The Fourth Monkey: A twisted thriller you won’t be able to put down. J.D. Barker

eyes narrowing as he reviewed the photographs one by one.

      “What’s up, Doc?” Kloz said, before bursting into laughter.

      Everyone stared at him.

      Kloz frowned. “Oh, so it’s funny when Nash does it, but not the IT guy? I see how things work down here in the basement.”

      Watson tapped the board. “He’s escalating. Look at the dates.”

      “Escalated,” Nash said. “His killing days are behind him.”

      “Right, escalated. About one per year until after his fifth victim, Barbara McInley, then about every six or seven months. There’s this too.” He pointed at the photo of Barbara McInley. “She’s the only blonde. All the others are brunettes. Is there any significance to that?”

      Porter ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think so. With these kills, he’s really punishing the families for their crimes. I don’t think it was ever about the victims for him.”

      “All these other girls are similar in appearance. Pretty, long brown hair, close in age. For someone without a type, he sure seems to have a type. All but Barbara, the only blonde. She’s an anomaly.” Watson paused for a second before asking, “Were any of the girls sexually assaulted?”

      Clair shook her head. “Not one.”

      “Did any of the girls have a brother?”

      “Melissa Lumax, Susan Devoro, and Calli Tremell each had brothers; Allison Crammer had two,” Clair said. “I spoke to them when I interviewed the families.”

      Watson nodded, the gears churning in his head. “If we assume half these families had at least one son and he grabbed their children at random, one or two male victims should have presented. That didn’t happen, so there was a reason he took the daughters over the sons — we just don’t know why.”

      Porter cleared his throat. “Honestly, I’m not sure that matters anymore. We don’t need to worry about his future victims. Like Nash said, he’s done killing. We need to focus on his last one.”

      Watson returned to his chair. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my mind starts going down all these paths and I lose focus.”

      “Not at all. This is why we asked you to join us. You’re a fresh pair of eyes on some old evidence and information.”

      “Fair enough,” Watson said.

      Porter picked up a blue marker and wrote EMORY CONNORS in large letters at the top of the third board. “Okay, what do we know about our victim?”

      “According to the front desk at her building, she left for a jog yesterday at a little after six in the evening,” Clair said. “They said that was the norm for her. She ran nearly every day, usually in the evenings. Nobody saw her come back.”

      “Did anyone know where she liked to run?” Nash asked.

      Clair shook her head. “They only saw her come and go.”

      “I might be able to answer that,” Kloz said. He was pecking away at a MacBook Air. “She wore a Fitbit Surge.”

      “A what?”

      “It’s a watch that monitors your heart rate, calories burned, distance traveled. It also has a built-in GPS. I found a program installed on her computer that recorded all the data. I’m accessing the information now.”

      “Any chance the GPS is still active?”

      Kloz shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. The watch records the GPS data as you wear it, then syncs to the cloud with a phone app or by interfacing with a computer. She paired with her phone — that’s dead too, but I think I know where she went.” He flipped his Mac around so the others could view his screen. A map filled the display. There was a dotted blue line beginning at Flair Tower, which followed West Erie Street toward the river. At the water’s edge, the trail circled a large green space. “I found the same pattern nearly every day.” He tapped the screen. “This is A. Montgomery Ward Park.”

      Porter leaned in close. His eyesight was going to shit. “Clair, you want to check it out when we finish up here?”

      “Will do, boss.”

      He turned back to Kloz. “Did you find anything else on her computer?”

      Kloz flipped the Mac back around and pecked at the keys. “You gave me the opportunity to legally search the hard drive of a hot teenage girl. Needless to say, I was thorough.”

      Clair wrinkled her nose. “Fucking sicko.”

      Kloz smirked. “I pride myself on my sicko-ness, my dear. One day you will thank me.” He studied the screen for a moment. “Emory’s boyfriend’s name is Tyler Mathers. He’s a junior at Whatney Vale High. And” — all the cell phones in the room beeped simultaneously — “I shot you a recent photo, his cell phone number, and home address,” Kloz said. “They’ve been beau and boo for about a month. She thinks they’re exclusive.”

      “And they’re not?” Porter asked.

      Kloz grinned mischievously. “I may have taken a peek at his private Facebook messages, and our boy is a bit of a player.”

      The group stared at him.

      “Oh, come on! If you use your wife’s or girlfriend’s name as your password, you deserve to get hacked.”

      Porter made a mental note to change his e-mail password. “Next time, wait for the warrant. We don’t need you mucking up the case.”

      Kloz saluted him. “Yes, my cap-i-tan.”

      Porter wrote TYLER MATHERS on the whiteboard and drew an arrow to the boy in the homecoming picture with Emory. “Nash and I will pay Tyler a visit this afternoon. Anything else on her PC?”

      “Emory has a Mac, a very nice one at that. Please don’t insult such a fine piece of engineering by calling it a PC. Such insults are beneath you,” Kloz said.

      “Forgive me. Anything else on her Mac?”

      Kloz shook his head. “No, sir.”

      “What about the three outgoing numbers on the landline?”

      Kloz held up his hand and ticked off three fingers. “A pizza place, a Chinese place, and Italian takeout. This girl knows how to eat.”

      Clair cleared her throat. “There’s a T. Mathers on the permanent guest list. The only other person listed is A. Talbot.”

      Porter wrote ARTHUR TALBOT on the whiteboard with the word FINANCES? directly beneath. “I’m really curious to see what Hosman turns up on this guy. 4MK took this girl for a reason; I’m willing to bet the guy’s crooked.”

      “Why not bring him in?” Clair asked.

      “We bring him in and he’ll just lawyer up — we won’t get a thing out of him. If we need to talk to him again, I think it’s best to keep it an informal setting, try and catch him off-guard someplace he feels comfortable. He’s more likely to slip,” Porter told her. “He’s also a bigwig around town, buddies with the mayor and who knows who else. If we bring him in early, we may get nothing, then if we try to bring him back, he may call one of his buddies to run interference. Best to wait until we have something concrete.”

      “This is interesting,” Kloz said. His eyes were fixed on his MacBook again. “The fancy elevators in that building record all the card traffic in and out.”

      Porter groaned. “Are you operating under the same warrant you used to hack the boyfriend’s Facebook page right now? ’Cause if you are —”

      Kloz raised both hands. “Come on now, do I look like a repeat offender?”

      “Oh, hell yeah,” Clair said under her breath.

      “Fuck you too, Ms. Norton.”

      She