Chapter 17

"What if he's a cameraman?" Bel burst into Griffin's office, lunch forgotten.

"Babe, I'll call you back." Griffin hung up the phone. "Who's a cameraman?"

"The Matchstick Girl Killer." She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward as she sorted through her newly formed theory. "We wondered if he worked for the electric company because of the siphoned power and the work vans' anonymity, but there's another profession that involves vehicles no one would question—a reporter. A random car in the middle of the night might raise suspicions, but people rarely question news vans. Reporters travel at all times of the day because news doesn't wait for business hours.

"Plus, we're looking for someone who's always around but never noticed. Someone who likes to watch from the shadows. People recognize reporters, but never the cameramen. They sit behind their cameras, their faces hidden as the world watches what they want us to see. They aren't threatening because they're faceless observers. People even jump into their shots for a chance to appear on TV."

"That would explain the freezer's camera," Griffin said. "Always the observer, even for his own murders."

"Exactly. Reporters and cameramen also travel for their stories. The Matchstick Girls aren't his first victims. The scene was too organized. He practiced his kills first, and we both know the murder rate and cold cases in this town are far too low. He didn't kill close to home until he had a system, until he knew what he liked, and he used the cover of his news van to slip unseen and unsuspected through his hunting ground."

"A cameraman certainly makes sense. Where did you get this idea?" Griffin asked. "Are you imagining different scenarios or did something happen, because I can't get a warrant because of your imagination, no matter how convincing it is?"

"I don't have evidence." Bel sagged against the couch. "It was something Eamon said. When we left Walker's property that night, a cameraman got a little aggressive with me. He shoved the camera in my face and was hounding me with questions. I assumed he was just eager to get an edge on his competitors, but then during your press conference, the same cameraman came after me."

"Was he the one I shielded you from?"

"Yes," Bel answered. "Eamon saw him lunge for me on the news, and the aggression alarmed him. He felt the man was fixating on me. That's what gave me the idea. Killers often return to the scene of their crimes to watch the investigation unfold, and in a case this prolific, who better to observe us undetected than a cameraman?"

"So, your hunch is because your boyfriend didn't like the way another man looked at you?" Griffin asked, and Bel blinked at her boss. Surely, he didn't think Eamon's concern was petty unfounded jealousy, and she opened her mouth to correct his assumption, but the sheriff stood up, effectively silencing her.

"That's good enough for me." He snatched his phone and keys from his desk. "Come on, I'll drive."

"I don't know how helpful the staff will be without a warrant. We'll have to be subtle about our questioning," Griffin said as he and Bel jumped out of his truck. "If you're right about the cameraman being our guy, he'll run at the first whiff of suspicion."

"We should ask about the possibility of airing the Jane Doe images on the evening news so the public can help identify them," Bel said. "We don't have to follow through, but that might loosen tongues. That kind of segment would skyrocket ratings."

"That could work." Griffin pulled open the front door, allowing her to enter first.

"Sheriff?" The receptionist stared at them as if an unknown guilt was urging her to bolt to keep from being arrested. "Can I help you?"

"We were hoping you could help us. Is your producer here?" Griffin flashed her a comforting smile, and the woman relaxed slightly until her eyes flicked to Bel.

"Yes."

"May we speak to him?" Griffin asked.

"Hold on." The woman picked up her phone and dialed a short number. "Sir, the Sheriff is here. He's asking for you… no, I don't know what it's about… Okay, thank you." She hung up. "He'll be right down."

"Thanks." Griffin stepped away from the reception desk, and within three minutes, the producer jogged over.

"Sheriff." He shook Griffin's hand before extending it to Bel. "Sorry, Detective, remind me of your name again."

"Isobel Emerson." She accepted his outstretched hand.

"Right, sorry. Lots of names and stories going on. I'm Gene Lawrence, the daytime producer."

"Nice to meet you."

"What can I do for you?" Lawrence asked, gesturing for them to follow him to his office. "Is this about the Matchstick Girls? I have nieces, and every time I think about those poor women, I keep seeing them. It makes me sick. We'll do anything we can to help."

