He squinted slightly. A kinesic tell that meant she'd struck a nerve. He'd made a mistake there.
"And the venues that were attacked, Solitude Creek and the Bay View Center? Grant's complaint was with the government. He would've hired somebody to attack state buildings, not private ones, if he really wanted revenge.
"Which meant maybe Otto Grant had been set up as a fall guy. You went online and found somebody who'd been posting antigovernment statements. A perfect choice. You made contact, pretended you were sympathetic, then kidnapped him and stuck him in that cabin until it was time to finish up here. Made his death look like a suicide. And all the texts and the call logs we found? About payments and what a good job the supposed hit man was doing? They were both your phones; you just called and texted yourself, then planted one on Grant."
She now placed her hands flat on the table. "So. Grant was a setup. But then who was the real client who'd hired you?"
She'd eliminated Michelle Cooper's ex-husband, Frederick Martin. Brad, the fireman. And Daniel Nashima.
Another suspect had arisen briefly. Upon learning that it was Mexican commissioner Ramon Santos's mercenaries who'd orchestrated the arson of the warehouse in Oakland, Dance had wondered if he'd been behind the entire plot--suspecting Henderson Jobbing and Warehouse, at Solitude Creek, to be one of the hubs for illegal weapons traffic in Central California. And taking his own measures to shut the place down and cover up the crime as the work of a psycho.
She remembered the sign she'd seen the day after the attack at Solitude Creek:
Remember your Passports for International trips!
She'd assigned Rey Carreneo to look into the matter. But he'd learned that Henderson did serve international routes, yes--but only to Canada. The owner didn't want to risk hijacking or robberies south of the border. No reason for Commissioner Santos to send a mercenary to destroy the company.
So who, she'd struggled to understand, was the unsub working for? Why was he killing people and filming it?
And then, finally.
A to B to Z...
Now, another sweep of the so-very-handsome face.
"The violent websites on Stan Prescott's computer. That's your job, Andy. Yours and Chris Jenkins's. This wasn't about revenge or insurance or a psychotic serial killer. It was about you and your partner selling images of death to clients around the world. Custom ordered."
Dance shook her head. "I honestly wouldn't think there'd be that big a market for this sort of thing."
Antioch March gave her a stab of amused look. He remained silent but his eyes chastised, as if she were embarrassingly naive. They said, Oh, Agent Dance. You'd be surprised.
Chapter 83
You didn't kill Prescott because he drew attention to the murders in Monterey. It was because your website, Hand to Heart, was on his computer. He downloaded graphic images of corpses from it and reposted them. You didn't have any pictures of Solitude Creek on your site, of course, but Prescott found them on another site. And included them in his Vidster rant. That made a connection between Heart to Hand and the roadhouse."
Hand to Heart was the key to the men's operation. It seemed to be about humanitarian aid--and visitors could click through to tsunami relief or ending hunger sites. But most of Hand to Heart was pictures and videos of disasters, atrocities, death, dismemberment.
She speculated that March and Jenkins noted who downloaded the most pictures from their site and discreetly contacted them to see if they might be interested in something more...graphically violent. She was sure that, after sufficient vetting of both parties, and for the payment of a huge fee, clients could order specific types of videos or images. It answered the question they'd wondered about at the beginning of the case: Why not just burn down Solitude Creek? Why not just shoot people at the Bay View? Because this particular client--whoever he was--wanted pictures of stampedes.
March tilted his head, brows dipping, and she had an idea of what he was wondering. "Oh, how we found you at TJ's? You used prepaid cells in the cameras and routed through proxies, but the video ended up at the Cedar Hills Inn server."
Jon Boling had explained how the signals could be traced. She hadn't understood a word but had kissed him in thanks.
"That just sent us to the hotel, not your room. But I correlated all the guests' names with anyone who rented a car in Los Angeles just after the panic at the theme park. Your name popped up. We hit the room at the inn and found a note with TJ's address."
The same technology that was so integral to the two men's perverse career had betrayed him.
March sat back, a clink of chain.
She was struck again by how handsome he was, resembling an actor whose name she couldn't summon. He had no physical appeal to her but objectively he was striking--dipping lids, careful lips that weren't too thick or too thin, noble cheekbones. And a cut, muscular physique. Even the shaved head worked.
"I want your cooperation, Andy. I want the names of your clients. Those in America, at least. And any of your--what would you call them?--competitors."
The cases would be tough to put together, though she and Michael O'Neil and the FBI's Amy Grabe would try. But, in fact, what Dance wanted the most was to understand this man's workings. He was unlike any other criminal she'd ever come up against; and, her experience taught, if there was one human being with his proclivities toward the dark edge there'd be others.
"Before you answer, let me say one thing."
"Yes?" One of March's brows arched.