Page 24

“Any luck?” Ann Marie asked Riley, who sat hunched over her tablet, tapping rhythmically against the screen.

With just Riley and Ann Marie still in the conference room, it felt like a cavernous space. Their colleagues had gone to Officer Prendergast’s office with the goal of alerting the board of VEEM of the danger they might be in, and also ensure that they’d be protected.

Riley looked up, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced, betraying her weariness. “Not yet,” she replied.

Ann Marie nodded, understanding all too well the frustration that came with hitting dead ends.

“I’m going to call our man in Seattle,” she said, dialing the number Riley had given her for Van Roff. When his voice crackled through the speaker, she explained their urgent need to locate Timothy Lancaster.

There was a brief silence, then Van echoed on the other end of the line, “Timothy Lancaster?”

“That’s right. He’s the son of —”

“I know who he is, or is supposed to be,” Van’s voice crackled over the speakerphone. “That name carries a lot of … gravitas.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Timothy Lancaster is like a ghost in the machine, Ann Marie. He’s a myth in the geek community—always one step ahead, leaving digital clues that lead to dead ends or loop back on themselves.”

Ann Marie felt her heartbeat quicken as she processed Van’s words.

Lancaster’s ability to elude detection was no amateur feat if even Van Roff hadn’t found him.

That kind of mastery was a skill honed by someone deeply intimate with the web’s hidden corners.

Someone much like Van, but who had chosen to live and work on the dark side.

“Van, he’s a murderer,” she pressed. “He’s killed three people so far, and we’ve got to stop him before he kills again.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried. But Timothy... it’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere,” Van sighed. “He can make it seem like he’s logged in from several places at once. A phantom presence.”

“Can you try again? For us?” Ann Marie’s request carried the weight of urgency. She knew Van was their best hope, especially against such an elusive adversary.

“I owe Riley one—or ten. I’m on it.” Van’s determination was palpable, even through the phone.

“Anything you can find could be crucial,” Ann Marie told him.

“Leave it with me,” Van assured her.

“Thanks, Van,” Ann Marie said, but as she ended the call, her heart sank. They were up against an opponent who could very well outpace them all.

“Riley, we—” Ann Marie started, but Riley raised a hand, her gaze fixed on the tablet.

“Wait, I think I’ve got something,” Riley interrupted, her voice taut with restrained excitement. She turned the tablet towards Ann Marie, revealing a screen filled with text and images.

“Look at this,” Riley said, pointing to an old newspaper story that seemed to leap out from the rest of the digital noise. “An article in the Slychester Eagle, dated back to the year Martha Lancaster took her life.”

Ann Marie leaned in and read the headline: ‘Local Math Professor Disgraced in Plagiarism Scandal.’ Ann Marie grasped its importance. It was an exposé, and it could have been the catalyst for a woman’s downfall, the final nudge towards a tragic end.

“Riley... how much of the public did this story reach?” Ann Marie asked.

“It went viral,” Riley said. “It was everywhere—syndicated and shared, seen by God knows how many people. And I’m sure it was a major piece of the public shame that tore Martha Lancaster apart.”

“Who wrote it?”

“Scroll up,” Riley instructed, and there it was, stark against the white background, the byline: Gwen Beck.

“According to her bio, she was local reporter in Slychester,” Riley said.

There fell a moment of shared dread between the two agents, a silent acknowledgment of what might come next if indeed this writer came within reach of a vengeful killer.

“She could be his next target,” Ann Marie mused, her thoughts racing as she considered the implications of Gwen Beck’s article. It wasn’t just any piece of journalism; those words had surely shattered the last pieces of Martha Lancaster’s reputation.

“Very possibly,” Riley replied, her dark hair framing her face as she bent over the tablet again. “If we’re dealing with revenge, then the reporter is right in the crosshairs.”

“Twenty years later...” Ann Marie’s voice trailed off, the idea that such hatred could endure for two decades unnerving her.

She had seen grief age and mature into acceptance in her father’s mortuary, but this was different—this was life and death in the raw.

It was about a wound that festered, a vendetta undiminished by time.

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, not when it comes to matters like these,” Riley said, as though reading Ann Marie’s mind. “Especially for someone who believes justice was never served.”

“We need to know if Gwen Beck is still alive. If she’s still in Slychester.”

“If she is, we need to talk with her right away,” Riley replied, her tone grim. “And let’s hope we can get to her before he does.”

Ann Marie watched Riley’s fingers charge across the tablet with an intensity that matched the gravity of their situation.

“Got her,” Riley muttered. “Gwen Beck is still in Winchester. She’s widowed and retired from the Eagle... but she’s teaching night classes at Corbin College.”

“Let’s get a warning to her,” Ann Marie voiced, her hand already moving towards her phone.

Riley was on the same wavelength, her eyes focused and intense. “We need to find her contact information first,” she said, opening up a new tab on her tablet.

Together, they scoured online directories and public records, their fingers flying over touchscreens and keyboards until they found Gwen Beck’s number.

“We need to call her right this minute,” Riley asserted with renewed urgency, quickly punching in the digits they had unearthed into her own FBI-issued phone.