"That's actually why we stopped by." Griffin shrugged at Bel behind Lawrence's back. It seemed this case was the one time the news station would willingly divulge their secrets. "Killers often return to the scene of the crime to watch the police proceedings. We were so busy with the freezer that we forgot to grab crowd photos, so I was hoping your cameras got a shot of the spectators. Maybe one of your guys filmed the killer." He slipped seamlessly into the white lie, and Lawrence took the bait, eager to rectify the police's failure.

"You think the killer was at the scene?" Lawrence's gaze flashed between Bel and her boss with unsettling speed. "That's horrifying."

"We do," Griffin said. "Which is why we'd be grateful for crowd footage."

"Of course," the producer said. "I'll have someone send it over. If it helps catch the Matchstick Girls Killer, we'll give you anything you need."

Bel stifled a smirk, noticing Griffin do the same out of the corner of her eye. Lawrence seemed genuinely interested in helping the police, but ever a news producer, he realized that if his station were integral in solving these murders, his ratings would skyrocket.

"That would be immensely helpful," Griffin said.

"Is there anything else?" Lawrence asked.

"Your company vans?" Bel asked. "Does your staff have unlimited access to them?"

"Of course," he answered. "Breaking a story first sometimes comes down to a matter of seconds. My crews need to be ready to respond at the drop of a hat. We're a smaller station, so we need every edge we can get. Don't worry, Detective, if something happens, my guys will be there fast."

"That's good to know." Bel nonchalantly met her boss' gaze. "Do your reporters ever cover out-of-town stories?"

"We cover whatever gets us views," he answered. "Why? You thinking of becoming a reporter?"

"Me?" Bel laughed.

"You're certainly pretty enough," Lawrence said. "Having you on camera would boost our ratings."

"Thank you." She smiled at him, thankful his tone was teasingly good-natured and not creepy. "But it's not for me. I ask because we've identified some of the Jane Does, and they aren't from Bajka. Solving the case might mean traveling for your crews." She half lied to conceal her real reason for asking.

"Oh, that's not a problem," Lawrence said. "Unlike the big stations, we have to jump through hoops to make ends meet sometimes, so we're fully prepared to go the distance. I'm sure you've watched our channel. We hold our own, and I give my staff every opportunity to succeed."

"I do when I'm not working," Bel said.

"How would you feel about doing an exclusive interview?" Lawrence asked. "You're practically a celebrity in this town. People would love a segment on you."

"I'll think about it," she said. She didn't like the idea of broadcasting her face any more than it had been, but she wouldn't turn him down when they needed his help.

"Please do. You would inspire a lot of young girls."

"Before we go, can we talk to your staff?" Griffin asked, steering the conversation back to the task at hand.

"Of course," Lawrence said. "I'll take you downstairs."

The trio left the office, but as they approached the stairs, an all too familiar man jogged toward them.

"Sheriff Griffin?" the cameraman asked. "Detective Emerson? What are you doing here? Did something happen? Oh, my god, it's bad, isn't it?"

Bel involuntarily flinched, bumping Griffin as the man surged closer, and one look at her face told the sheriff all he needed to know. This was the cameraman Eamon was worried about.

"They just had a few questions," Lawrence said.

"What kind of questions?" the man asked. "Anything I can help with? I was there that night. You remember me right, Detective?"

"Jerry, why don't you let the poor woman down the stairs before you interrogate her," Lawrence laughed, and seeing Jerry in the daylight without his camera made Bel wonder if they'd misjudged his fixation. He'd appeared threatening in the dark, but on the stairs, he seemed like an enthusiastic employee on his tenth cup of coffee.

"Sorry." Jerry stepped to the side, and Bel studied his features as she and Griffin resumed their descent. He was a middle-aged man with kind, if not hyper eyes, but nothing about his overly friendly behavior triggered her intuition. Eamon's concern had come from watching him lunge for her at a dark crime scene and then chase her on the television screen. He hadn't been close enough to sense his true nature, and Bel's chest deflated. Bubbly Jerry didn't seem the cold-blooded type, and they were once again back at square one.

