Page 57

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

Logan’s phone rang again as he drove toward Zimmerman’s address.

This time the caller ID showed a familiar number.

“Logan, it’s Mariella.” Her voice sounded tight with concern. “I’m watching CNN, and they’re covering your case. It’s gone national.”

“What are they saying?”

“They’re saying there’s a serial killer in Alaska with multiple victims, each staged to look like award-winning photographs. They’re calling this guy the ‘Gallery Killer.’” Mariella paused. “Logan, they showed Morgan’s picture. Said she’s missing and may be connected to the murders.”

Logan gritted his teeth. Media attention was the last thing they needed right now. “Did they mention any specifics about the investigation?”

“Some reporter is standing outside a pharmacy, saying police believe the killer has medical knowledge and access to drugs. Is that where you are?”

“I was there.” Logan turned onto Zimmerman’s street. “She tried to get a quote from me.”

“Be careful. When these things go national, it puts pressure on everyone. Politicians, police brass, even the killer himself.”

He appreciated the fact that Mariella wasn’t trying to get the scoop from him.

Logan pulled up to Zimmerman’s small house—the same type of modest home that seemed to define this working-class neighborhood. “I have to go, Mariella. Thanks for the heads-up about the news.”

“Logan, catch this maniac. But don’t get yourself killed doing it.”

Logan approached Zimmerman’s front door, noting that the curtains were drawn tight.

He knocked loudly. “Tom! It’s Trooper Gibson!”

No answer.

He tried the door. It was locked.

As he walked around the house checking windows, he found one slightly ajar. Not broken, just not fully closed. Like someone had climbed out in a hurry.

Or been taken out.

Though he didn’t have a warrant, he considered climbing inside. Before he could, his phone rang. It was Andi.

“I think we found it,” she announced.

He paused near the fence. “The location of the tree in the photo?”

“Maybe. Duke contacted the Forest Service, and they have records of a lightning strike from 2018 that fits the description. Big spruce, survived the strike, located about thirty miles northeast of Fairbanks.”

Logan felt a surge of adrenaline. “How sure are you?”

“Seventy percent. The GPS coordinates put it near a hiking trail that’s popular with photographers. And get this—one of the Forest Service rangers remembers Morgan specifically asking about lightning-damaged trees in that area last summer.”

“She was scouting locations,” Logan said. “Building her portfolio.”

“That’s what we think. Duke’s cross-referencing the coordinates with satellite imagery now, trying to confirm it’s the same tree from the photograph.”

Logan was already heading back to his SUV. He would send someone else over here to check out the house. His gut told him Zimmerman wasn’t here.

“I’m twenty minutes out,” he said. “I can meet you there. How long before you can confirm the location?”

“Give us thirty minutes. But if this is the right spot, it’s remote.”

“Perfect hunting ground.” Logan’s expression darkened. “Which means if we’re going in, we need to be smart about it. No mistakes this time.”

Logan thought about Andi’s drugging at Borealis Lake, the way the killer had anticipated their every move. This guy had been ahead of them at every turn. He had to make sure this time was different.

As Logan drove toward the outpost to pick up the rest of his team, he caught sight of the news van still parked outside the pharmacy. He lowered his window enough to hear the reporter interviewing a passerby, asking if they felt safe with a serial killer operating in their community.

The Gallery Killer. Logan shook his head. Trust the media to turn multiple murders into a catchy headline.

But Mariella was right—national attention changed everything. The killer would know he was famous now, that his “art” was being seen by millions. That kind of recognition might make him more reckless.

Or more dangerous.