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“Like someone who would work with Rebecca Wells. Not necessarily for, but with. Like… not the guitarist, but the guy who sells guitars to the guitarist.”
“Like someone who fixes equipment? Is the same guy who fixes headphones for a studio going to fix the headphones for a hearing test?”
Faith didn’t know anything about it, really. She imagined she could send days exploring sound technology and sound professions online and wouldn’t even scratch the surface. It might take a week of research just to identify how much knowledge would actually constitute scratching the surface.
That was the damned problem. “I think someone is luring the victims,” she said.
“We know that too.”
“I’m trying to think, damn it,” she snapped.
He lifted his hands placatingly. “I’m just trying to follow along. Besides, you already know I agree that some high frequency broadcast is involved. It could be luring. It could be taunting. I could just be distraction or even torture.”
“Torture?”
“Like the kids at the lab. He’s hurting them in their last moments of life. It’s thin, but everything we have is thin right now.”
"Okay, so let's just focus on what we know. We know high-frequency sound is involved. We know our killer is targeting people sensitive to that kind of sound. I like what you said about people who fix sound equipment, so let's go with that. Let's try to find people who would know how to work with equipment that could produce high-frequency sounds that our victims could hear but normal people wouldn't. We can work out why the killer does it later. With any luck, we’ll get the killer to explain it to us. That’s the common thread, though. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he said, “Are we going to do all of our best work out here on the balcony or can we go back into the room?” She rolled her eyes and he said, “What? It’s cold as hell out here.”
“It’s almost exactly the same weather as Philly,” she said as she headed back inside.
"Yeah, but I don't usually stand outside in shorts and flip-flops in Philly."
“Why did you even bring those?” Faith asked.
“Because I thought we’d occasionally spend some time inside the room the FBI is paying for, and these are more comfortable than pants.”
“So bring sweatpants and fuzzy slippers.”
“You sound like Ellie.”
Faith grimaced. “Don’t tell her that.”
“Do I look suicidal?” He sat down at the table and said, “I think we start with people who might have a connection to at least one of the victims. To narrow it down. Bonus points if we happen to stumble across someone who might have worked with more than one of them.”
“Agreed. So what’s step one?”
“Step one,” he replied, “is to find out what kind of sound equipment would show up at a recording studio, a university auditory research department and a linguist’s office. I just have no idea how to do that.”
“Well,” Faith said, opening her laptop. “I suggest we start with a good, old-fashioned Internet search.”
Michael shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”
As it turned out, there was a lot of equipment in common with all three jobs. All three required sensitive instruments to pick up sounds and analyze them. Unfortunately, not all three required instruments necessary to produce high-frequency sounds. They spent a solid hour looking for something that all three could use when Faith smacked her forehead with her palm.
“Damn it. We’re overthinking this.”
“How’s that?” Michael asked.
“We’re looking for a murder weapon when we should be looking for a murderer.”
His brow furrowed. “Explain.”
“We’re trying to find a piece of equipment that could be present at all three scenes. But our killer might not have necessarily sold all three victims the same piece of equipment or repaired the same equipment. He or she might have just met them that way.”
“So the killer would know that they have enhanced hearing, and then he could choose a murder weapon that might not even be something the victims would use,” Michael said. “You’re right. We forgot about Occam’s razor.”