"I used to work for insurance," Jerry said as he chased them down the stairs. "But I hated being trapped behind a desk. I wanted to be in the action, so I went back to school. Sorry if I came on strong at the press conference. This is just the first homicide case I've covered, and it's such a huge one. I don't want to mess up. We have to bring those girls justice." He barely breathed as he spoke, and Bel bit her lip to hide her smirk. This chatty man definitely wasn't who they were looking for. She could feel it in her soul. No one this enthusiastic could kill forty-two women unnoticed. Jerry was the type of person who demanded attention. He would never slip through the shadows unseen… or unheard, for that matter.

"It's all good," Bel said. "We all have a lot on our plates."

"We do, but I'm happy to help any way I can," he said.

"We appreciate your enthusiasm," Griffin said as they reached the main floor.

"Excuse me," Lawrence interrupted. "I'm getting a call, but Jerry can show you around. You don't mind, do you, Jer?"

"No problem, I'm happy to."

"Thanks." Lawrence walked down the hall, and glancing conspiratorially at Griffin, Bel seized the opportunity. Gene Lawrence was a producer and businessman. His help would only extend if it aided the station, but Jerry was thankfully the opposite of what she'd initially assumed. He'd have no qualms about spilling secrets.

"Jerry, how long have you lived in Bajka?" she asked, pretending she was merely passing time with small talk.

"Born and raised. I love our town. Love it more now that I have this job."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Eight months," Jerry answered. "It's a little late to start over, but my wife is very supportive. We had three boys, so I worked in an office to provide for my family, but once the kids were grown, she encouraged me to follow my dream. It's why I'm so worried about getting this case right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime story, and if I screw it up, I'll lose my shot."

"You won't screw it up," Bel said, before glancing at Griffin behind Jerry's back. Eight months at the station made it unlikely he was the killer, and a father working an insurance job wouldn't have the freedom to drive to God knows where to lock women in his truck.

"Here's everyone." Jerry gestured at the bustling office, and announcing the sheriff needed their help, he had every employee clamoring to do the honors. They all had stars in their eyes at the prospect of becoming the reporter who helped the police arrest The Matchstick Girls Killer, but for all their eagerness, no one offered anything of use. They'd seen nothing, and if one of them was the killer, they were liars unmatched. Not one person fit the profile, and with heavy hearts, Bel and Griffin said their goodbyes.

"I'm sorry, Emerson." The sheriff patted her back as they finally made their way to the exit. "It was a solid idea."

"No one seemed suspicious to you, did they?" she asked.

"When Jerry first approached, I was nervous, but after five minutes, I recognized he wasn't who we were looking for. Unless he's the greatest actor in the world, an overly outgoing man with a large family who joined the station eight months ago isn't someone who spends his night carting drugged girls around in his van so he can watch them freeze to death."

"I just want to scream." Bel stopped short and whirled around to face the lobby, a striking yet eerie photo of a woman and child standing in the aftermath of a bombing capturing her attention. "How do we keep coming up empty-handed? I was certain this was the right lead."

"It still might be," Griffin said. "Maybe the killer lives here but works in a neighboring town? We don't know everyone in Bajka."

"But if we don't catch him, he'll kill again," Bel said. "You don't murder forty-three people over twelve years, then go cold turkey. We ruined his setup, but as long as he's free, more girls will die, and I cannot allow that to happen."

"Don't give up." Griffin rubbed her back. "He can't hide forever, and when he slips up, we'll be there waiting."

"I thought you guys left." Jerry appeared from nowhere with an aggressively friendly smile, surprising both officers with his sudden appearance.

"Just admiring the photograph," Bel lied. "But I actually had one more question." Her heart crossed its metaphorical fingers. "Did we meet everyone, or is someone off today?"

