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Before he responds, there’s a knock on the door. Jake opens it, and the chief comes in, locking the door behind him.

Hmm. Last time, he didn’t knock. Suspicion rears its head again. “Chief, last time I met you here, you didn’t knock. You opened the door and walked right in. How did you do that? The door was locked.”

His eyebrows rise. “I used the key code.”

Jake frowns. “I changed the key code that morning and had yet to give it to you.”

“I have the master code.”

Jake and I exchange a look.

Jake crosses his arms, looking very casual. “There’s a master code?”

“Yes, it’s a safety backup.”

I sit on the edge of Jake’s desk. “If someone asks for access to the evidence locker, do you just give them the code, or do you open the door for them?”

The chief frowns. “I open the door for them, then sign the evidence out myself. But it’s been weeks, maybe months since anyone asked for anything. Why do you ask?”

Another look passes between Jake and me.

Chief Malone crosses his arms. The folder in his hands grabs my attention. I can sense evil rolling from it like an invisible spreading stain.

When neither of us answers his question, he tilts his head and puzzles it out for himself. “You think someone on the inside is responsible for the murders?”

I force myself not to look at Jake and bite my tongue. We haven’t discussed what to say about it if anything.

Jake takes a step closer. “It’s a possibility we need to keep on the table, but I’m not prepared to make it known. If it’s one of us, we don’t want to alert him.”

“What makes you think it’s an insider?” To his credit, the chief didn’t immediately shut it down.

“The note. It mentions the necklace, and that information was never released. It’s in the case file, but no one besides me should have had access to that.”

An idea occurs to me. “Does anyone except you and Jake have access to this office or the files?”

“We have office staff that aren’t cops, and the janitorial crew. But I can’t see any of them being able to break into Knox’s office without being noticed. There are always at least two officers here at any given time.”

“What about computers? Could someone hack into the computers?”

“I doubt it. Everything is password protected, and all access is tracked via the key log chain on the server.” He nods as the picture we painted for him becomes clearer. “One of us? Hell, the press would have a field day with that information.”

I point at the file folder. “Is that the note?”

“Yes, don’t remove it from the plastic sleeve.”

I walk around Jake’s desk and sit in his oversized chair. The thing nearly swallows me as I sink into it. I wheel myself closer to his desk, put my hands flat on it, close my eyes, and breathe. In and out, slowly a few times until my heart stops racing. I open my eyes and look at the chief. “I’m ready.”

He opens the folder, and the plastic sleeve slides onto the desk. I hover my hands over the note, the words jumping at me to mock my pain. I close my eyes and let my hands touch the plastic sleeve. My palms burn, but I don’t remove them. Rage reaches out to me like the tentacles of a sea monster. There’s so much anger emanating from the piece of paper. He feels slighted, as if us finding the bodies is a personal offense to him. “He’s so angry. He prides himself in always being in control, always being ten steps ahead, but us finding the two bodies days after he dumped them is making him feel . . . inadequate.”

“Inadequate?” The question comes from Chief Malone.

“Yes, he’s feeling weak and powerless.” I’m shaking, my hands trembling so much, they make the plastic sleeve slide on the desk.

Jake shifts next to me. “This isn’t good. People who are angry and feel powerless tend to make harsh decisions.”

The chief nods. “He already made a harsh decision. Kidnapping Miss Reynolds doesn’t fit with the rest of the victims’ abductions. None were taken from their homes.”

I close my eyes again and return my focus to the note. Splay my hands over it. “He’s writing the note. There’s a syringe and a small glass vial on a desk. He hates disorder. He’s disgusted by the mess in the apartment.” I open my eyes again. “I can’t see his face. I see what he sees. He must have drugged her. Lynn would have put up one hell of a fight. I doubt she would go along even if he had a gun.”