LITMIR.BIZ

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had the techs hopping in here, too.

      Sean waved the papers in his hand. “I need a few of these blown up. Do we have anything on the fingerprints from the office yet?”

      Kwan looked up from his computer. “Fingerprints? We don’t have no stinkin’ fingerprints yet.”

      “Jacoby hasn’t been back here with his treasures yet? I thought he’d be gleefully running prints about now.”

      “Jacoby does love him some fingerprints, but he hasn’t come back from the crime scene.”

      “Are they still out there?”

      “Oh, yeah.”

      Sean furrowed his brow and smacked the printouts down on the counter. “Okay, can someone work on these? I’m going to check in with the LT, and then I’m outta here. Call me if something comes up.”

      Sean returned to his desk to file some notes and then started for the lieutenant’s office. His heart stuttered when he saw Curtis through the glass talking to Healy.

      Had he brought Elise here?

      He stalked to the office and pushed open the door. “Where’s Elise? Did you bring her down here?”

      Curtis turned and leaned against the lieutenant’s desk. “No, I had more work to do at the crime scene and then the lieutenant called me back here.”

      “Where is she? You didn’t leave her alone, did you?”

      “Relax, loverboy.” Curtis shifted a quick glance at Healy and grimaced. “I left her with Jacoby. He said he’d take her back to your place and stick around until you got there.”

      Jacoby. The adrenaline continued to course through Sean’s body and he charged out of the lieutenant’s office and back to the lab.

      “Have you singled out those stills from the video yet?” Sean had punched in Elise’s cell phone number, but it had tripped over to voice mail.

      Kwan’s mouth dropped open. “Dude, you just dropped off the printouts. We haven’t had time to match them on the video yet.”

      Sean pulled out a chair at one of the computers and opened the portions of the video they’d marked. He scanned through and stopped at the image of the man in the baseball cap. “Kwan, come here.”

      Kwan hovered over his shoulder. “What?”

      Jabbing his finger at the screen, Sean asked, “Doesn’t this look like Jacoby to you?”

      Adjusting his glasses, Kwan leaned in. “Could be, same shape, but Jacoby’s built rock solid. This guy looks a little heavyset to me.”

      “That could be the jacket, right? A guy with big muscles might look heavy in a puffy jacket.”

      “Sure, but what are you saying? Jacoby was in that building? I mean, he could’ve been—dentists, lawyers, hell, even steroid docs. So what?”

      “Fingers. Fingerprints.”

      “What the hell, Brody?”

      “How come there hasn’t been one set of prints to come out of any of these murders? Not even a partial.”

      “The Alphabet Killer wears gloves. He’s careful.”

      “He knows police procedures.”

      “Jacoby’s weird, but he ain’t that weird.”

      Sean’s head jerked to the side. “What do you mean by weird?”

      “I don’t know.” Kwan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “With the ladies. He trolls those online dating forums but can never get up the guts to make a move.”

      The blood was roaring in Sean’s ears now. He stormed out of the lab and interrupted Curtis and Healy. “Where’s Jacoby?”

      Curtis smirked. “Why? Do you think he’s moving in on your woman?”

      Sean smacked his hand against the doorjamb. “This isn’t a joke, John. I think Jacoby might be our killer.”

      Both men stared at him, but they weren’t laughing.

      “That’s crazy, Sean.”

      “Brody, unless you have some hard evidence, you’d better put a cork in it.”

      “Here.” Sean drilled his fist into his gut. “I feel it here.”

      “You’re a good enough detective to know that’s not good enough.” Healy had sat back down in dismissal.

      “Fingers, the guy loves his fingerprints.” Curtis scratched the stubble on his chin. “What do you need, Sean?”

      Healy glared at them from beneath his eyebrows. “You two can take this outside my office.”

      When the door shut behind them, Curtis turned to Sean. “What do you need me to do?”

      “Look at his schedule, John. See where he’s been at the time of the murders. Review that video for me. One of the guys walking in that building looks like Jacoby.” He grabbed his shoulders. “Did he ask to watch over Elise?”

      Curtis squeezed his eyes closed. “Sort of. Let’s just say he was eager to take over the job when I got called away.”

      “Damn. Where’d they go? What kind of car does he have?”

      “We can look up his car here. He told me he was taking her to that twenty-four-hour coffee shop near the park.”

      “Thanks for your help, John. I know you can get in trouble for this if it’s all in my head.”

      “I’ll bet on you every time, Brody.”

      Sean yelled over his shoulder as he took off toward the elevators, “Keep me posted.”

      When he got to his car, he punched in Elise’s phone number again. This time when he got her voice mail, he left her a message. “Elise, where are you? Call me as soon as you get this message and don’t trust Jacoby. If you’re with him, make some excuse to get away and then—get away. Run away from him as fast as you can.”

      He cranked on his engine and swung out of the parking garage. His phone buzzed in the cup holder, where he’d tossed it, signaling a message, and he grabbed it. He blew out a breath when he saw Elise’s name on the display.

      He balanced the phone on the steering wheel to click on the message. Then he slammed on his brakes, sending his car into a fishtail as he read the message: Elise is busy. Thirty-seven plus forty-nine plus 122 plus twenty-eight equal 187.

      The coordinates for the Golden Gate Bridge.

      * * *

      ELISE COUGHED AND gagged as Jacoby dragged her from the trunk of his car—a different car than the one he’d had at their first meeting.

      He shoved her in front of him, prodding her back with the barrel of his .45. “No running away this time, Elise. Guns are not my weapon of choice—too much evidence in the form of ballistics and blood spatter. You see, I’m just as good a detective as Brody.”

      She licked her dry lips. “Where’s your phony English accent?”

      “The same place as my phony cast, beat-up car and fake beard.” He nestled close to her side and she gagged on his cologne. “You have to admit that was a pretty good disguise. Nothing even registered for you when I came to your house not twelve hours later. Of course, I didn’t think it would since you wouldn’t expect a homicide field tech to be a killer, would you?”

      “Something about you rubbed me the wrong way from the beginning.”

      “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say. Keep walking.”

      “Where are we going?” But she didn’t have to ask. Even though he’d parked his car in the gravel parking lot on the other side of the tourist center,

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