The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

I move on and try to find clues with a narrower path to travel. I scan the phone records for Summer. Chuck has given me the details on each person Summer communicated with. This man is golden, I swear, and worth a million chocolate bars. Summer took all of his business calls on his cell phone, but none of the people who attended the reading that night are cross-referenced to his call log. I tab through the deluge of data, and as always at this stage, find it too excessive.

He killed before.

He will kill again.

I know it.

I feel it.

I feel the absolute need to cut time and take actions I wouldn’t normally take, almost like a ticking clock on a bomb. And I know why. A husband killing his wife with cyanide is bad. A serial killer killing with cyanide is terrifying. His victims would have no chance of surviving.

Serial killer? Holy hell. He’s killed one person who we’ve confirmed. One person does not make a serial killer, so why am I going there? Why am I certain that’s exactly what we’re dealing with?

My mind returns to the parking lot tonight, to that moment when I felt like evil was trying to crawl right into my soul. To that moment when that evil felt familiar. My mind goes to Roberts’s swift departure and the possible connection he had to my father’s bad deeds. It’s time to consider this case somehow having a connection to me through my father.

Chapter 13

I text Chuck and have him cross-reference my father’s cases with mine and Roberts, as well as anything connected to the Summer case. I text because I don’t like to talk about my father. After I shoot off that message, I hesitate only a moment before I punch in an autodial number for Wade Miller, an FBI agent at the remote Austin office. His agent status is not only helpful right about now, it’s how I met him and how he became my ex, the one who should have been perfect for me but never was going to work out.

“Sam,” he greets, answering on the first ring. That’s something about him I’ve always appreciated. He’s reliable. “Is this personal or professional?”

I hesitate with my reply because this man was there for me, like really there for me in all ways, when my father died. I simply didn’t have the emotional capacity to push forward with him at that point. I don’t know if I ever will again, but we’re not enemies. And we’re not all business. We’re friends. “Can’t it be both?” I ask.

“You want a favor.”

“I do, but now it sounds very dirty of me.”

“I’m pretty okay with you being dirty, but we both know that’s not where this is going.” He doesn’t give that comment time to be awkward. I don’t think it would be anyway. It’s hard to explain why that is when it would be from someone else. It just is. That’s the thing with me and Wade; in fighting crime, horror movies, and occasional Chinese food outings, we are forever united. He proves this by saying, “I’ll help. What do you got?”

“A case that feels bigger than the case itself.”

“Any DNA?”

I like that he doesn’t need an explanation of why it’s bigger than itself. He gets it. He knows what I mean. “No,” I say. “Not yet. This is three days fresh and I inherited it from a detective that suddenly went MIA, which is why I thought you could help me cut through the red tape to get what I need quickly.”

“Is his disappearance connected?” Worry has now found its way into his tone. Law enforcement takes a threat to law enforcement seriously. “What are you into right now, Sam?”

“The detective who was handling this case before me supposedly asked for a transfer to Houston, but his phone is disconnected and it isn’t pinging. In and of itself, that feels off, but he generally did a good job working the case. He did miss a DNA grab.”

“You think that was intentional?”

“Based on how hard he worked the case from all other directions I tend to say no, but despite all that care he put into the case, he didn’t even stay behind to brief me.”

“It could be a personal problem. A cheating spouse. A sick family member. Any of those things apply?”

“I don’t know yet. Lang’s trying to track him down and figure things out. The captain doesn’t seem concerned, though that was before we found out his phone isn’t pinging. But the detective in question isn’t due to report to Houston for two weeks, so a lot could happen in that time.”

“What’s your gut?” he asks. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need to jump ahead of forensics and make sure I know as much about who I’m dealing with that I can possibly know. The good news is that Roberts, the missing detective in question, collected a ton of necessary data I’m already diving into.”