They were able to keep Paige’s drawings out of the conversation with the Salem police detectives. At least the murder had occurred within state lines, only about forty-five miles south of Portland, making Brett and Alex’s interest a little less questionable. If the murder had occurred over state lines, working with the detectives would’ve required official permission.

But within state lines didn’t make Denise Rubio any less dead.

She’d been beaten, like all the women before her. Then she’d been stabbed.

“Hell of a way to go,” Detective Ramon Gil said. “According to the coroner, victim was already nearly dead before the perp even stabbed her. Seems like overkill.”

Brett glanced at Alex. They’d thought the very same thing with some of the other victims.

“Anything unusual about Miss Rubio that you’ve found?” Alex asked. “Do you have any direction in particular you’re looking?”

Detective Gil shrugged, a weary frown dragging his whole face. “Honestly, we’re still trying to wrap our heads around it. We’re smaller than Portland PD, don’t get a lot vicious murders. I’ve seen a few drive-bys, domestic dispute murders, but nothing like this.”

Brett nodded. “Any known enemies? Fights?” Even if she had, Brett was willing to bet it wasn’t the person that murdered her.

“Nothing as far as we can tell. Miss Rubio was well liked at the school by both students and faculty. Not married. No kids. Lived here for five years since she graduated from college.”

“We’re going to talk to the principal next. See if we can find out anything.”

Gil nodded, then studied them more carefully. “Why are you here anyway? No offense intended. This definitely isn’t a pissing contest. If you’ve got some insight to offer, I’m all ears.”

Alex’s eyes shot to Brett. “We had a murder a few days ago. Lady was strangled, not stabbed, but she was beaten severely beforehand. Enough similarities that we thought we would see if there might be any connection.”

The other detective looked like he would press the point further, but then just shrugged again. “I’d appreciate it if information could flow both ways.”

“If we find out the cases are definitely connected, we’ll let you know,” Brett told him.

Not long after speaking with Gil they were on their way to the high school where Denise Rubio worked. Brett drove. He’d hoped to get a call in to Paige. She’d been asleep when he’d left her early this morning, exhausted from the tension and constant fear of falling asleep, worried that if she did she might draw again. It wouldn’t matter if it was another unknown woman or herself, it would still be the same: death.

She’d tried to keep her terror from him as he lay in the bed next to her. She hadn’t complained or talked or tossed and turned. But her body had radiated tension to such a degree that Brett couldn’t help but know what was going on.

He’d pulled her into his arms, hoping the contact would help her, knowing she needed rest after what she’d already been through. She’d relaxed into his embrace, but it wasn’t long before the tension had returned.

“Every time I close my eyes, all I see is darkness,” she whispered, when he’d tried rubbing the tension out of the muscles in her shoulders.

It was an odd statement. One would expect to see darkness when closing eyes, but Brett knew what she meant. Not the darkness of a restful sleep, the overpowering blackness of the killer and her link with him.

“I won’t let him get you,” Brett had murmured back. “I won’t let you get lost in the dark.”

But his words hadn’t made a difference. Finally, deep in the night, he’d pulled her body underneath him and made love to her, slowly, thoroughly, bringing her to climax first with his hand, then his mouth, and finally his body, until she couldn’t fight the exhaustion any longer.

Brett kept his word, watching over her as she slept, on the lookout for any nightmares, or worse — a pull from the bed towards that damn easel.

Not on his watch.

When he left her this morning the sun had been shining brightly into all the windows. She’d made it through the night.

He’d still like to make sure she was okay. To hear her voice.

Brett wasn’t sure how the hell she’d come to mean so much to him in such a short time, but he couldn’t question it. Catching the killer went way beyond getting justice for Paige now. He wanted this guy off the street so whatever connection her subconscious had with him could be severed.

Otherwise, Brett was afraid he’d lose her. She’d lose herself.

“What does a science teacher, physical therapist, Nike R&D executive, nurse and a receptionist have in common?” Alex was looking at the notepad he always kept with him as they now drove towards the high school where Denise Rubio taught. “And an artist?”

“Besides the start of a “walks into a bar’ joke?” The professions of the women who’d been killed didn’t seem to have any link whatsoever.

Neither did their gyms, shopping habits, political affiliations, or social media patterns.

A few of them were part of online dating sites, but not all. Some had attended religious services, but others didn’t.

They hadn’t found a single link between all the women except for Paige’s drawings. Although there was. There had to be. They just hadn’t found it yet.

Denise Rubio’s principal, Lisa Haneberg, didn’t provide much further insight. She confirmed, like Detective Gil had said, that the young teacher had been popular among students and colleagues alike. The school was obviously reeling after what had happened to her.

The principal took Brett and Alex to the teacher’s lounge where Denise had been last seen. They spoke briefly to the English teacher who had been Denise’s friend and was obviously distraught at her death.

No, Denise Rubio didn’t have any enemies. No, she hadn’t mentioned anything unusual or suspicious before her death.

The same answer that had been true about all the other victims. The only thing different about Denise was that she hadn’t been killed on a payday, and she hadn’t been held for as long as the other women had been.

This killer liked to toy with his victims. Let their beatings heal just slightly before he killed them. Brett’s hands clenched into fists when he thought again of how close Paige had come to death.

