Page 42 of Unknown

She waited, spearing a piece of apple and pear and munching on the crunchy fruit. In a moment, the list from her ex-Army records connection came through.

"Grant Andrews and Boris Upton," she said. "Those are the two. The records don't show if they live locally or not. We'll need to do our own research on that."

She had FBI connections that could help in that regard. But she didn't want to overstretch those valuable resources, because she didn't know when she might need them again. So any research that she and Gabe could do without it, they should.

Gabe nodded, eating a blueberry, his expression grave as he took in the information. "Okay, so we start with those two. Find out where they ended up after they left the base." He turned to his laptop and began pressing keys. For a guy who did woodwork and whose hands were roughly the size of hams, Cora was amazed by how dexterously he could find his way around a keyboard.

Maybe she shouldn't be amazed, though, remembering how gentle they had been last night, when touching her.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she turned to her own keyboard.

After a few minutes of intensive research, she and Gabe found some found some answers.

Both Grant Andrews and Boris Upton were living locally. They were both in areas relatively close to the base. Grant lived just a few miles away. Boris was about thirty miles south. That distance meant either of them could have committed the crimes. They would have been able to do it, logistically, from their homes.

"A general discharge just means they left," she said, scooping up the last piece of fruit from the bowl, a chunk of orange. "They didn't cut it. A dishonorable discharge means there were problems on base, that they actually committed crimes, or at any rate, broke the law. But we need to investigate both of them. I guess the question is, who do we start with?"

They were both in the area, but they were some distance apart. This exercise would take time, and Cora was worried about the time. By tonight, if he was following the same cycle, this man would kill again.

"We should split up," Gabe said. "I don't want to, but the truth is that these suspects are in different directions, and we need to get to them both, and fast."

One was north of where they were now. The other was south.

"No," Cora insisted. "I disagree. I know time’s a factor, but it’s too dangerous, Gabe. I don't think we go separate ways now. It's not that far. We can rule out the guy with the dishonorable discharge first. I mean, he's the more likely one and he's only a few miles north of here. We go see him together, we might have the killer. Then and there."

She could see Gabe thinking hard, appreciating her logic. He nodded, reluctantly, but then more decisively, as if he’d finally agreed with her that alone was never safe, and together they could get to the bottom of this faster. Especially if they headed to the stronger suspect, who happened to be closer, first.

"You're right," he said. "Let's go."

The drive to Grant Andrews's place took them through narrow country roads and past sprawling farmland, a few miles north of town. Grant lived in a small commune that seemed to be based around farming. The community was made up of several wooden cottages surrounding a sprawling farmhouse. The hills were divided into a checkerboard of fields, with cows grazing on some, and crops planted on others.

“So, where in all of this do we go and look for Grant?” As he neared the farmhouse, Gabe slowed down the car.

“I guess the main house?” Cora had no idea where he would be, but thought the house was the best option to ask.

They headed to the door.

Cora could hear the sound of chickens clucking in the distance, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. As they approached the house, through the flimsy hedge, they could see a group of people in the backyard, working on a pile of wood. It was being sawed, chopped, moved, and stacked, all by hand and without the use of any heavy machinery. Cries of support, and the sound of axes and handsaws, filled the air.

Gabe knocked on the door, and a young woman answered. She was in her mid-twenties, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore an apron spattered with stains that made Cora think she'd been making jam. The sweet, fruity smell in the house confirmed it.

"Hi, can I help you?" the woman asked.

"We're looking for Grant Andrews," Cora said. "Is he here?"

"Grant?" She frowned, glancing in the direction of the woodworking team. Cora felt tense. Were they going to end up confronting a killer armed with an ax? She didn't care about herself, but more about Gabe.

"Oh, wait," the woman then said. "He's out in the fields."

She pointed to one of the fields. Far away, Cora saw a man in a bright blue jacket, busy unloading hay bales from a tractor trailer.

"Do you mind if we speak to him?"

"Sure. Not at all. But we are all busy. Can you hurry?" she asked.

"We'll do our best with that," Cora said, not wanting to promise anything. They might end up being a while with him if he was the killer. The entire day for everyone on the farm might be disrupted.

Quickly, she and Gabe left the farmhouse, walking down a gravel path that wound in between the fields and then headed up the hill.

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