Page 66 of Chameleon Killer

But we were still missing something.

“Need me?” He took a sip of coffee as he waited and I shook my head.

“Not yet.” I motioned to my head. “Still—letting it cook.”

“I’m going to go provoke more specialists.” He sounded almost cheery as he saluted me with the coffee then retreated to his office. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I looked back at the board. The names. The unanswered questions and just let it all filter through me. Sometimes if I stopped trying to see everything, I’d find the thread I missed.

An odd ring cut through the room. I frowned and glanced at the flat conference room phone.

It rang again.

And again.

Persistent. Whoever was calling seemed to know someone was still here. I debated ignoring it when it stopped ringing, only to start again a couple of minutes later.

The conference room was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the glass. The whiteboard reflected in the window behind me.

It rang again so I picked it up. “Conference room.”

Silence.

There was no static or breathing, just silence

I started to pull the receiver away to hang up when a man said, “Ms. McBryan.”

The lack of distortion surprised me. He sounded calm, almost measured, and there was no attempt to disguise his voice.

Going with my instincts, I said, “I’ve been expecting your call.”

“I know,” he said. “You’ve made progress.”

He sounded less like a killer than a professor beginning office hours.

Every instinct I possessed sharpened.

I didn't answer.

“What changed?” Was that a question?

I wasn’t sure, but I answered it anyway. “We expanded it.”

“Did you? Has that been helpful?”

“You’ve been watching us,” I said, choosing to say us rather than me.

"Would that conclusion satisfy your editor?"

No. It would satisfy me. Different standards.

I kept my voice level.

"Did you kill Colin Thorne?"

"What evidence supports that conclusion?"

The question caught me off balance. “You were blamed for it."