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This was their breakthrough. She knew it.
“Connor, it was accessed six months ago,” she said. “That’s when he got this information. We’ve finally gotten a timeframe, and now, we need to find out from Barney Sutherland, who was working with these keypads at that time.”
“You think it was somebody who quit that long ago?” he asked.
Cami nodded. “Six months? That’s a long time. Barney Sutherland was thinking of recent staff. But I now think that what we’re looking for is somebody who left a while ago. He said there were a few people who quit last year. This killer has been planning this for months. He could have gotten the access codes of many houses, discreetly, waiting a while so he wouldn’t be suspected, knowing that after he’d left, he would have a chance to use them.”
“Barney Sutherland is on an airplane at this point,” Connor said. “His phone is going to be turned off. So we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning, and then get hold of the company itself to ask about the techs who quit six months ago.”
But Cami didn't want to wait. Not now that she'd had an idea that could propel this case all the way forward. She didn't want to go home and try to sleep with everything that had happened in the last few hours. Home didn't even feel like a safe place. Right now, if she went back to the apartment, she would feel scared she was putting Kieran in danger.
“I want to work,” she said. “And if you want to carry on for another hour or two, then I can see if I can find a way into Steadfast’s systems. Because if I can, then we can look for ourselves, without waiting for Mr. Sutherland at all.”
Connor gazed at her thoughtfully for a few moments.
“This could work against us,” he argued. “What if they pick up there’s been interference and shut down their systems?”
Cami shrugged. “They won’t know it’s me. Especially since Sutherland has been cooperating. Why should he suspect us? If he notices it, he might just think it was a random security breach. And if I manage it, we could get this killer tonight, instead of waiting till tomorrow. By which time he might be targeting somebody else,” she added anxiously.
Connor thought some more. She could see he wasn't in love with the idea, but nor was he happy about the alternative. This killer was speeding up his interval, and waiting would give him a chance to kill again. These cases were going to attract a mountain of publicity and criticism for the FBI in not moving faster. These were safe, well-to-do neighborhoods that were being left shaken and traumatized by the crimes.
“Okay,” he agreed. “But be careful. I don't want this to go wrong or to backfire on us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The boy was breathing hard. He was still trembling after the unexpected twist that had almost derailed his plans completely. At least he’d done the kill, he told himself. At least he’d done that. This banging on the door, that had sent his heart into the stratosphere, hadn’t prevented him from finishing what was the most important, and delightful, art of his mission.
But otherwise, it had been disastrous. He hadn’t been able to finish things off or tidy them up as he needed to. That control keypad, by the hallway. He hadn’t dared to go back to it, not with somebody knocking at the door, not for the full thirty seconds of pressure on two alternate keys that it took to wipe the system completely.
Maybe they wouldn’t notice, he told himself, but that idea brought scant comfort to his paranoid mind. He couldn’t soothe himself with that possibility when he himself was such an overthinker, when he tried so hard to predict, and avoid, anything that could go wrong.
At least the escape route had been the one he’d already planned. It had been close to his lookout point in the backyard, from where he’d overridden the home’s controls and watched her fear. The only mistake that he’d made had been to disable the stove.
He saw now that this was why she’d ordered the takeaways, so as not to risk having to go without a hot dinner again. He’d heard the man’s faint voice, “Food delivery, ma’am,” just as he’d fled through the house, out the back door, and sped along his getaway route.
No, he thought, pacing up and down the well-polished floor of the small cottage where he lived. He had to assume the worst. Hope for the best, but assume the worst. The worst case would be that they knew what he had done and that they were going to close in on him. Maybe not fast, but inexorably.
He'd have to flee the state – he'd worked on a plan for that a few months ago, a plan for an alternative identity. Those plans would need to be brought forward, and he could not delay.
In the meantime, there was another target that he thought he could reach. One more, at least, before it was time to run. This one, he’d seen in his research, activated the home controls late at night and in the early hours of the morning. She must work at a bar, or maybe the late shift at a clinic or hospital. He didn’t know. He hadn’t had time to follow her to work, although he had crept around to watch her a few times at night, at times when her home was activated. She was a middle aged woman who didn’t seem to have any husband in her life, but who had a boyfriend that had been there once when he’d been watching.
The presence of a boyfriend was a risk. It gave him pause, and his mind raced again, with nervousness and resolve and the deadly need to continue his work. No, he thought, satisfied with the logical evidence that his memory had provided. The boyfriend was only there on weekends. Not during the week. So there was no big danger that he would be there tonight. Now, all he had to do was get to her.
Get to her, and then do something to cause a disturbance, to raise her terror. Late at night, that would be easy, but he’d need to use caution, because too much noise might alert the neighbors.
A flickering bedroom light would work. If the house was quiet enough, the snap of the toaster popping up could provide a frightening sound. Hopefully, if he got there in time, she wouldn't be in bed yet and would still be moving around.
He thought he could do it. In fact, no. He knew he could do it. He could take one last victim. Revel in one last glorious moment of triumph, and then he could pack up and leave, put his plans into action, flee the state.
Nobody was going to deny Boy this last moment, he thought, clasping his hands tightly together, feeling the wiry strength in his fingers.
Nobody! Not the police, not some stupid delivery man knocking on the door to derail his plans. This woman might not have been his next choice – he was planning on saving the late-night owl for last – but since she was now the best choice, he was going to take the chance.
In any case, he was a clever man. He knew that. It was possible that in a different state, and under a new name, he could start again.
A fresh, intense delight thrilled through him at the thought, making his arms prickle and his hands feel clammy as he considered its vast reach. What potential lay ahead! He needed to stop thinking that this was almost over, because it wasn’t.
He could map out a new life, and pinpoint new victims, and start a cycle all over again.