“Hello, may I ask who’s calling?” a man’s voice answered, gruff and unexpected.

“Special Agents Riley Paige and Ann Marie Esmer, FBI,” Riley stated. “We need to speak with Gwen Beck.”

“I’m Officer Claude Burgher, Slychester police,” he identified himself, and Ann Marie felt like her heart skipped a beat.

“Officer Burgher? What’s your involvement with Ms. Beck?”

Ann Marie watched Riley’s posture stiffen as Officer Burgher’s words crackled through the speakerphone. “Apparently, Ms. Beck has gone missing.”

“Gone missing? When and how?”

“A neighbor heard noises outside Ms. Beck’s home,” Burgher explained.

“She didn’t go out to check right away, thinking it was unimportant.

But a few minutes later, she decided to take a look and saw that Beck’s car was still in the driveway.

Then she thought she saw signs of a struggle.

.. but her elderly neighbor wasn’t in sight, and she didn’t answer her home phone. So she called the police.”

“They didn’t find her? “Riley prodded.

“No, she wasn’t at home, neither inside or outside,” Burgher confirmed.

“And she never showed up for the night class she was supposed to teach tonight at Corbin College. There were some marks in the drive that could indicate a struggle, and her car keys were found on the ground. I’m at her house right now. It looks like we’ve got a … situation.”

“We certainly do, Officer. But my partner and I are on it. We’ll get right on this and circle back to you shortly.”

Riley ended the call, her eyes meeting Ann Marie’s. Now they both knew something for certain—Gwen Beck was not just a possible target; she was likely to already be a victim.

“Riley,” Ann Marie said, her words clipped by concern, “There’s no body, and no message, at least not yet. This killer—if he’s taken her, he’s not playing by his own rules anymore. And she may well still be alive.”

Riley was pacing, her movements sharp and precise. “I think you’re right. An abduction. It’s a new play for him,” she mused out loud. “No algebra, nobody left behind. He’s keeping her alive for something...something more personal.”

“Could it be he’s planning something special for the reporter who wrote about his mother?” Ann Marie ventured. “Some kind of … finale?”

A nod from Riley was all the confirmation Ann Marie needed. Her gut churned at the thought of what horrors might await Gwen Beck if they didn’t intervene in time.

“Putnam and Prendergast need to know about this,” Riley said. “They need to understand—the killer has made his move.”

Together, they rushed out of the room and down the short hallway. As they burst into Detective Prendergast’s office, Putnam and the detective looked up, startled.

Ann Marie relayed the update, her words tumbling out in a rush. “A reporter named Gwen Beck is missing—believed to be abducted. Shortly before Martha Lancaster’s suicide, Beck wrote an article in the Slychester Eagle about her, a complete exposé.”

“She lives in Slychester,” Ann Marie added.

“Tonight her neighbor suspected a problem, called it in. The police checked; she wasn’t at home.

She hasn’t made it to the evening class she’s been teaching at Corbin College, and her car’s untouched.

But her keys were found in the driveway. We’re thinking it was an abduction.”

“Abduction? A different M.O.?” Putnam snapped. “Are you sure this is the same guy?”

“It’s an escalation,” Riley said firmly, her experience with the darkest of minds shining through her composed exterior. “You know as well as I do, some serials change their own rules as they approach their endgame. Maybe he sees this as his magnum opus.”

“His masterpiece,” Ann Marie whispered. It was a grotesque thought—but a fitting term. “If he wants to draw this out, to savor his final act, then maybe we still have time to catch him before he kills her.”

“If we can find where he’s taken her...” Riley interjected,

“But how do we track him?” Prendergast asked, a frown creasing his brow. “How do we find where he’s taken her?”

“Patterns,” Riley said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We need to go back over everything, every clue he’s left us, everything we know. There has to be something we’ve missed.”

The silence that followed was almost a physical presence in the room.

Ann Marie could see the cogs turning behind Riley’s dark eyes, the way her brows knitted together in concentration.

There was an electricity to the moment, a sense of a fuse burning down, and Ann Marie felt it tingling in her veins.

“Wait,” Riley said, breaking the stillness.

Her voice had that edge of clarity that came when she was on the brink of an epiphany.

“The anonymous email to the Cipher Society. The one Derek Aldrich quoted—the killer vowed by ‘the sacred shrine we hold most dear’ to take the lives of the people who had wronged Martha Lancaster.”

“It was a promise,” Ann Marie whispered.

“Could he be more literal?” Riley remarked.

“Martha Lancaster’s grave,” Ann Marie added. “That’s what Aldrich told us the ‘sacred shrine’ was.”

Riley’s gaze snapped to her junior partner, a silent acknowledgment of the connection made.

“Yes, and that’s in Slychester,” Riley confirmed. “That has to be it.”

“Can we get there in time?” Ann Marie asked.

Ann Marie and Riley both knew Gwen Beck’s life hung in the balance, and with each passing second, the scales tipped towards an outcome they were desperate to avoid.

As for Agent Putnam, Ann Marie could see doubt in his eyes.

But she knew that Riley wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Riley stood up, her movements decisive.

“We have to. Let’s get to work.”