“Could they make this print any smaller? I swear my eyes are bleeding.”

Alexa gave Nyle a commiserating smile. They’d started with all the airline passenger lists for three days preceding Simard’s death, dividing them up between them. Each page had to be checked for the name of the victim, all of his documented aliases and the names of his known acquaintances. It was laborious work. When they found nothing, Nyle began cross-checking the pages against the airline manifests for visitors into New Brunswick for a few days prior to the first victim being found there.

Alexa began to put the more recent pages she’d scanned back in order when a name seemed to jump off the front sheet at her. She’d missed it before, but this time its familiarity sparked a memory. She turned to her laptop to bring up the briefing notes Ethan distributed each day.

“Mikiel Fornier,” she said slowly.

Nyle lifted his gaze from his work. “Fornier?” He thought for a moment. “That’s the name of one of Simard’s buddies, right? At least it was back when he was arrested fourteen years ago.”

“Look at this.” She nudged the manifest page toward him, her finger stabbing at the name. “He appears on the passenger manifest for JetCanada. He arrived at the Halifax airport a few hours ago.” Logic suppressed her initial surge of excitement. “Of course, there may be several people with the same name.”

“True enough,” he muttered. “But what’s his city of origin?” They peered at the page, then simultaneously, “Montreal.” Alexa’s gaze met Nyle’s. “Same city as Simard.”

“Maybe something, maybe nothing.” But he pushed away from the table and headed for the door, the urgency in his movements belying his nonchalant tone. “The airline’s PNR is a personal name record for all passengers. It has information that isn’t on the manifests. I’m going to Sedgewick’s office to see if we can access those details. Good catch, Alexa.”

She looked at the remaining pile in front of Nyle’s empty seat without enthusiasm. To give her eyes a break, she took a moment to pick up her phone and text Ethan. A Mikiel Fornier from Montreal flew in this a.m. Confirming ID as Simard’s acquaintance. As she pressed send, she noted the time. It had been nearly two hours since Ethan had left them, which should surely be more than enough time for him to check out the tip at the hotel and be back.

Unless the maid’s lead was valid. She frowned. But if that were true, he’d have surely alerted them. She pushed away the niggling sense of concern and returned to the airline lists. When Nyle burst through the door thirty minutes later waving a sheet of paper, she was more than ready for the interruption.

“PNR yielded a date and place of birth, which matches the Mikiel Fornier who’s a known acquaintance of Simard. Even got a photo, courtesy of his most recent arrest two years ago.” He slapped the paper down in front of Alexa.

The image was a mugshot, showing a beefy man with a bullet-shaped shaven head and bushy black beard. A prison tat adorned the side of his neck. She took out her phone and took a picture of the image, sending it to Ethan with the message Confirmed. Mikiel Fornier. “Do you think Simard sent for him? Or that they had plans to meet here?”

Nyle sank back into the seat he’d vacated earlier. “Maybe he came looking for him. We just ID’d Simard’s identity yesterday morning.”

“Have you heard from Ethan?”

Nyle shook his head and reached for a pile of manifests. “No. He hasn’t even responded to my messages about Fornier. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s deliberately avoiding us until we get this chore finished without him.”

* * *

Ethan now wished for the traffic he’d cursed only a short time ago. The taxi containing his assailant was moving freely. It’d be held up only by traffic lights. As he gave chase on foot, he drew his cell out and pressed the number for his contact in the Halifax Police Department. Muttered an epithet as the cab turned right on a red light.

“Lieutenant Martin.”

“It’s RCMP Sergeant Manning. I’m heading east on foot after a person of interest on Cortail Street and Sixty-Seventh. Yellow cab number three seventy-three. I need patrol cars in the area to give pursuit.” Martin wasted no time asking questions. Ethan could hear him radioing the message to the patrol cars. “I’m uncertain whether he’s armed.” He gave a brief description of his attacker. “The cab just turned north on the next block.” With a burst of energy, he sped down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and strollers as he raced toward the corner to keep the vehicle in eyesight.