Principal Haneberg took them to Denise’s classroom. It wasn’t anything unexpected. Instead of desks, the classroom had lab tables, wooden with solid black tops and small sinks in the middle. Various high school science equipment sat on the tables: microscopes, Bunsen burners, and beakers of various sizes.

“Students really responded to Denise,” Principal Haneberg said softly. “Especially the girls. She had such a passion for encouraging them to pursue STEM degrees. Science, Mathematics, Engineering.”

“Has anyone looked through Miss Rubio’s work emails?” Alex asked as he looked around the teacher’s desk. Brett walked further into the classroom.

Haneberg nodded. “Yes. I gave Detective Gil access right away. Nothing suspicious was found.”

Of course not. Nothing suspicious had been found in the emails or phones of any of the victims. No “long lost friends” emailing wanting to meet for coffee, nor an “emergency” car breakdown text from a friend that would draw them out.

Whoever had killed them had watched them. Knew patterns about each of them.

Brett walked towards the back of the classroom, looking at a machine that stood there.

“That’s a 3D printer,” Haneberg said. “Denise was so proud when she got the grant award to buy it. It only just arrived a couple of weeks ago. Kids were so excited to get to use it.”

This one had to be much smaller than the one used to make the huge centerpiece at Paige’s art show.

“What would a science teacher want with a 3D printer?” he asked. He could understand why an art studio would want one, but not a science teacher.

Haneburg joined him at the back of the room. “I can show you Denise’s whole proposal if you want. But basically she argued that it could be used to interest students in a number of different aspects of science. Architects and engineers use them on a regular basis now. Any company developing prototypes for just about anything. Medical fields use them for making prosthetic limbs and I’m sure other things.”

Brett spun around at Haneburg’s words. “Physical therapists would use these? Nurses?”

Haneburg shrugged. “Maybe. They might not use the printer themselves, but would definitely come in contact with what the printers can produce. Especially if it involved prosthetics.”

Brett glanced at Alex before looking back at Haneburg. He was listening now also. “And a Nike Research and Development executive?”

She nodded. “Without a doubt. A company like Nike would probably own multiple high end 3D printers for prototypes of shoes and other products. Like I said, Denise made a very compelling case for having one to teach students what sort of STEM jobs were out there. That’s what got her the grant. The printers aren’t cheap.”

Alex joined them, his thinking now exactly where Brett’s was. “Boeing would also use one.”

The fifth victim had been a receptionist for Boeing.

“Absolutely. Why?” the Principal asked.

They didn’t provide her with any details, just got the name of the company who had sold and set up the 3D printer for the school. They were rushing back out to their car less than ten minutes later, on their way to FormLabs3D back in Portland.

The link between all the victims was found. And once they saw it, it couldn’t be denied.

The northwest division of FormLabs3D, part of a much larger company, sold or serviced printers connected to the workplace of each victim, including the art studio connected to Paige. Charles Sevier, FormLabs3D’s manager, was able to immediately confirm this.

“Boyd Anderson is the regional salesman for northern California, Oregon and Washington State. He’s one of our best sales people, has an excellent record. He would’ve been at all those locations.”

Brett gave Alex a grim smile. “Is Anderson on the road right now? We’ll need his home address.”

“What’s this all about? Is Boyd in trouble?”

“We just need to talk to him about a case we’re working on. He might have some pertinent information.” Alex was careful not to leak anything important. The last thing they wanted was for the manager to let Anderson know they were looking for him in connection to the murders. He would take to ground.

“Boyd is out two weeks at a time on sales and service routes, then has one week off.”

“Where is he now?” Brett asked. “On the road?”

Charles shifted uneasily on his feet. “He should’ve been here this morning. Normally he would’ve come here to check in before going back out on his route. Actually he should’ve been here yesterday, but I thought maybe I had his schedule confused. Boyd has never missed a day, so I honestly hadn’t checked yet.”

“But he didn’t come in?” Alex asked.

“No. Like I said, it’s the first time in the eight years he’s worked for us that he hasn’t shown up. I know he made it back to Portland last week. Turned in his normal files and receipts — he’s meticulous about that. Everything is always in perfect order and he follows the rules to a T. But I haven’t heard or seen anything since then. Here’s his address.”

“Do you pay your employees on a two-week pay schedule?” Brett asked as they turned to leave.

“Yeah. The first and fifteenth of each month. Why?”

“Anything particular about paydays that you remember with Anderson?”

“Not that I recall. He has direct deposit like everyone else.” Charles shifted some papers around on his desk. “Although I will say, the only time I ever saw Boyd get angry was about four years ago when I told him about the notice I’d received that the federal government would be garnishing his wages to pay alimony he owed his ex-wife. Not that I could blame him. They’d already been divorced a while.”

Payday. A constant reminder of his ex-wife taking advantage of him. Definitely enough to trigger something.

Alex was already getting out his phone. “I’ll see where she’s located and have her brought in if she’s local.”

They were out the door and running back towards the car. Time was of the essence now. Charles Sevier would begin to try to contact Boyd Anderson, if only to spread the gossip that detectives were looking for him. Anderson would run.

Of course, they had to face the fact that Denise Rubio’s death happening on a non-payday date and Anderson’s absence from his normal work pattern meant the man might already be gone.