"Nope, everyone is here," Jerry said. "Because of the press conference, we all came in regardless of our shifts."

"Right, thanks." She glanced one last time at the hauntingly beautiful photo.

"Although." Jerry stopped her from leaving. "That photographer isn't here." He gestured at the portrait.

"Oh?" Bel involuntarily stepped closer to the cameraman, and by the look in his eyes, she was behaving exactly like Eamon Stone's predator.

"Jax is an award-winning freelance photographer. His work is practically famous, so I don't know why he works here."

"Works here?" Griffin asked, suddenly invested in Jerry's chaotic way of speaking.

"Yeah, Jax's been at the station for over twenty years. He's a cameraman, but he's also a freelance photographer. He travels the world, selling his photographs to the highest bidder. He's unreasonably talented, but he enjoys working here. Claims it keeps him grounded."

Bel's stomach dropped as Jerry described the exact man they were looking for. "Why isn't he here today?" she asked.

"He took a leave of absence," he said. "He isn't married, and I didn't know he had kids, but apparently, there was an emergency with his grandson. He needed time off to deal with the issue."

"When?" Bel stepped forward again. "After Thanksgiving?"

"Um…. Yeah." Jerry swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he broke their eye contact for a second. "It was after Thanksgiving."

"Does he live in Bajka?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. "I don't know where. I've only known him for a few months, and we weren't exactly friends."

"That's no problem. We can find the address." Griffin had his keys in his hand and his feet poised to flee the station the second Jerry answered his next question. "And does Jax have a last name?"

"Yeah." Jerry nodded, his eyes flashing between the two officers. "It's Frost."

"Nice neighborhood," Griffin said as he parked his truck in Frost's driveway. "No one would suspect their neighbor of being a serial killer on a street like this. Doesn't look like anyone's home, though." He hopped out of the vehicle and climbed the front steps to the porch, Bel hard on his heels. "Jax Frost?" he shouted as he pounded on the door. "Bajka Police Department." He knocked again, but to no avail. The house was still.

"He took vacation time a few days ago." Griffin jogged down the steps and rounded the side of the house. "He could be long gone by now."

"I don't think so." Bel followed him, peering through the windows, but all the curtains were drawn. "He's still in town."

"What makes you say that?"

"The leave of absence is to cover his tracks in case he has to flee at the last second," she explained. "Randomly not showing up for work is suspicious. If we broadcasted that we were looking for a man on the run, the station would immediately think of the absent employee, but if someone had a family emergency before we put out the alert, no one would consider him a suspect. If Frost is our killer, he's still in town. He doesn't know he's a person of interest, and he wants to watch us blindly fumble. He's probably upset about our discovery, but I also bet he's enjoying the fallout."

"People always want someone to share their secrets with," Griffin said. "The greater it is, the greater the burden of bearing it alone becomes. He might even be relieved we've uncovered it."

"Someone who photographs suffering and war lives to broadcast the world's pain." Bel tested the back door, but it was locked. "I imagine seeing his work on the news satisfies that longing inside him."

"So he's in Bajka, but he's not home," Griffin said. "No car in the driveway, no sounds coming from inside. Do you think he isn't home at the moment, or is he staying somewhere else?"

"Either." She shrugged. "Both. We can station an unmarked car down the street to see if he returns. Chances are, Frost is just a grandfather with a grandson who needs help, but if he's The Matchstick Girl Killer… Griffin?" Her voice froze in her throat, and she blinked her eyes, hoping her vision would clear, but no matter how many times her eyelids flashed, the damning red stared back at her.

"What's wrong?" The sheriff grabbed her biceps, readying to pull her to safety the moment he registered the danger. "Are you all right?"

"Ladybugs," she whispered.

"A ladybug?" Griffin gawked at her.

"Sarah Bristol was last seen wearing jeans, a sweater, and ladybug earrings," Bel repeated the reporter's words as she stared at the grass beside her shoes. "There was a photo of them. They were extremely distinctive." She pointed to the red peeking out of the dirt. "They looked exactly like that."