“Four are names I recognize, people known to be a problem for Maggie. Eighteen have criminal records, mostly car thefts and drug offenses. Twenty-six names went to the same college as one of our missing women. I’m digging into all those, looking for any sign one of them could be our concert traveler.”
“You’re making rapid progress.”
“It feels like it, but it’s going to take the weekend plus a few days to generate backgrounds on this many names. Once the bulk of the facial recognition is done, we’ll want to step back and use all the data we have, develop a top-ten list to interview.”
“I’m all over that,” Evie agreed.
“How did your interviews go regarding Jim?”
“I confirmed part of his story, that he did walk Jenna home. It eliminates the coffee shop as the site of what happened, shifts it back to the apartment building. The rest of the conversations filled in how I see him. I still think it could be him even when I don’t want it to be.”
David’s laptop chimed. “Another batch from the FBI—twenty-seven names I’ll send to the printer.”
“Where do you want me next?”
“Let me send the full list to your account. I haven’t run the names against Maggie’s database yet. If any of these people ordered tickets from the website or purchased other memorabilia, we can send their credit-card numbers through the big credit-card search.”
“Perfect.”
Evie moved to her desk, wished she hadn’t run out of sweet-tarts, and made a mental note to at least buy some jelly beans. She could feel the case beginning to tip over like a wall of bricks. The pressure was doing its job.
“Evie.”
At the urgent call, she looked over to see David roll his chair back to rap on the glass, his other hand holding the receiver of the landline. She saved her file and hurried to join him.
He covered the mouthpiece. “The FBI team working the three smothered victims and the composite partial print just got a hit.” He uncovered the receiver. “Tell me that name again.”
“Andrew Timmets,” he relayed, then spelled the last name. “Indiana license, 78 Mallard Road in Indianapolis. He’s in the system because he’s got a business license as a locksmith. He’s twenty-seven. They just pinned his credit-card numbers to four of the five concert locations and dates. All but Tammy.”
“They’ve got him!”
David grinned. “Yes, they do. So that means we do.”
She spun his laptop on the conference table to face her and quickly ran the name against her favorite working lists.
David covered the receiver and said to her, “The FBI guys are now hollering over speakerphones with both Indiana and Ohio or I’d put this on speaker too.”
“I’ll take the relays. He’s a Brighton music student who didn’t graduate. That fits. And I’ve got him in Maggie’s fan database. There’s a blue flag on the name with a four-digit number . . . what’s that mean?”
David winced. “A photo was taken with Maggie. If she stands with someone at a public event for a quick shot by her photographer, a copy of that photo gets mailed to the fan.”
“Can I access that photo so we have a picture of him?” Evie asked.
“The FBI is sending a photo over now.” David pinned the phone against his shoulder as he swiveled to check incoming mail on the desktop computer. “And here it is.” He clicked the image to full screen.
David broke in on the phone chatter. “Hey, guys, guys! He’s in Chicago, not Indiana. Or was twenty-four hours ago. I can put him on the rope line here Friday night.”
He pointed to the video feeds. “Run the video back to around six p.m., before the event starts, back of the hotel.”
Evie searched for the guy around the time David remembered.
“There!”
She stopped the video.
“That’s him.”
David shifted back to the phone. “I’m looking at him on Friday night. We need a BOLO out on his car between Chicago and Indiana. What’s he driving? Odds are he spent the night here before traveling back. He attended Brighton College for a time, so I’m guessing he’s got friends in this broader area. What’s on his credit cards? Did we get lucky and he stayed at a hotel?”
“He drives a silver-and-gray Accord, sports model, license FST 616,” David relayed. “There’s a white van registered to the locksmith business, license BVR 3293.”
Evie had grabbed a marker and was writing down the information on the whiteboard.
“No credit-card activity in the Chicago area,” David continued. “Last charge was Thursday at a gas station two blocks from his home.”