Page 48

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Logan pulled into his driveway and sat in the SUV a moment, engine ticking as it cooled.

The conversation with Tom Zimmerman had given them their first real lead—confirmation that someone was acquiring sedatives, that there was a methodical plan behind Morgan’s disappearance.

But it also left him feeling more helpless than ever.

He and his team had a plan for tomorrow night at Chena Lake. Equipment to prep, positions to scout, contingencies to discuss. But right now, at four in the afternoon with nothing concrete to do, the waiting was eating him alive.

Inside his house, Logan tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator. He stared at its contents—leftover takeout from a week ago, a few cans of soda, and condiments that probably needed throwing out.

He closed it without taking anything.

Morgan had been missing for six days.

Six days of being held by someone twisted enough to stage elaborate death scenes, someone who saw human beings as props in his sick artistic vision.

Logan tried not to think about what she might be enduring, but the thoughts crept in anyway.

He needed a distraction.

He flicked on the television and dropped onto his couch, scrolling through channels until he found the local news. Maybe there’d been some development he hadn’t heard about, some piece of information that could?—

His thumb froze on the remote.

Captain Ashcroft stood behind a podium bristling with microphones, the Alaska State Trooper emblem prominent on the wall behind him. The banner at the bottom of the screen read “LIVE: Update on Fairbanks Serial Killer.”

“—can confirm that we’re treating these deaths as connected.

” Ashcroft’s voice carried that tone of authority that played well on camera.

“The victims—Ryan Mercer, Daniel ‘Knox’ Kohler, and Reuben Walsh—were all killed in what appears to be an elaborate staging meant to replicate local photography.”

Logan leaned forward.

“We’re pursuing multiple leads and expect to make an arrest soon,” Ashcroft continued. “The public should be aware that this individual is extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances.”

A reporter raised her hand. “Captain, can you confirm reports that missing photographer Morgan Riley is connected to these murders?”

Ashcroft’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “We are treating Ms. Riley’s disappearance as a priority case. At this time, we believe she may have information relevant to our investigation.”

Logan’s jaw clenched.

Information relevant to the investigation?

She wasn’t a witness—she was a victim.

But Ashcroft was spinning it like she might be involved somehow.

Anger flooded through Logan.

“Is it true that the killer is recreating Ms. Riley’s photographs?” another reporter called out.

“I can’t comment on specific details of the investigation,” Ashcroft said. “What I can say is that we have dedicated significant resources to this case and are working around the clock to bring this individual to justice.”

The camera angle shifted, and Logan caught a glimpse of Ashcroft’s expression when he thought he was off-camera.

There was something there—satisfaction, maybe even excitement.

Like he was enjoying the attention.

Logan grabbed the remote and rewound the segment, watching Ashcroft’s performance again. The man was polished, professional, and said all the right things.

But something about this whole press conference felt off. Too rehearsed. Too perfect.

Logan stared at the frozen image of Ashcroft on his screen.

Was it possible that Ashcroft could somehow be involved in this?

The thought seemed ridiculous, but Logan couldn’t shake it.

The buzzing of his phone pulled Logan from his thoughts.

“Logan, we just got a tip,” Yazzie rushed. “Someone called about twenty minutes ago with information about the case.”

He sat up straighter. “What kind of information?”

“The caller says they saw someone at the old Chatanika mining site yesterday evening—someone moving equipment after dark.”

Logan’s pulse quickened. The Chatanika site was remote and isolated.

It was exactly the kind of place someone might use for . . . Logan didn’t want to finish that thought.

But what about Chena Lake? Was the killer breaking his MO?

“Did this person leave a name?” Logan asked.

“No, he called from a pay phone downtown. But Logan, there’s something else. The caller specifically mentioned seeing photography equipment. Lights, cameras, the whole setup.”

His mind continued to race. “What about Ashcroft? Does he know?”

There was a pause. “He’s still at his press conference. I figured we’d brief him when he gets back.”

“You’re going to get yourself in hot water.”

“Just get here, Logan. If this tip pans out, we might finally be ahead of this guy instead of behind him.”

As Logan drove toward his outpost, his thoughts raced.

Someone was orchestrating this. The question was whether that someone was their killer—or someone much closer to home.

Logan pushed through the doors of the outpost, his mind still churning over the anonymous tip and its implications about Ashcroft.

He found Detective Yazzie hunched over a computer terminal, several files spread across the desk beside him.

“What do we have on the Chatanika tip?” Logan asked without preamble.

Yazzie looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the computer screen’s glow. “Anonymous call came in forty-three minutes ago from the payphone outside Miller’s Gas Station downtown. Male voice, probably middle-aged, very calm and articulate.”

He pulled up a transcript on his screen.

“He claimed to have seen suspicious activity at the old mining site yesterday evening around dusk,” he continued.

Logan leaned over his shoulder to read the details. “Photography equipment, you said?”

“Professional setup, according to the caller. Lights, cameras, tripods. Said it looked like someone was staging some kind of shoot in the old processing building.” Yazzie scrolled down.

“But here’s the interesting part—when dispatch asked for his name, he specifically said he would only speak to investigators other than Captain Ashcroft. ”

“Did he say why?”

“Said Ashcroft was asking the wrong questions, looking in the wrong directions. Then he said?—”

“What are you doing here?”

Logan spun around to find Ashcroft standing in the doorway, his face flushed from the cold and his expression thunderous.

The captain’s presence seemed to fill the small room, and Logan saw Yazzie instinctively straightening in his chair.

“I’m trying to catch a killer.” Logan kept his voice level despite the tension crackling in the air. This was no time to be apologetic.

Ashcroft’s jaw tightened, and Logan braced himself for the verbal assault that was surely coming. He’d been specifically ordered to stay away from the case, and here he was, right back in the middle of it.

“My office,” Ashcroft said curtly. “Now.”

After a quick glance at Yazzie, Logan followed the captain down the hallway, his mind racing through possible explanations and defenses.

But what could he say?

He’d deliberately disobeyed a direct order, and Ashcroft had every right to suspend him, maybe even recommend termination.

However, that wasn’t going to stop him from investigating.