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Michael joined Faith and Turk outside and said, “I’m not gonna lie, I was seriously considering helping myself to some of the alcohol he had on the counter.”

Faith chuckled mirthlessly. “I don’t think alcohol would help me right now.”

The door opened, and the three agents saw police officers leading Clive Benson away in handcuffs. He was weeping, and when he saw the two of them, his face screwed up in a pout. “I didn’t kill anyone. You said if I helped you, you wouldn’t tell them about the kickbacks.”

“We never said that,” Michael countered, “and we couldn’t keep that promise even if we had.”

“You guys suck!” he called.

Michael didn’t dignify that with a reply. The three agents left the building and drove back to Faith’s apartment. Just after they started driving, Faith’s phone buzzed. A text from Dr. Spencer informing them that none of the substances in their victims’ blood matched any known cleaning chemical, authorized or unauthorized.

“So that’s a dead end too,” Faith said drily.

“What?” Michael asked. “The cleaning chemicals?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, I figured. Tox screens usually include the most popular cleaning chemicals since it’s a fairly common cause of poisoning. Still worth a shot.”

“Was it?” Faith asked. “Was it really? I kind of feel like we panicked and threw the ball blindly hoping a receiver would magically lift himself out of the secondary and pull it in for a touchdown.”

“Kudos to you for knowing enough about football to make that analogy,” he said. “I assume, anyway. I don’t know shit about football.”

Faith was in no mood for banter right now. “The point is we guessed, Michael. We made a guess.”

“All detective work is guesswork.”

“Yeah, but this wasn’t educated guesswork. We weren’t following evidence. We literally asked, ‘Hmm, who else visits multiple restaurants?’ and landed on health inspector. We aren’t trying to solve the case, we’re throwing darts at the wall and hoping one of them lands on the jackpot.”

“That analogy sounded less accurate, but again, I don’t know.”

“Michael—”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Faith? There is no evidence. Or rather, there is, but we’re waiting for the state crime lab to tell us exactly what it is and where to find it. The whole reason we’re not sitting on our asses waiting for a phone call is because we’re not satisfied to sit on our asses waiting for a phone call when some psycho is still out here killing people. So yeah, we’re chasing our tails here because that’s all we have until the crime lab gets back to us. But that could still be weeks. So what do you want us to do? Should we lick our wounds and stop trying? Or should we keep fighting?”

“I want to keep fighting, Michael, but I don’t want to waste time chasing phantoms.”

“Then where do we go? What do we chase? You tell me, Faith, what’s our next move?”

Faith didn’t answer. After a long moment, Michael said, “Exactly. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place, but if you throw spaghetti at a wall, something will stick eventually. Do I like it? Hell no. Do I think it’s good detective work? No. Is it our only option? Unless we get a call from the crime lab or have a eureka moment, yes.”

They finished the rest of the drive in silence. Fortunately, it was a short drive, so the tension between them didn’t have time to grow oppressive. Turk whined mournfully, and both agents ruffled his fur and offered terse encouragement that Turk didn’t find reassuring at all.

When they reached the apartment, Michael ordered a pizza. Faith didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts right now, so she switched the TV on. Michael called a warning, "You know it's all gonna be bullshit about West. Why are you putting it on?”

“Because I’d rather be pissed at West and the news media vampires than at myself.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

She looked out the window and frowned. It wasn’t even dark out yet. They had an hour of daylight to work with, and she had no idea what to do with it. God, she hated feeling so powerless.

“—powerless.”

“And do you believe that’s why he chose to commit his crimes indoors?”

“I do, Tyler, and I believe that’s why he often kidnapped his victims during home invasions.”

The guest this time was a woman of around fifty with dyed blonde hair and a comfortable amount of plastic surgery to minimize the effects of age. She smiled at Tyler with a slight hint of aggression, as though she was daring him to challenge her point.

He obliged. “But he also took victims from their workplaces and occasionally from public places as well.”

“Very rarely, Tyler. One victim from a public place and six from their workplaces. In all seven cases, the businesses were empty of other people. All twenty-five other victims, twenty-six if you include Special Agent Faith Bold, were attacked in their own homes. The one place they were supposed to feel safe. Contrast this with the current Poison Ivy Killer—”

"Christ, what a stupid name," Faith muttered.

“—in very public places. He’s playing a very different game than West. West wanted his victims to feel powerless, but he was very careful to avoid putting himself in danger of getting caught. On the other hand, this killer wants the law to feel powerless. He or she—and in this case, it really could be a woman—is killing people in public in brutal fashion but leaving behind nothing for the FBI and the police to use to solve this case.”

Something tickled the back of Faith’s mind when the guest said that. She sat up a little straighter and rested her chin on her hands, steeping her fingers in front of her nose.

“Do you think that makes this killer more dangerous than West?”

“It’s hard to say, Tyler. There’s no doubt West was phenomenally successful with his MO. However, I think it’s safe to say that the unique threat the Poison Ivy Killer represents makes this case a challenge unlike any the FBI has ever seen.”

“And what of the fact that Faith Bold has been assigned to this case as well? Do you think it’s a smart move by the Bureau to put the same agent who struggled for years to find West and was nearly killed by him on four separate occasions on a case that once more involves a uniquely challenging serial killer?”

“Actually, I do, Tyler, and I’ll tell you why. Yes, Special Agent Bold struggled with West, but the entire law enforcement apparatus of the nation struggled with West. At one point, over forty different organizations were hunting him to no avail. It was Bold who determined his patterns and Bold who gave the FBI the information it needed to flush him out of hiding and send him on the run. In his first year of activity, Franklin West killed thirty-one people. In his second year, he killed only one. That is due directly to Bold’s intervention.

“I understand it’s popular to point the finger at Bold these days, but I think that the impossible expectations people have for her only proves that she is the FBI’s best asset. And why wouldn’t they want their best asset looking for the latest violent killer to stalk the streets of Philadelphia?”

“Damn. I was going to make some crack about bad plastic surgery, but she’s actually pretty smart.”

Faith appreciated the woman’s support, but she was far more concerned with the thought her analysis had put in Faith’s head. When it hit her, she leapt to her feet. “Their homes.”

“What?”

“We’ve been focused on the restaurants,” she said, “We’ve been trying to find the connection from where they died, but they weren’t killed in the restaurants.”

“What are you talking about? Of course they were.”

“No, no, no. They died in the restaurant, but they were killed in their homes. They were poisoned before they even arrived at the restaurant.”

Michael frowned. “But we’ve checked the homes for the poison. We checked the wine that Ferris sent.”

“Yes, but we’ve been looking for suspects by looking for people who were at the restaurant’s the days the victims died.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You want to look for people who were at their homes the days they died.”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Faith Bold, you are the FBI’s best asset.”

Faith returned his smile. “Thank you for that, but let’s reserve judgment until after we find this guy. Come on. It’s still light outside. Let’s get to work.”

The two agents pulled up the victims’ addresses and began looking through records for anyone who might have visited all four homes before the victims’ deaths. Faith felt a renewed burst of hope. They had been spinning their wheels so far, but she had a hunch that if they kept the gas down a little while longer, they’d find traction.

She wasn’t beaten yet.