“Vehicle heading north on Montrose Street between Sixty-Seventh and Sixty-Eighth,” Martin repeated.

“Unit two-four-six responding. I have a visual.” Ethan heard the faint response of a patrolman on Martin’s radio.

“RCMP officer in the vicinity in foot pursuit.” Then Martin spoke into the phone again. “We’ve got units converging on the area.”

“Thanks.” He rounded the corner and headed north. “I see a department vehicle.” With an eye on the traffic, he darted into the street. On the opposite sidewalk, he ran as fast as he was able, charging through a queue of thirsty patrons waiting for their coffee outside a Timmie’s and nearly barreled into a couple of workmen in tan uniforms unloading a truck outside a restaurant. A siren split the air, the sound welcome to his ears. He could see the cab a block ahead now, and it was stopped, a uniformed officer approaching the driver’s door. Then the passenger door on the opposite side burst open, and Ethan’s attacker lunged out. He raced away from the car, heading directly for Ethan.

When the man saw Ethan coming, he veered to the right and ran through a shop doorway. The officer immediately gave pursuit, so Ethan, energy flagging, rounded the corner to cover the alley, drawing his weapon as he did so. The stranger burst through the back door of one of the buildings and headed his way, only to stumble to a halt when he saw Ethan.

“Hands in the air! RCMP!”

He could almost see the man weighing his options before he turned and fled the other direction. As he did, the officer who pursued him stepped through the rear door of the building the man had used. “Stop! Police!”

The bearded man stumbled to a halt, turning slowly, his arms half-raised, chest heaving.

“Sergeant Manning, RCMP.” With his free hand, Ethan reached for his credentials and held them high for the uniformed officer to see. “Go ahead and cuff him. We’ll take him in for questioning.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” The younger officer fastened cuffs on the larger man who was staring balefully at Ethan.

“What’s your name?” The stranger didn’t answer. Ethan put his weapon away and searched the man quickly. Found no ID or phone, but there was a large knife strapped to his ankle. Ethan disarmed him. “You’re being arrested for assaulting a law enforcement officer and breaking and entering.” Once he’d recited the man’s rights, the patrol officer told Ethan, “Be glad to give you a ride.”

His breathing still a bit labored, he nodded. “That’s an offer I won’t turn down.”

* * *

Alexa and Nyle followed Ethan as he strolled into the interview room holding a slim file folder. The man Ethan had found in Simard’s room was no longer in handcuffs. He was sitting in a chair where he’d spent the last hour and a half after his booking. It wasn’t until they’d been en route to the police department that Ethan had seen the messages from Alexa and Nyle and summoned them to join him downtown.

Ethan checked to make sure the camera video-taping the interview was turned on. Then he dragged a chair away from the table opposite the man and sank into it, flipping open the file folder he held. Alexa positioned herself behind him against the wall. “Mikiel Fornier.” There was a flicker in the other man’s eyes that might have been recognition, but he said nothing. Taking the mugshot photo out of the folder, Ethan slid it across to the man. “Not a great likeness, but undeniably you.”

Fornier’s gaze flicked to the image and then back to Ethan, still silent.

“We know you’re an associate of Felix Simard. We know Simard traveled to the province recently under the name John Simmons.” Ethan’s tone was grim. “You found a way to enter his hotel room illegally, which, as you’ll recall, is where we first became acquainted.” He fingered the bruise forming on his jaw. The man saw the gesture and gave a satisfied smile. “What were you doing there?”

Fornier flexed his hands. Each knuckle had a tattoo on it. Prison tats, like the one on his neck. The man was built like a short squat wall. Alexa hated to think about the physical altercation that had transpired between him and Ethan.

“I want a lawyer.” They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d walked into the room.

“We’ll be happy to facilitate that. Do you have someone in mind, or shall we contact Legal Aid?” Without waiting for an answer, Ethan reached into the folder again. He withdrew an array of crime-scene photos of Simard and splayed them before the other man. “As you can see from the pictures, you arrived too late to speak to your friend.”

