James was quiet, absorbing the implications.Isla watched him run through the same calculations she'd already made, arriving at the same frustrating conclusion.
"He could still be our guy," James said finally."The evidence isn't strong enough to rule him out."
"No.But it's not strong enough to rule him in, either."Isla turned back to her laptop, to the blog post that read like a confession but might be nothing more than the ravings of a bitter old man."We've got a suspect with motive and philosophy but no opportunity.Meanwhile, there's someone out there with all three, and we don't know who they are."
"The student lists."
"Should be coming through any minute.Kramer promised to send everything from his teaching years—class rosters, thesis advisees, anyone who worked closely with him on photography-related projects."Isla glanced at her inbox, still empty of the promised email."Once we have those names, we can start cross-referencing with the victims' professional circles, looking for overlaps.Chances of getting IDs are slim, but we can try to track the people who posted on the blog.”
"That's going to take time."
"I know."The two words carried the weight of everything she wasn't saying—the fear that time was exactly what they didn't have, that somewhere in Duluth a killer was already planning their next tableau.
Her phone buzzed.A text from Kate:My office.Now.
Isla pushed back from her desk and gathered her laptop."Channing wants to see us."
"Both of us?"
"Just me, apparently.But you should be there anyway."
Kate's office was a study in controlled chaos—stacks of files on every surface, a whiteboard covered in case notes that had grown increasingly frantic over the past two days, the faint smell of coffee that had been reheated too many times.The SAC stood behind her desk, her silver-gray hair slightly less immaculate than usual, her reading glasses pushed up onto her forehead.
"Close the door," Kate said as they entered.
Isla did.Something in Kate's tone made her stomach tighten.
"I just got off the phone with the Assistant Director," Kate continued."He's concerned about resource allocation.Two murders in twenty-four hours, a suspect we can't definitively connect to the crimes, and the Lake Superior Killer still at large."She pulled her glasses down and rubbed the bridge of her nose."He's asking whether we need to bring in additional support.A task force."
"We're handling it," Isla said, more sharply than she intended.
"Are we?"Kate's gaze was steady, not unkind, but unflinching."Two bodies, Rivers.Two photographers killed and staged in less than a day.We've got a surveillance operation that's stretched our resources to the limit, a primary suspect who's too physically frail to commit the crimes he seems to have inspired, and no clear leads on who else might be responsible."She leaned forward, palms flat on her desk."If there's another murder tomorrow—"
"There won't be."
"You can't know that."
The words hung between them, heavy with truth.Isla couldn't know.Couldn't guarantee anything.Couldn't promise that her instincts and her team and her desperate, grinding effort would be enough to stop what was coming.
"Give me forty-eight hours," she said."We've got Kramer's student lists coming in.We've got surveillance on every high-profile photographer in the region.We've got park rangers patrolling the overlooks and local PD on alert.If there's a connection to the killer in those lists—"
"Forty-eight hours."Kate straightened, her expression settling into something between trust and warning."If we don't have significant progress soon, I'm going to have to recommend bringing in outside resources.That's not a threat, Rivers.It's reality."
"I understand."
Kate held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded."Get back to work.And Rivers?Try to get some sleep tonight.You look like hell."
Isla managed a thin smile."So I've been told."
She walked out of Kate's office with James at her shoulder, the weight of the deadline pressing against her chest.Forty-eight hours to find a connection, identify a suspect, and prevent another murder.
The bullpen had gone quieter in the past few minutes, the evening shift settling into the particular rhythm of work that would continue long into the night.Isla paused at her desk, staring at the laptop screen where Kramer's blog still glowed, his words burning into her retinas.
The thieves will learn what it means to truly become part of the scenes they've been stealing.
Somewhere in Duluth, someone had taken those words as gospel.Had transformed philosophy into murder, ideology into violence.Thomas Kramer might not be physically capable of committing these crimes, but his fingerprints were all over them—his ideas, his rage, his twisted vision of what photography should mean.
The student lists would tell her something.They had to.