“Here,” John said excitedly, pointing to the small piece adhered to the workbench. “This is our trail. Find another piece of tape.”
Everyone started searching for tiny pieces of tape. And they found them. From the workbench. To the tool cabinet. To the gun safe. To the folded-up lawn chairs. To the bags of potting soil. To the sawhorses. To the garden tools hanging on the wall. To a dehumidifier.
Which was where the trail went cold, no more tape nearby.
“Did she run out of time?” Agent Hawkins inquired.
John worried his bottom lip, something nagging at him.
“Maybe this was where she wanted to lead us…”
He whirled around, addressing one of the crime scene techs. “Open this up. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He rushed over and started to remove the water tank. But instead of being filled with water, it was filled with photos.
And not just any photos.
Photos nearly identical to the ones found in the files uncovered in Daxton Shea’s house less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Holy shit,” Agent Hawkins exhaled, eyes going wide. “But how is this supposed to help us find the girl?”
John placed his hands on his hips as he peered into the distance, sweat beading on his brow from the muggy air.
“What if it weren’t to find her, but someone else?” he speculated.
“Someone else?”
“The neighbor said he’d heard arguing. That means Imogene must have also heard arguing. And the ‘trail of breadcrumbs’ we can only assume she left led us to a dehumidifier filled with photos similar to those found at Daxton Shea’s last night.”
“Maybe she wanted us to know he’s not involved?” Agent Hawkins offered.
“Perhaps.” John grabbed the container, striding toward the workbench and clearing a space. He got to work separating the photos into piles, one for each girl featured in them.
And they weren’t all photos of their dead bodies. Much like was found in Daxton’s house, some were obviously for surveillance purposes, the woman in question going about her daily life with no knowledge she was being watched. Observed.
Stalked.
Once he finished sorting the photos, John stepped back, studying the three rows of seven piles.
“That’s twenty-one girls,” Agent Hawkins announced.
“Twenty-one girls,” John repeated. Then he arched a brow. “There were only twenty files found in Daxton Shea’s possession. Only twenty confirmed deaths, at least according to my research.”
“So you’re saying there’s one you don’t know about?”
John looked up, blowing out a breath through his nose. Why would Imogene put her own life at risk in the hopes of leading whomever might find her necklace to these photos?
Was it to free Daxton Shea?
While John was skeptical of his involvement, this wasn’t exactly the exculpatory evidence needed to point the finger at someone else. These photos being in Walker’s possession could mean Daxton Shea either paid or blackmailed him to conduct this surveillance.
But John couldn’t shake the feeling it was something more than that.
“It’s today’s kill…,” he mused absentmindedly.
“What?”