrie--Fred Johnson has one in his collection."
"Interesting," Jake mused, turning his attention back to his laptop screen. "I'm digging up more information on him now."
Fiona continued her exploration of the site, feeling a chill run down her spine as she clicked through galleries of insects, some preserved in glass cases, others still very much alive and crawling. She couldn't help but wonder how many other deadly creatures Fred had tucked away in his home. As an entomologist, Fiona had her objections to fossilizing insects like this if done in an inhumane way. She could only hope that, at the very least, Fred was operating humanely.
Meanwhile, Jake located Fred's file within the bureau's database and began to skim through its contents. His brow furrowed as he stumbled upon an unsettling detail, the implications of which sent a shiver skittering down his spine.
"Listen to this," Jake said, his voice grave. "A few years ago, Fred's ex-wife divorced him. Accused Fred of domestic abuse. The charges were dropped, but it left a stain on his record."
Fiona's eyes widened in alarm. "Domestic abuse? That's not something to be taken lightly."
"I know," Jake nodded gravely. "And it's not just that. He has a history of harassing his ex-wife, even after the divorce. Sending her threatening emails, trying to get her fired from her job."
Fiona felt a cold knot form in the pit of her stomach. This man sounded like bad news. And with a hornet from his collection matching the one that killed Carrie, it was not a coincidence.
Fiona's eyes widened with alarm at the revelation. The possibility that Fred Johnson could be the killer was becoming more and more plausible with every passing moment. They needed to act fast.
Fiona stood up, closing her laptop as she did, and met Jake's eyes. "Should we pay him a visit?"
***
The night sky was a deep, dark velvet, the stars barely visible through the low-hanging clouds. The air was still and heavy, the scent of wet earth mixing with the faint stench of something sinister. Fiona and Jake stood on the dimly lit doorstep of Fred Johnson's home. The house itself loomed menacingly before them, its shadows stretching out like gnarled fingers. Fiona's heart raced within her chest, the adrenaline pumping through her veins as they prepared to confront this potential killer.
Fiona held her breath as Jake knocked on the door, prepared for anything.
The door creaked open, revealing the tall, lanky figure of Fred Johnson. Fiona's eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance. He wore a stained t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair unkempt and greasy. But it was his eyes that caught her attention-- they were deep-set, dark, and seemed to hold a deep-seated rage within them.
"Mr. Johnson?" Jake said, taking a step forward. "We're from the FBI, and we'd like to ask you a few questions if that's okay."
Fred's eyes flicked between them, suspicion and hostility radiating off of him in waves. Fiona could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for whatever was to come.
"What kind of questions?" Fred asked, his voice low and guarded.