This time, there was no mistaking the man’s reaction. His dark eyes widened with shock as he studied each photo in turn. His big hands fisted on the table. “Who…who did this?”

“Assuming it wasn’t you.”

Eyes flashing, the man said, “I can show you my airline ticket stub. I arrived here only this morning.”

“As a matter of fact, we know that. What we don’t know, what you still haven’t told us is why you flew in today.”

The man’s gaze fell to the photos again. He picked up one that showed a close-up of Simard’s missing eyes. “He didn’t answer his phone,” he murmured, dropping the picture suddenly as if it burned him. “Felix is never out of communication. How long has he been dead?”

“His body was discovered early Monday morning. What was he doing in Nova Scotia?”

The man lifted a shoulder. “He had business here. I don’t know what it was.”

He was lying, Alexa thought. And he didn’t make much of an effort to conceal it.

Ethan leaned back in his chair and surveyed the man. “I’ve got you for assaulting a law enforcement officer. With your record, that will likely put you back in prison. Maybe you’ve been missing it. You’ve been out for...what?” He opened the file and consulted some notes. “Five years now? Some cooperation here could work in your favor.”

The man seemed to consider the offer. “What kind of cooperation?”

Nodding toward the pictures on the table, Ethan said, “Did Simard have enemies? Anyone you might know who would do this?”

Fornier’s lip curled beneath the bushy beard. “All successful men have enemies. But one who would dare do this to Felix? No. It was a random killing. It must have been. You will find the killer. Or I will.”

Ethan shot a look over his shoulder. “Dr. Hayden? Care to weigh in here?”

“It wasn’t random.” Alexa spoke for the first time, drawing the man’s gaze to her. “He was targeted. And what was done to him was very personal. You can see from the pictures that his eyes were removed. But what you can’t see is that a power drill was used to bore through the sockets into his brain.” Shock flickered across the man’s face, to be replaced by menace. “Someone hated him. Enough to torture him before his death. That sort of brutality speaks of violent emotion. Revenge. Rage. Both are highly personal, indeed. So, if you know of anyone capable of this, you need to tell us.”

“First you guarantee a deal that my cooperation will mean there will be no charges.” Fornier settled his heft more comfortably in his chair. “Then…maybe I have some information to share.”

“Nyle.” Ethan didn’t turn his head as the other officer left the room. Alexa was a little stunned at how effortlessly Ethan had led Fornier to exactly this place. They’d already spoken with Risa Wilson, a Crown prosecutor who was watching the interview on a monitor nearby. Given the status of this case, and Fornier’s close alliance with Simard, Wilson had agreed to streamline the process. She and Ethan had collaborated on the interview questions.

Ten minutes ticked by. The room was getting uncomfortably warm. Temperature settings were sometimes used to discomfit a recalcitrant arrestee in interview rooms in the States. She wondered if that was the case here. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Nyle returned with Wilson. The woman approached the table and laid a bundle of paper-clipped sheets on it.

“Mr. Fornier.” Her voice was crisp and as no-nonsense as her dark dress and sensible shoes. “This agreement is contingent upon you sharing information that helps advance the investigation into the death of Felix Simard. In return for your cooperation, no charges will be brought in relation to your altercation with Sergeant Manning. That includes assault on a police officer and flight from a peace officer. If you provide false details, or if you’re deemed uncooperative, this agreement is void. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” The man took the pen she held out and scrawled his name on the last page as if he’d done this before.

Wilson nodded at Ethan as she took the signed papers and left the room again.

“So.” Ethan withdrew a yellow legal pad and pen from the file folder. He pushed them across the table toward the other man. “Simard had enemies, you said. Just like all businessmen. Write down their names.”

Slowly, Fournier reached for the pen. “There’s a difference between enemies and people who could have done this.” He indicated the pictures still displayed before him. “A bullet is easier. Or a knife.” But he bent over the paper and wrote down some names. After he’d finished, he shoved the pad back across the table.

“When was the last time you spoke with Simard?”

