Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

"A whole underground, I found." Boling typed. "Here're the pictures of Solitude Creek."

The page on Cyber-Necro.com with images of the disaster had about fifteen pictures. Most were from the media, shot afterward, depicting blood. Some were bad phone videos, low resolution, taken inside, during the crush.

Dance and O'Neil glanced at each other. They'd both be thinking the same thing: Was there anything shown in the videos or pictures that might help the case?

"How can we watch the videos?" Dance asked.

"You join. A hundred a month and you can download whatever you want."

Dance went to the home page and signed up.

Boling added, "If you want, you can get a discount if you join the Cyber-Necro's sister site at the same time."

"What's that?" she asked.

Boling smiled. "I think it's called 'Sluts-On-Demand.'"

Dance nodded. "Probably just the one. It's going to be hard enough to get Charles to sign off on my expense account as it is."

In a half hour they'd downloaded all of the clips and images of Solitude Creek. She wondered who'd taken the videos. During the canvassing she'd asked if anyone had done so; no one admitted they had, perhaps not wishing to seem heartless.

But they found nothing helpful. The images--video and still--were low resolution and murky. No clues.

One picture Dance stared at for a long moment. It was a still image similar to the one Prescott had used for his phony jihad rant on Vidster. Shown was the interior of the club, taken several days after the event, according to the time stamp.

"What?" O'Neil asked, seeing her face.

"Oh, I couldn't place that face." She pointed. Although the focus of the pictures was the bloodstains, in the mirror behind the bar you could see several faces. They were indistinct but the one she indicated was fairly visible.

"It's the U.S. congressman."

"Congressman?"

"Nashima. Daniel Nashima. He must've come back to examine the club after the police released the scene."

Boling said, "If it's an election year, he'll be talking about reforms in fire codes and all that. Not to be cynical."

Dance said, "Really appreciate all this. Thanks, Jon."

"Wish I'd been more helpful."

"That's the thing about policing," O'Neil said. "Even if it doesn't pan out, you've got to do the work anyway."

So Prescott's computer was a bust. But then Dance asked, "What about the unsub's phone?"

The burner he'd dropped during the pursuit in Orange County.

"It's a prepaid from a Chicago exchange." He handed her a printout that showed the number.

"Like the one he used at the site of the Bay View Center disaster, to lead police into thinking the killer was headed toward Fisherman's Wharf."

Boling added, "My guess is he goes through a phone every few days. This one has only a few texts on it. To and from a prepaid with a California exchange." He consulted his notes. "Incoming: 'Very pleased so far. Second installment en route.' Outgoing: 'Good. Thanks.' Incoming: 'What's next?' Outgoing: 'Cleaning up. All will be good. Will be in touch.'"

"Well," Dance whispered.

O'Neil was nodding. "There's our answer."

She said, "Sure is."