Exactly what Kramer had been preaching for years.
But that was the problem.It wasexactlywhat Kramer had been preaching—publicly, extensively, for anyone to read.If he were the killer, would he really have left such an obvious trail?Would he have published his worldview in exhaustive detail, creating a roadmap that any halfway competent investigator could follow straight to his door?
Psychopaths were arrogant.She'd seen it before—killers who believed they were too smart to be caught, who left breadcrumbs because they couldn't resist showing off.But Kramer's blog didn't read like arrogance.It read like desperation.Like a man screaming into a void, hoping someone—anyone—would hear.
"Rivers."
She looked up to find James approaching, his tablet tucked under one arm, his expression carrying the particular weight of someone who'd been making difficult phone calls.
"Surveillance is set up on twelve photographers," he said, settling into the chair beside her desk."Everyone who fits the victim profile—professional, award-winning, works primarily in outdoor landscapes.Local PD is rotating units, and the Marshals are lending support for the higher-profile targets."
"What about the locations?"
"Park rangers are increasing patrols at all the major overlooks—Hawk Ridge, Enger Tower, the Lester River corridor.Plus, I've coordinated with the State Parks system to add coverage at Gooseberry Falls, Split Rock, and Tettegouche."James paused, consulting his tablet."It's not perfect.There are too many scenic spots and not enough bodies to cover them all.But it's better than nothing."
"Better than nothing."Isla let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so hollow."That's our bar now?Better than nothing?"
"That's always been the bar."James's voice was gentle, but firm."We do what we can with what we have.This morning, we didn't even know there was a pattern.Now we've got protective surveillance on potential targets and increased patrols at likely locations.That's progress."
"Progress would be catching the killer before they strike again."
"Progress is doing everything in our power to prevent that from happening.The rest—" He spread his hands."The rest isn't up to us."
Isla wanted to argue.Wanted to point out that it was precisely their job to catch killers, that "doing everything in their power" meant nothing if someone else died while they were chasing theories and analyzing blog posts.But the fight drained out of her as quickly as it had risen.James was right.They were doing what they could.The alternative—sitting paralyzed by the weight of what they couldn't control—wouldn't help anyone.
"I found Kramer's blog," she said instead, turning her laptop so James could see the screen."It's...illuminating."
James leaned forward, scanning the post she'd left open.His eyebrows rose as he read, his jaw tightening with each paragraph.
"'The thieves will learn what it means to truly become part of the scenes they've been stealing,'" he quoted."Jesus.It's practically a confession."
"Or a manifesto that someone else is using as a blueprint."Isla turned the laptop back toward herself."Kramer's been publishing this stuff for years.Anyone who wanted to could read it, internalize it, use it as justification for exactly what's happening."
"You're thinking one of his students."
"I'm thinking someone who believes what Kramer believes.Could be a student, could be a reader, could be someone in the photography community who's been radicalized by his ideas without ever meeting him."She rubbed her eyes, trying to push back the headache that had been building since dawn."The blog has comments.Some of them are...enthusiastic."
James was quiet for a moment, processing."What's your read on Kramer himself?After meeting him?"
The question brought her back to that cramped apartment, the walls covered with photographs, the trembling hands that couldn't hold a pen steady.The defiance in Kramer's eyes when she'd implied he might be responsible.The genuine disturbance that had crossed his face when he'd realized his beliefs might have inspired violence.
"He hates modern photographers," she said slowly."He genuinely believes they're thieves, parasites, corrupters of an art form he devoted his life to.If thoughts could kill, Derek Paulson and Jennifer Hayes would have been dead years ago."
"But?"
"But I watched him stand up from that chair.It took him thirty seconds to unfold himself, and his legs were shaking by the time he was upright."Isla shook her head."The murders required strength.Speed.The ability to strike victims down with a single blow, then stage bodies that weigh a hundred and fifty pounds or more.Kramer's body is failing him.I don't see how he could physically do what was done to Paulson and Hayes."
"Adrenaline can do remarkable things."
"Adrenaline doesn't cure Parkinson's.And it doesn't explain how he'd get to the locations in the first place."Isla pulled up another window on her laptop—the DMV records she'd requested while reading Kramer's blog."He hasn't owned a car in four years.Let his license lapse in 2022.According to his building's manager, he almost never leaves the apartment—groceries delivered, medical appointments handled by a service that picks him up and brings him home."
"So someone's helping him.A partner, an accomplice—"
"Maybe.But that raises other questions."Isla turned to face James fully, laying out the logic she'd been wrestling with for hours."If Kramer's the mastermind and someone else is doing the physical work, why haven't we found any communication?His phone records are clean.His internet history shows nothing but photography research and blog posts.No encrypted apps, no burner phones, no suspicious patterns."
"He could be communicating in person.His accomplice visits the apartment, they plan together—"
"His building has a security camera in the lobby.Local PD pulled the footage this afternoon."Isla pulled up the report that had come in an hour ago."Kramer hasn't had a single visitor in three weeks.No one in, no one out except him—and he's only left the building twice, both times for medical appointments."