Mara found the red woman through motel cameras.
The Cardinal Motel had six working cameras and three fake ones, which was more than she expected from a place that still used brass room keys and a soda machine that took quarters. The owner complained about police scaring customers until Mara asked how many of his customers used fake names. He stopped complaining.
At 11:22 p.m., Martin Hale’s Buick entered the rear lot.
At 11:25, a woman in a red dress appeared near Room 6.
She wore a dark wig, a red coat, and sunglasses even though it was night. She stood beneath the broken light near the ice machine and looked directly toward the camera for half a second before turning away.
She wanted to be seen.
At 11:29, Martin walked toward her.
At 11:31, both disappeared into Room 6.
At 12:02, the camera feed glitched for eleven seconds.
When it returned, Martin was gone.
The woman in red stepped out alone, carrying his suit jacket folded over one arm. She walked calmly to the far end of the building, entered a black sedan, and drove away.
Mara froze the image.
The license plate was muddy but partly visible.
By noon, they had a name.
Vivian Knox.
Private investigator.
Former divorce-case specialist.
Known for photographing cheating spouses, tracking motel visits, and providing evidence in ugly custody battles. She had no violent record. She did, however, have connections to nearly every victim.
Colin Webb had been photographed by her six months earlier.
Peter Moss had been investigated by her firm.
Martin Hale had been under surveillance for two weeks before the attack.
And Ethan Cole’s name appeared in a file connected to Tessa Lane.
Mara drove to Vivian’s office with two deputies and found the place empty. Desk drawers open. Camera equipment gone. Coffee still warm. A red dress hanging behind the door like a confession too obvious to trust.
On Vivian’s desk was a printed list.
Twenty-one names.
All men.
Some married. Some separated. Some involved in affairs. Some with notes beside their names: motel, secretary, church volunteer, waitress, neighbor, second phone.
Ethan Cole was number eight.
Martin Hale was number seven.
Number nine was circled.
Mara read the name twice.
Dr. Samuel Kerr.
Marriage counselor.
Married.
Two children.
Office beside the county courthouse.
She called dispatch immediately.
“Send units to Samuel Kerr’s office and home. Now.”
The first unit reached Kerr’s office at 12:41.
The receptionist was crying in the hallway.
Kerr was gone.
On his desk, someone had left his wedding ring in a glass of red wine.
Beside it was a note:
He taught vows for money and broke them for free.
The killer was not waiting between attacks anymore.
He was speeding up.