Page 58 of Just Now

“This is what you put an end to,” Connor said. “It was thanks to your guts and your quick thinking that we could get him.”

“I didn’t use any technology,” she said. “Anyone could have done it, and probably better than me.”

Connor shook his head. “You thought the situation through, you used what was at hand, you acted with courage, and you made sure the killer was caught. That’s tech, in my book,” he said approvingly.

The room had peepholes drilled into the wall. Inside was a bed, a basic bathroom with a nonfunctional tap, and a few items of furniture. And outside it was a stash of clothing and furniture. Top-quality men’s clothing from leading designers. And piles of old, shabby clothing.

“He dressed in those new clothes,” Cami told Connor. “That’s what Vera said he did at her house. He dressed in the smart suits and he met them at their front doors. And then he forced them to wear the shabby men’s clothes. As a sort of humiliation. Maybe he was trying to move away from who he’d used to be.”

And the items of furniture? Cami was going to take a guess that they had replicated what was in the victims’ homes. In a weird way, he’d been recreating their lives.

That was what he’d been doing.

Connor’s radio crackled. He was in touch with the FBI office, and they were researching this address, looking for past crimes, getting some background on the family.

“Seems that Emmett Miller had an older sister who died when he was sixteen from causes unknown. They think she overdosed and drowned in the bath, but there was always a question mark over it. His mother spent years in prison,” Connor told her. “There were a few visits from child support over the years, but nothing came of it. His mother died last year, I believe, and perhaps that’s what triggered a psychotic break.”

Cami nodded somberly.

The one thing she did notice about this house was the complete absence of tech. There were no cameras, there was nothing smart in the home whatsoever. Emmett hadn’t even owned a computer. His phone was a basic, old-model phone, untrackable through GPS.

Going through the trash had been the lowest of low-tech solutions, and how he’d found his victims. Cami didn’t think that tech could have solved this crime. Not with this killer and these circumstances. She’d just been lucky enough to have tracked one of the victims’ phones before he turned it off, like he’d turned off the others. And the only reason she’d been able to do that was because he’d tried to set a trap for her.

A trap that had backfired.

Connor shifted his feet and checked the time.

“It’s after midnight,” he said. “Forensics are wrapping up here, so we’d better get home. Come on. I’ll drop you at MIT.

“Thanks.”

Cami turned away. She followed Connor upstairs, thinking of the complexity of this case. A killer, born into a dysfunctional family, scarred from his childhood experiences. What chance did he have to be normal in such an environment? She was sure that the mother had kept him prisoner in just the same way that he’d held his own hostages.

But while being scarred was inevitable, Cami knew that becoming a killer had been his own choice. He’d made that decision and picked the deadly path.

As she and Connor drove back in thoughtful silence, Cami wondered again what her mother had been calling about. Looking at that sad basement room, and realizing how bad an abusive family environment could be, was strangely making her feel more thankful for what she’d had. Yes, her dad had been domineering and her mother too silent, she and her sister had been rebels, and she’d turned her back on them after Jenna had disappeared.

But maybe it was time to fix that relationship.

She would try again tomorrow, she decided. She’d try and call her mom again, and this time, maybe, she’d leave a message.

And in the meantime, there were other calls to make.

“I haven’t forgotten about Jacenta,” she told Connor, as he pulled up outside the gates of MIT. “I’m going to call her first thing tomorrow and set up that coffee date.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good,” he said. “Let me know how it goes after you’ve spoken to her. And what she advises.”

“I will.”

“Thanks again for today,” he told her.

Cami climbed out of the car, feeling a mix of trepidation and resolve at the thought of that coffee date, and what it would involve. She’d need to tell her parole officer everything, in confidence, and get her guidance about what to do next.

She hoped it wouldn’t backfire on her.

Cami had a nasty feeling, in fact a certainty, that there was more to this situation than she yet realized, and that she was only scratching the surface of something that might go deeper than she feared.

EPILOGUE

---