It was a risk. But it was always a risk. His heart beat mostly from exertion as he picked up Jodi’s body. Angie had been lighter, but he thought maybe because she’d only been dead for a few minutes when he’d put her in his trunk. Jodi’s body didn’t bend or move as easily, and he did contortions getting her out the back door and into the garage.

Inside, he took a minute to catch his breath. Okay, okay. Everything was fine. No one had seen him.

He put her in the trunk and left. He only had ten minutes to get to work, and he was going to be a little late.

He didn’t think anyone would notice.

TWENTY-THREE

PATRICK CALLED CARINA with an update on his efforts to locate Bondage and Scout through the MyJournal corporation. “We’re running in circles right now, but we’re getting somewhere. MyJournal dumped all the data on us-millions of bytes of data-and we’re going through it. We’re running a program that compares the data with the IP prefixes of the Shack’s network and the La Jolla library.”

“You’re talking nerd again,” Carina teased.

“Essentially, every computer connection has a unique IP number. Like a home address for computers-anyone in the country can find it. An ISP-Internet service provider-has a set of IP numbers that it assigns to its subscribers. The Shack and the library have one prefix, like an area code, and every connection in their network has a unique number. Individual computers, like Thomas’s, have a unique number assigned by their ISP. An ISP may have multiple prefixes, but no other ISP will share a prefix. For example, one company might have eight unique prefixes. No other company will have those prefixes.”

“I think I get it. So you’re telling me that you’re comparing the data and at some point you’ll get a match and know who sent Angie that message she deleted?”

He laughed. “I wish it were that easy! If we get a match to one of the Shack’s computer connections, for example, we’ll know which computer sent the message to Angie. If we get a match to the library, we’ll know that someone at the library sent the message. If someone logged onto the library’s network, we’ll be able to see that.”

“But we won’t know who.”

“True. But we have one more program running. We’re running the Bondage and Scout messages against all assigned IP addresses in southern California. If we get a hit there, we can get a warrant and obtain the personal data for that specific IP connection.”

“And that’ll lead us to his house?”

“If it’s a private account, like you have at your house, where you pay a fee to access the Internet. If it’s a public account, like the library, then you’ll be led to the library.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

“I can find out where they sent the message from. Then it’s up to you.”

“Thanks, Patrick. Did Kyle Burns contact you about the Shack’s computers?”

“Yes, I’m good to go with them. When I finish setting up the programs to run I’m going to take my team and go on-site.”

“Great.”

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I inspected the webcam Gage found at Jodi Carmichael’s apartment.”

“And?”

“It has a wireless connection. The end user would be able to log onto the frequency and see whatever it was aimed at. Gage thought it was motion activated, but it’s not. It’s always on.”

“Can you trace it?”

“I wish. If he was logged onto the frequency, I could trace it. But it’s like a one-way street-he knows the access codes and can view the stream. The stream isn’t being sent anywhere. The battery has a seventy-two-hour life. I tested it and there’s about twenty hours of juice left.”

Carina thought back. “Which means he was in Jodi’s apartment sometime on Wednesday.”

“Yes.”

“Can you put it back?”

“You think he’s going to go for Abby?”

“I don’t know, but maybe next time he logs onto the computer his computer will try to access the stream or something.”

“I think that’s unlikely, but I can put it back.”

“No prints?”

“None. And there’s nothing unique about it. He could have bought it anywhere. There’s a serial number and we’re tracing it, but all it’ll tell us is what distributor had the unit.”

“Dammit.”

“Be careful, Carina. I’ll call you when I know anything.”

Carina and Nick never made it back to the Sand Shack during the day, but Patrick called to say that he was on-scene so she was heading back there when her cell phone rang.

“Kincaid.”

“It’s Jim. We found Jodi.”

“And?”

“She’s dead.”

Carina’s jaw clenched. “Where?”

“Her apartment. In the carport.”

Carina made a U-turn and headed back to Jodi’s apartment. The entire carport area was sealed off, and several dozen onlookers stood behind bright yellow crime scene tape.

She and Nick put on gloves and shoe protectors and went into the crime scene.

“How did the killer get here unseen?” she asked the two cops who had spent all day in the area interviewing residents.

“We were across the street at the other building. We’ve talked to eighty-one people, and no one saw anything last night that seemed out of the ordinary.”

You’re too late.

They were in the carport of Abby and Jodi’s apartment building. Jodi’s body was next to her car, discovered by a resident at nine p.m.

“Go back and get a time line. She couldn’t have been here long.”

Jim Gage was already processing the scene, barking orders to his staff, his normally calm, methodical demeanor frazzled by the brazen disposal of Jodi’s body by her killer. His team finished setting up perimeter lights, and he began to inspect her body under the artificial brightness.

Jodi had been tied in the garbage bags, but during transport they had loosened and her arm had fallen out. The responding officer had partially removed the garbage bag, revealing her face and the telltale black bandanna glued to her mouth.

Her nose was broken, twisted at an odd angle, surrounded with dark blood. Jim carefully unwrapped the body, bagging and preserving evidence as he went. The process was laborious, but necessary.

Jodi’s wrists and ankles still had ropes attached, cut with a sharp, nonserrated knife. Her legs were streaked in dried blood, slut was scrawled across her chest in black marker, but what really drew Carina’s attention and horror was Jodi’s stomach. It looked like pulp underneath blue skin. Her skin was also red and splotchy in places, like a bad sunburn.

“He beat her up?” she asked Jim.

“It’s postmortem. In fact, all the injuries except gluing her mouth shut and the sexual assault were made postmortem.” Jim looked up. “She’s been dead for over twelve hours.”

“Since this morning?” Carina asked, incredulous.

“I’m guessing between seven and nine. The postmortem damage happened several hours after her death, three to six. Her muscles had already started to stiffen, but not enough for full rigor, which occurs at eight to twelve hours.” Jim looked from Carina to Nick. “Want to know my guess?”

Nick said, “She died on him and when he found her, he was angry.”

Jim looked surprised. “Exactly.”

“How’d she die?” Nick asked. “Shock?”

“She choked to death or suffocated. Dr. Chen will know for sure. I have her medical records, and she has a history of allergies to latex, and mild asthma. But shock or stress may have triggered an asthma attack, and she couldn’t breathe.”

Jim shook his head. “But,” he continued, “see the discoloration of her skin? It looks like hives. She may have died from anaphylactic shock. Maybe he wore latex gloves when he assaulted her, and she had an allergic reaction.”

“She could die from that?” Nick asked.

“Absolutely. You’ve heard of people dying from bee stings and peanuts, right? It can take a few hours, but repeated exposure can increase the reaction. I had a case where a guy died ten minutes after a wasp sting. He couldn’t find his epi pen.” Jim looked at them. “Jodi had an epi pen in her purse, which was left in her bedroom when the killer abducted her.”