Page 73 of Beneath the Surface

Brad glanced at the whiteboard filled with connections, his gaze locking onto the timeline they had built. "Follow the money. How is he supporting himself? If we can figure out how, we can trace him. The cases he imitated started five years ago when Isobel was in grad school. We need to do a search to see if there were any deaths of psychologists in that time frame.”

“That would predate the first murder we know about by two years. Has it always been leading up to Isobel?” Larson stared at the whiteboard.

Larson flipped through the folders in front of him, scanning old witness reports, travel records, and interviews. "I’ve been working on this for three years. The LA murderswere meticulous. The crime scenes gave nothing. The witness statements of people in the area were varied. By then I had three dead psychologists.”

"Let’s start with the first murder," Brad said, his voice steady as he leaned forward. "The first forensic psychologist who was killed—Dr. Elaine Spencer. She was in LA, right?"

Larson nodded. "Yeah, she was the first I know of. Heavy sexual undertones. That’s when I found the first array of deaths tied to her. The canvas results are burned into my eyelids. We talked with over one hundred people. Hale must have been in the area in a new alias and disguise. For all I know, we spoke with him.”

Brad tapped the table, deep in thought. "Hale’s a man obsessed with control, with dominance. He wouldn’t pick random aliases. There has to be something personal about the names he uses—something that ties them to his identity, but in a way only he understands."

Larson frowned, leaning back in his chair. "You think he’s using variations of his own name? Like playing a game with himself?"

"Exactly," Brad replied, his eyes lighting up. "Hale’s egotistical, but he’s also calculated. He wants to hide, but not too much. He’d use names that mean something to him, but only subtly—enough to feel like he’s still in control, still leaving his mark."

They both turned to the files in front of them. Larson began typing, pulling up every name they had discovered connected to the murders in the cities that had taken place. After a few minutes, a list of names appeared on the screen. Then they sifted through names close to Malcolm Hale:Marius Haven, Martin Hall, Max Healy, Mal Hays, Micah Huxley.

"All MH," Larson muttered, shaking his head in frustration. "It was right in front of me, but I didn’t see it.”

“John, don’t blame yourself.” Brad leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "We now have the data in front of us. That’s why it pops. Every murder has a potential witness with names starting with M. H. He’s keeping his initials in every alias. Now we need to run each of them to see if they exist.”

"Son of a bitch," Larson muttered, realization dawning on him. "He’s arrogant enough to stay close to his real identity."

"And it’s why the people who knew him professionally didn’t recognize him," Brad added. "He’s been hiding in plain sight, attending conferences and seminars, still connected to the psychology world, but under these new names along with a disguise."

Brad and John spent the next two hours pulling up more records on his laptop, cross-referencing the names they had with travel records and academic conferences. "Hale’s been to Waverly County before. He lectured under the alias ‘Marvin Hays’ three years ago.” He growled. “Look at his curriculum vitae. He gave them his own but changed the name and photograph.”

“And no one confirmed it as true.” Brad’s heart pounded in his chest as the pieces clicked together. "He’s been in her circle for years. It’s a small cohort in forensic psychology. He’s been watching forensic psychologists for years."

Larson nodded grimly. "He’s been tracking her, learning everything about her—and now, he’s targeting her personally."

Brad’s face hardened with resolve. "Isobel’s next, especially if he saw her fall apart in the lobby of her office yesterday. We have to get to him before he makes his final move."

Larson closed his laptop, standing up. "I’ll get a rapid response team together."

Brad’s shoulders tightened. “He’s not popping up as a commonality in police department screen grabs from the murder scenes because he’s altered his appearance. We need toalso run any real estate holdings in his name and any of the aliases.”

“That’s a lot to look at.” Larson nodded, pulling up records of forensic psychology conferences from the past few years. They worked in silence, the clattering of keys the only sound in the room. Then, he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen.

“Brad, look at this.” Larson turned the laptop toward him. “Dr. Max Healy attended a psychology panel discussion in Sioux Falls five years ago. Isobel Everhart was awarded a scholarship for post-graduate education. And the timeline matches with when the murders started happening.”

Brad’s heart pounded. “She wasn’t working then. It’s been her. Not for her work—just her.”

Larson leaned back, exhaling slowly.

The pieces were finally falling into place. Hale had been living in the shadows, targeting forensic psychologists one by one, studying them before striking. His obsession with control and dominance had evolved into something far more dangerous—something personal.

“We need to track down anyone who knew him closely back then,” Brad said, determination flooding his voice. “Find out if they know anything about where he’s been staying, and who he’s been in contact with.”

Larson nodded. “I’ll start reaching out to some of the witnesses from the cases. I’ll get them to work with a sketch artist. We can look for common features. And you can reach out to see if anyone remembers him from the panel that took place in Sioux Falls. We also need to check in with every adult lifestyle club in the area. They’re long shots, but someone may know something.”

Brad frowned. “As far as the adult scene, I’d like to check in with Jesse Gentry. He owns The Loft. He’s also a psychologist.”

Larson agreed.

As they worked through the afternoon, the picture of Malcolm Hale became clearer. His fall from grace had led him down a dark path, and now, his obsession with proving his twisted theories had turned into a killing spree fueled by revenge.

Twenty-Six

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