“That’s the way we see it,” Griffin said. “We’ll immediately pull photographs on them, and we’ll send agents out to round up as many as we can. You two should probably be here for this.”

“Do you think we’d miss it?” Lynch took Kendra’s elbow and nudged her toward the car. “We’re on our way.”

*   *   *

THE MOMENT KENDRA STEPPED off the FBI office elevator and entered the second floor “war room,” she immediately sensed a different energy than on her other visits. There were more agents and support staff, now numbering approximately thirty, and they moved with greater purpose and barely contained excitement. They spoke louder and more quickly, and even the clicking of computer keyboards seemed to be supercharged.

“Can you feel it?” Lynch squeezed her arm. “It’s called optimism. You did this.”

“I just hope it pays off.”

Across the room, Griffin motioned for them to join him. Reade and a few other agents were at the long tables at the front of the room.

“The reports came in from the phone-service carrier,” Griffin said. “Every call originated from the tower that covers the prison.”

Kendra looked over his shoulder at one of the report copies. “What about the call recipients?”

“He called nine different numbers. We already have six identified. Three are here in Southern California, two in New York, one in Chicago. Most appear to be journalists. We’ll try bringing them in for questioning and see what they discussed. I’ve already alerted offices in NYC and Chicago.”

“What about the other three numbers?”

Reade waved a printout. “As far as we can tell, they’re throwaway phones with no names registered to them. Two of them are registered with the same mobile network as the prison phone, and our warrant was broad enough that the company also gave us information on those. The only time those two phones were ever used was to receive calls from the prison. We’re still tracking down the carrier for the third throwaway phone.”

Lynch nodded. “That’s it. One or all three of those has to be Myatt’s.”

Kendra was quickly studying the report that Griffin was still holding. “Where were those two phones? Does the report tell you that?”

“Yes,” Reade said. “Both here in San Diego County. One pinged a tower north of the city, another one due east.”

Kendra nodded. “What about the timing of the calls? Do they line up with the homicides?”

Reade shook her head. “I was just working that out when you came in, but it doesn’t look like it. The calls almost always came a day or two later.”

“Assuming that the local-call recipients don’t lawyer up or otherwise refuse to come in, we’ll conduct their questioning in the interview rooms upstairs,” Griffin said. “The two of you will be able to observe and send in questions, if you have any.”

“Good,” Lynch said. “You can bet there will be questions.”

“Welcome back, Kendra.” Metcalf had emerged from a crowd of agents with a small stack of color printouts. He smiled and gestured toward the busy war room behind him. “Look at all the overtime your observations are costing the U.S. taxpayer. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“I’ll be happy when we catch this guy.”

“Speaking of which…” Metcalf spread the photo printouts on the table. “Here are photos of the six people we’ve identified as having received calls from Colby’s prison phone. Five men and one woman. Are any of the men a match for the guy you saw at Corrine Harvey’s house the other night?” He watched as she grabbed the printouts and scanned them at lightning speed. “Take your time and—”

“No.” Disappointment sharpened her voice. “It’s none of them.”

“Okay, I’m glad you took your time.”

She shrugged. “No sense in wasting your time or mine. These aren’t him.” She turned to Griffin. “I was hoping … but evidently it’s not going to be that easy. But we’ll get there. And I’m very interested in seeing their interviews. When do we start?”

*   *   *

MUCH OF THE INITIAL enthusiasm—and staffing level—had evaporated by the time the last local interview was completed at 10:16 P.M. All of the local-call recipients were indeed journalists of some sort, with whom Colby had shared disgusting details of his crimes that he presumably didn’t want recorded by the prison on their internal phone system. Kendra joined the other agents in listening to the interviews conducted in Chicago and New York. Two of those were also journalists, and the third was a woman in Manhattan who had actually pitched Colby on the idea of a Broadway stage musical based on his life and crimes. Kendra sat in horrified amazement as they listened to excerpts of several songs the woman had written for the endeavor.

Griffin nodded to the assistant, who cut the connection with the New York FBI office.

“My God,” Metcalf said. “We really have to find a reason to arrest that woman. Agreed?”

Kendra nodded, sick. “Absolutely terrifying.”

“Obviously, we’ll check out all of them,” Griffin said. “But right now our focus should move to those disposable phones.”

Reade looked down at her printout. “Assuming at least one of these belongs to Myatt, he may have already tossed it and moved on to another one.”

“It’s possible,” Griffin said. “And if it hasn’t happened yet, it could happen at any time. We need to work fast.”

Lynch leaned forward. “A coordinated ping?”

Griffin nodded. “Tomorrow morning. 10:30 A.M.”

“Good idea.”

Kendra frowned as she looked first at Lynch, then at Griffin. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Lynch turned toward her. “A coordinated ping. One way or another, we’re going to force those phones to ping their local towers. Sometimes, the wireless carrier can do it with a remote command, but these burner phones are often so simple that we may have to do it the old-fashioned way: picking up the phone and calling them. If the phones have power, we can narrow them down to a limited area.”

“I’ll have response teams standing by,” Griffin said. “Once we get a fix on the signal, they’ll swarm over the area and put up roadblocks, go door-to-door and do whatever we need to try and find whoever’s using that phone.”

“Can you really narrow down the area that much?” Kendra asked.

“It depends,” Griffin said. “But if it’s hitting two or even three towers, we can get very close. If Myatt is using one of those phones to stay in touch with Colby, we’ll find him. If he’s discarded it, we may still have a place of contact to start searching.”

“Don’t say that.” Kendra got to her feet. “I’m going to believe that we’ll find him. We’re coming so near to getting him.” She could feel a flush heat her cheeks as she stared fiercely at the agents at the table. “Your coordinated ping is going to pay dividends. I know it.” She turned toward the door. “Come on, Lynch. Let’s get out of here. We can’t do anything until tomorrow, and Griffin is beginning to depress me.”

“Heaven forbid,” he murmured as he followed her from the room. “And this case is so bright and cheery.”

*   *   *

“WE’RE CLOSE,” KENDRA SAID as she preceded Lynch into the living room. “For the first time, I feel as if I’m not up against a blank wall. We’re getting close to that bastard, Lynch. I feel it.”

“There’s hope, at least.” Lynch shut the door. “But I’m surprised you’re so optimistic. You’re usually so pragmatic.”

“Pragmatic is boring. I want to be giddy. I want to believe that everything will come up roses. I want to catch Myatt and put him away for the rest of his life. I want Olivia and Mom to be able to come home.” She came forward to stare up at the giant photo of Ashley. “I bet you understand, Ashley. You look like a woman who looks on the bright side. Of course, it could be that bikini you’re wearing. But you need to talk to Lynch about his attitude.”

“I usually keep her too busy to discuss my character flaws. Of course, I don’t have that many.” He went to the mahogany bar against the wall. “Would you like a drink?”