Fornier scratched his chin through the beard and thought for a moment. “He arrived on Saturday afternoon. He was hoping to meet with an acquaintance here this week. I last talked to him Sunday, about noon. I called him back Monday and got no answer. I needed to tell him there was a problem. This man…the hotel where we thought he was staying had no record of his reservation.”

“The man’s name?”

Hesitating for a moment, Fornier finally said, “Armand Vance.”

Nyle and Ethan exchanged a glance. “The embattled financier, Armand Vance? Simard knew him?”

With a twist of his lips, the other man shrugged. “He hoped to set up a meeting. We learned Vance would be in Nova Scotia this week. Felix lost money investing with him.”

“But Armand isn’t here?”

“No. That’s what I was calling Felix about. I went to Toronto and checked for myself. Armand Vance never left the city. We had good intelligence that he was going to do so. Perhaps he changed his mind.”

Alexa wondered if she was the only one who ascribed a sinister motive to Simard’s attempted “meeting” with Vance.

“But you were never able to give him that information.”

Fornier slowly swung his head back and forth. “Felix was no longer answering his phone by Monday. Today I got on a plane to come look for him. And met you.” He nodded toward Ethan.

“Did he say anything else when you spoke with him?” There was a note of impatience in Ethan’s voice. Alexa wasn’t surprised. So far, the man had revealed little of value.

“We spoke of business. Some…matters I was taking care of in his absence. He mentioned that he thought he’d seen someone we both knew. I convinced him that was impossible.” His tone was tinged with derision.

“Is that person on this list?” Ethan asked.

Fornier snorted. “No. He’s a nobody. A pest who tried to make trouble for Felix years ago. We caught up with him then and convinced him that blackmail didn’t pay. He wouldn’t show his face around either of us again if he’s even still alive.” He grinned widely, his teeth very white against the black beard. “He didn’t seem a healthy sort.”

“When did you last have dealings with the man?”

“Two…no, three years ago, maybe.”

“And his name?”

An expression of contempt crossed Fornier’s face. “I never learned his real name. He said it was Anis Tera, which of course was fake.”

A shock zipped down Alexa’s spine. “Anis Tera? You’re sure?”

“Of course.” The man flexed his hands again, his gaze wandering insultingly down her figure. “As certain as I am that he lied about that, as well as many other things.”

She pushed away from the wall to approach the table, aware that Ethan was sending her a questioning glance. “And he tried to blackmail Simard three years ago. How did that occur?”

“He is what we call a piss-ant. He thought he was being very clever by contacting Felix through an anonymous email server, with messages that disappeared minutes after opening.” Fornier curled his lip. “We convinced him that Felix couldn’t wire the blackmail money because police were monitoring his accounts. A cash transaction was arranged. We set the bait, and he took it.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mind racing. “And Simard thought the man was here. When was that?”

“Saturday evening. Felix said he saw him driving by in a white van. But as I told him, that is impossible.”

“And why is that?”

“Because this person who calls himself Anis Tera is not a man. He had to hide behind a computer to make his threats. He would never have the courage to approach Felix again.”

She nodded as if she understood. “Because he’s a piss-ant.”

Fornier folded his arms across his chest. “Exactly that. A cockroach. Anis Tera doesn’t have the nerve or the strength to do something like that.” He nodded at the photos in front of him.

“Mr. Fornier, we’re going to have you work with a sketch artist to come up with a likeness of the man you knew as Anis Tera.” Nyle left the room silently. Ethan continued, “In the meantime, I want you to tell us everything you recall about him.”

The other man looked at both of them askance. “You’re wasting your time, I’m telling you. He wouldn’t have the balls to come near Felix again.” A sly smile crossed his face. “And I know that for a fact.”

* * *

They huddled with Lieutenant Martin in the room next door, where the man had been watching the interview on CCTV with the Crown prosecutor. “Edouard Cote is an accomplished forensic artist,” he was telling them. “He can often tease out physical descriptions from the most recalcitrant witnesses.”

