Hidden Fire, Kobo Read Online Free PDF

all."
    "Let me call her station manager and
do some checking."
    Randy went over to the whiteboard on the
wall and started a timeline. He taped a photo of the victim to the board, front
and center as a grim reminder of his job, which was making certain the victim
had a spokesperson.
    "I think I got it," Kovak said
from his desk.
    Randy snapped his head around. "Our
victim?"
    "No, our reporter. She hails from
Portland, worked at the newspaper. Wanted the fame and glory of television,
moved to Salem. The Portland paper's been running a series of articles on
serial killers. Our little Miss Penny was way out of line, even for the
television news standards. She'll be duly chastised for her attempts at
sensationalism."
    "Okay, then she's got serial killers
on the brain." He stepped across the office and sank into his chair. "I'll
check the newspaper archives. See if I can match our victim to one of the
articles they ran." He scrolled through the articles, aware of Kovak
standing over his shoulder.
    "Look at that one," Kovak said.
"The Triple X Murders. You think our victim's part of it?"
    "Shit, I hope not." Already his
belly was protesting against what it must know was going to be a diet of
caffeine and little else for the next few days.
    "I'll send what we have to ViCAP,"
Kovak said. "See if they have anything similar." He was already at
his computer.
    Randy's lips twitched at Kovak's
eagerness. Then again, how often did the Pine Hills Police Force see anything
worth reporting to the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program? "And I don't
need to tell you the pattern—hell, even the fact he was cut—does not leave the office."
    "No, you don't." Kovak clicked
his mouse, then gave Randy a contrite look. "Hey, I didn't mean I liked
the idea of someone getting murdered. But come on. We don't get this kind of
crime here. This is—well, tell me your adrenaline isn't pumping. And that you're
not looking forward to using what you picked up in San Francisco."
    "What I learned in 'Frisco is that
we'll be lucky to solve this case and we'll lose a lot of sleep trying. But let's
give it our best shot. And, as I recall, that ViCAP form's going to take a while
to fill out. You work on that, I'll see what I can do with missing persons reports."
     
    * * * * *
     
    Connor rolled in at about three a.m. "Damn,
that coffee smells good."
    "Kona. Compliments of the big guy,"
Kovak said. "Help yourself."
    Connor disappeared, then returned with
his Garfield mug. He stepped to the file cabinet where the office coffeepot sat
and poured himself the rich brew.
    Randy let him savor the coffee before he
spoke. "Anything good to report?"
    Connor shook his head. "Way out of
our league here. The county took the evidence to their wizards. I can do some
print work and look at the pictures, but we didn't find anything conclusive.
Any leads on who the guy is?"
    "Only who he isn't," Randy
said. "No hits on his prints from the Western Identification Network
database yet. I'm hoping we get something to go on from the autopsy before we
have to start searching farther out. Seven states is enough."
    "Strange," Connor said. He took
another slug of his coffee. "Someone shot like that, you'd think he'd run
in circles of the unsavory sort. I'd have bet my shirt he had a record."
    Randy glanced at Connor's shirt and
smiled. My Search Engine Ran out of Gas . "I'd have taken the
bet—but right now, your shirt says it all."
    Connor glanced down and grinned in
return. "I'm happy to relinquish it."
    "I'd rather not be reminded of my
failures. Thanks anyway."
    Connor slipped back to the coffee pot and
topped off his mug. "I'm going to see if I can lift any prints from that
key, then call it a night. I'll let you know."
    While Kovak went to brew a fresh pot,
Randy clicked open another search engine and settled in. He spent a few hours
on what he convinced himself was productive work—after all, eliminating
possibilities was part of the process—then stood and twisted the kinks
out of