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“I just want their assistance. We’re short-staffed. You know we need the help.”
Ashcroft remained quiet a moment before finally grunting. “Fine. But if they get out of line, I rescind this offer.”
“They won’t get out of line.”
Ashcroft moved to his chair and plopped down, already reaching for a stack of papers. “Now get out there and catch this killer. And Gibson?”
Logan paused at the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
As Logan walked back down the hallway toward Yazzie’s workstation, he felt a surge of energy he hadn’t experienced in days.
He was back on the case. Back in the fight to find Morgan and stop this monster.
For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt they might actually have a chance.
Logan pulled up a chair between Yazzie and Reeves, the three of them forming a tight circle around the evidence board that had become the center of their investigation.
Photos, maps, witness statements, and forensic reports created a mosaic of horror that somehow still refused to reveal its complete pattern.
“Walk me through any evidence you’ve found since we last spoke,” Logan said. “I want to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”
They reviewed what they knew. The only thing that caught his interest was the information on Reuben Walsh.
Logan felt his breath catch as he looked at the images from the crime scene.
Walsh’s body was frozen in the ice of the small lake, positioned as if he’d been trying to climb out when death took him. But Logan could see from the angles that this was another careful staging, another recreation of one of Morgan’s photographs.
“The killer broke through the ice, positioned the body, then let it refreeze around it,” Reeves explained. “Must have taken hours in subzero temperatures. The level of commitment is . . .”
“Insane,” Logan finished.
“Also horrifying,” Yazzie added.
“What about Chatanika?” Logan asked.
“Like I said earlier, the caller reported evidence someone has been there recently—tire tracks, some disturbed ground—but no sign of current activity.” Yazzie shuffled through his notes. “Could be legitimate, could be another false lead.”
Logan spent another hour going through witness statements, forensic reports, and the timeline they’d constructed. But there was nothing new, no sudden revelation that cracked the case open. Just the same methodical pattern of a killer who treated murder as performance art.
“I need to call it a night.” Logan rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Fresh perspective in the morning might help.”
As he gathered his jacket, Reeves touched his arm. “Logan, we’re going to find her. And we’re going to stop him.”
“I know.” The words felt hollow in his mouth.
They’d been saying that for days while the body count rose and Morgan remained missing.
But Logan had to keep his hope alive. He had no other choice. Because the only other option was . . . despair.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
Logan’s housefelt smaller when he returned, the walls seeming to press in on him as he moved through the familiar space. He’d traded out his personal vehicle for his police SUV.
It felt good to officially be on the job again.