Ethan wished he could share the lieutenant’s optimism. They’d spent several minutes trying to get details about Tera’s appearance before leaving Fornier. He’d come up with little more than short, weak, and brown hair. Cote was going to need to be gifted indeed to develop a sketch they could use.

In the meantime, the requested warrant had arrived for Simard’s effects at the hotel. At Ethan’s request, Martin had sent a couple of men to pick them up. The laptop would be overnighted to the Ottawa crime lab. Even if it had been replaced since the blackmail messages three years ago, there might be information regarding the man’s business that he was sure the Montreal police would find interesting.

He slanted a look at Alexa. “You zeroed in on Fornier as soon as he mentioned the alias Anis Tera.” And it was an alias; they could be fairly sure of that. A quick search of the Internet revealed no Canadian by that name.

“Anis. That’s Swedish, isn’t it?” put in Martin.

“Anis Tera. Anisoptera. It’s the scientific infraorder name for dragonflies.”

“Holy shit,” Ethan muttered. “I perked up when Fornier mentioned the white van Simard thought was following him. But that name…you’re right. It’s too damn similar not to be him.” They’d never released the information about the insect samples in the victim’s mouths, although the media pressed them for more details nearly every interview. The cautious side of him tempered his flare of excitement, but he couldn’t prevent a lick of adrenaline from spreading through his veins. They’d had suspects before on the earlier task force. But this fit too neatly for it to fizzle the way the others had.

“Just this morning some kids reported spotting a 2014 or older white Ford Econoline above the embankment of the crime scene,” Ethan told Lieutenant Martin. The other man’s eyes widened in understanding. “And now Fornier reveals that Simard mentioned seeing this Tera in a white van. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“If the UNSUB drove the vehicle from New Brunswick, there are limited ways into Nova Scotia,” Nyle said, as Ethan opened his laptop and brought up a map of the province. “His second victim was in Fredericton, and he needed to come to Halifax for Simard.”

“Fastest driving route would be from Fredericton to Moncton, where he’d catch the Trans-Canada Highway,” muttered Ethan as he scanned the map he’d brought up. “That has tolls, though.” Which meant cameras. “It would be nearly two and half hours longer to circumvent the toll roads and drive to the St. John’s ferry. Nyle.” The other man was peering at the computer over his shoulder. “Check where the highway cameras are for the roads on all these routes.”

“Highway traffic cameras won’t show driver images,” Nyle warned. As Ethan straightened from the computer, the other man took his place. “But the cameras at the toll roads…yeah, maybe…” He began typing.

“I have some men I can put at your disposal,” Lieutenant Martin put in.

“Thanks. I’m sure we can use them.” But he needed to talk to Captain Campbell, immediately. Ethan looked at Alexa. “The kids spotted the van on Friday. Simard saw it Saturday evening.”

“And he was dead early Monday morning.”

Ethan nodded. He needed to issue a BOLO alert on the van, which wasn’t going to be easy without a license plate. If the UNSUB was still in the province, they wanted to prevent him from leaving.

His mind was racing. They had the Anis Tera alias to give to all transportation centers to stop the UNSUB from buying a ticket to leave Nova Scotia. But he was under no allusions that the man had only one alias. “No reason for him to still be in the vicinity.” There was a burn of frustration at the possibility that the man might have already escaped them. “Unless…”

She picked up his thought. “Unless he’s planning on a second victim here.”

He took his phone out and pressed the numbers to call Campbell.

“Ethan?” He looked at Alexa questioningly, his cell already up to his ear. “We need more information from Fornier about the intel that brought Simard here. There should be a safety check done on Vance, and anyone else included in that intelligence.”

“You’re right.”

Campbell came on the phone then. “I was just about to call you, Manning. That press conference has been set for today, in less than three hours.”

Somehow Ethan had managed to put the prospect of a news conference out of his head. Wincing, he said, “Maybe we should hold off. We’ve got a person of interest in the case, and I need all the resources you can bring to bear to shut off his possible routes out of the province. If he is still here, I want to keep it that way.”