"But nothing."Kate's voice was gentle but firm."Sullivan can coordinate with the scrapyard search.You focus on finding whoever's killing photographers before they strike again."She glanced at the whiteboard, at the three faces staring back at them."We can't afford to lose anyone else."
Isla wanted to argue.Wanted to point out that Robert Brune had been feeding bodies to Lake Superior for decades, that every day he remained free was another day someone might die in the cold waters that had claimed so many.But Kate was right.The photographer case was active, urgent, claiming victims faster than Brune ever had.Three people in less than thirty-six hours.
"Fine," she said finally."But I want updates.Every hour, on the hour.If they find anything at the scrapyard—"
"You'll be the first to know."Kate moved toward the door, then paused."And Rivers?Get some sleep tonight.That's not a suggestion."
She left before Isla could respond, her heels clicking against the floor with the deliberate rhythm of someone who had too many fires to put out and not enough water.
James was quiet for a moment after Kate's departure, his eyes fixed on the aerial image of the scrapyard still displayed on his tablet.Isla could see him running through logistics—search patterns, personnel requirements, the particular challenges of clearing fifteen acres of abandoned industrial equipment.
"I'll head out there this afternoon," he said finally."Make sure the search teams know what they're looking for, coordinate with the Marshals on coverage."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do."He looked up, meeting her eyes with an intensity that caught her off guard."You've been carrying both cases for almost a year, Isla.The LSK investigation, now this.Let me help."
The words landed somewhere in her chest, warming a place that had been cold for longer than she wanted to admit.James had always been steady—a rock she could anchor herself to when the current threatened to pull her under.But there was something different in his voice now, something that went beyond professional partnership.
She pushed the thought aside.There would be time for that later, after the monsters were caught.
"Call me if you find anything," she said."Even if it's just a hint.I want to know."
"You will."He stood, gathering his tablet and his coat, his movements carrying the particular efficiency of someone preparing for a long day."What are you going to do?"
Isla turned back to the whiteboard, to the three photographs that had become her obsession over the past two days.Derek Paulson.Jennifer Hayes.Robert Yamada.Three photographers who had captured beautiful images of this region, who had won awards and built careers and believed they were safe in the landscapes they loved.
They'd been wrong.And somewhere out there, the person who'd killed them was already planning the next composition.
"I'm going to figure out what connects them," she said."Beyond the obvious—beyond being photographers, beyond working at scenic locations.There's something specific the killer is targeting, some thread I'm not seeing yet."
"The historical photographs.The compositions."
"That's part of it.But there's more."Isla frowned at the whiteboard, trying to articulate the intuition that had been nagging at her since Gooseberry Falls."Kramer talked about photographers who 'steal' other people's visions—who recreate compositions without crediting the original artists.What if that's what the killer is punishing?What if the victims weren't just photographers, but plagiarists?"
James considered this, his brow furrowing."That would explain why Kramer's philosophy seems to be driving the murders, even though he's not the one committing them.Someone absorbed his worldview—his anger at modern photographers who build careers on derivative work."
"And they're acting on it.Turning the thieves into part of the landscapes they stole."Isla's voice hardened with certainty."I need to find the connection.The specific images these victims were accused of copying, the specific photographers they allegedly plagiarized."
"That's going to take research.A lot of it."
"Then I'd better get started."
James moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the frame."Be careful, Isla.Whoever's doing this—they're smart.Organized.They've been planning this for a long time."
"I know."
"And they're still out there.Still watching."
The words sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.James held her gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them, then nodded once and disappeared into the hallway.
Isla turned back to the whiteboard.Three faces.Three crime scenes.Three compositions that referenced photographs taken decades ago.
The answer was in the images.She just had to learn how to see it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The research took her deeper into the world of landscape photography than she'd ever expected to go.