Paige knew that those systems produced plenty of people who thought that they should have achieved more than they did. Some of them were even right about it. The entertainment industry left plenty of people feeling bitter and disaffected about the way that their lives had gone.
Was it possible that something similar had happened here, only the killer had decided to “prove” what a great magician he was by killing people in ways that related to magic tricks?
It would need to be more than that, though, because someone who had simply failed would be just as busy with a day job. They would need to have the knowledge of magic, but also have the time free to do this, and the money to pay for the props.
Maybe someone who had failed after making it big? Or someone independently wealthy who wanted to be a magician but who couldn’t quite manage it? Paige started to search online for anything she could find that might fit those categories, especially for magicians whose careers had failed when they were right at their peak.
The trouble was that the end of a career didn’t seem to attract as much attention as its beginning. There were plenty of posts and pages relating to magicians trying to convince the world that they were the next big thing. There were none that Paige could find announcing that someone’s career had fallen apart. Magicians who did that simply weren’t famous enough to make the news.
It occurred to Paige that Christopher might know of some. He obviously knew more about the world of magic than Paige did, so maybe he would have heard something about magicians who hadn’t made it, who had come close and then flamed out. In any case, Paige probably owed him an apology for the abrupt way she’d failed to say goodnight. Maybe they could even talk things through.
Paige was halfway to the door before she realized just what a bad idea that would be. Going to his door, now, at night, would at best lead to a really awkward conversation in which Paige might have to admit her feelings. That would make it impossible to work together.
At worst, something might actually happen. Paige had to be honest with herself about her own strength of will if Christopher answered the door half asleep and shirtless. If something did happen, then Paige would forever feel like a cheat and a betrayer. It definitely wasn’t the kind of thing that their partnership would be able to survive.
No, she couldn’t go over there. She had to keep the space between them, for both of their sakes.
Paige went back to the bed, lying there and staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t just Christopher that she was thinking about. If anything, she suspected that the intensity of things with Christopher right now was at least partly a deflection, an attempt to think about anything other than the fact that her father’s killer had resurfaced.
That was making things more difficult for her around Christopher, because Paige’s emotions were all over the place right now, trying to deal with the fact that the Exsanguination Killer was still out there somewhere.
Paige couldn’t stop herself from going back online, looking for details of the Exsanguination Killer. There were more stories, but as far as Paige could see, they all said the same thing as the ones yesterday: that this was another presumed kill by the serial killer, and that the FBI wasn’t releasing details.
Paige swallowed as she logged onto the FBI’s systems remotely. It would be so easy to type in “Exsanguination Killer” and see what came up. She would know what the FBI was up to with the case, and she might even be able to do something to help catch him. That would at least make Paige feel as though she was doing something.
Except that Paige knew perfectly well that a search like that would send up flags, and when Sauer found out that she was searching for this case, Paige would be lucky if he didn’t fire her straight away. He’d told her to focus on the case in Las Vegas, and if she didn’t do that… well, she might never be in a position to catch the killer.
Paige shut her computer and got out her phone instead. She called her mother, because Paige wanted to make sure that she was ok. Her mother would have seen the news, and even if her approach to life was to shut this kind of thing out, Paige was pretty sure that at least some of it had to affect her.
She went straight through to her mother’s voicemail, though.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me, Paige,” Paige said. “I was just calling to check in with you. I wanted to make sure that you’re all right. I… I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I’m working out in Las Vegas right now, but call me, ok?”
Paige hung up, but she still felt as though she needed to talk to someone. Paige felt twitchy, like if she didn’t get some of this out, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, and that wouldn’t help her to do her job. There was only one person she could think of who would be there to take her call any hour of the day or night, and who would understand the whole mess of feelings that the latest murder by the Exsanguination Killer was throwing up.
Paige called Professor Thornton, her former Ph.D. supervisor, and the academic picked up after a few rings, in spite of the late hour.
“Hello, Paige,” he said. “I was half expecting that you would call me.”
“You saw the news, then?” Paige said. “That he’s killed again?”
“I saw it,” Professor Thornton said. “How is that making you feel right now, Paige?”
“I feel…” Paige was struggling to get her feelings into any kind of order right now, but she did her best to explain it all to the professor as best she could. “I feel like everything is out of control. I’m working a case with Christopher, down in Las Vegas.”
“The serial killer who is using magic tricks?” Professor Thornton said.
“How did you know?” Paige asked, a little surprised.
“Paige,” the professor pointed out. “I’m a professor of criminal psychology with an interest in such things. It’s the kind of news story I pay attention to. Do you feel as though that is getting out of control?”
Paige wasn’t sure how much she should say. She trusted the professor, obviously. She knew from experience that he wasn’t going to repeat anything she said to him. Indeed, since they’d had formal therapy sessions in the past, there was a good chance it was all covered by privilege anyway. Yet still, she found herself trying to work out how to say it, because now that she was an agent, she couldn’t give away too many of the details.
“We’re running into dead ends,” she explained, “and with each one, it’s like a reminder that I never managed to find my father’s killer.”
“That was never your job,” Professor Thornton said, in an even tone.
“It kind of is, now,” Paige countered. In any case, that wasn’t the point. The point was that every time she failed, it was like the pale, bloodless body of her father was staring up at her from the forest floor, disapprovingly.