But there had to be something. Some kind of clue they were missing. She just couldn't shake the feeling that they were overlooking something crucial.

  They'd have to look again, widen the parameters, get in touch with crime fighting departments in different countries and continents. Juliette had to accept that whichever way they were taking this forward, it was not going to be a quick process, not now. They were back to the drawing board.

  And then the words of her FBI Academy mentor, the hard-assed, tough-faced man who'd given her a brutally difficult time there until she'd proved herself, surged back.

  "You don't give up, Hart. And I'll tell you this right now," he'd bellowed at her one day. “People give up because they stop too soon. That's the only reason. Whether you are looking for information, or a place on the map you can't find, or whether you're questioning a suspect. You give up, you abandon the search too early, and you've set yourself right up for failure!"

  She could remember his glare, from a weathered face with sharp features, framed with short, graying hair. It was only months later that she realized he'd seen the potential in her and was trying to make her tough enough that she'd have the determination to find it for herself.

  "Is that it? Do you need anything else?" Ebury's voice, hard and regretful, dragged her back to the present.

  Juliette straightened her shoulders, letting the memory of her mentor's words fuel her determination. She couldn't give up now, not when she was sure they were so close.

  "I do need something else. I'd like you to look back further," she said firmly.

  "Further?" His voice was surprised.

  "We don't know when this killer might have been set on his path, and I don't want to give up too soon," she said. "What if he was involved in something when he was in his twenties, or even his teens, and he let years pass before coming back to what haunted him?"

  Ebury sighed, but Juliette could tell he was considering her request. There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before he cleared his throat. "I'll get on it right away," he said. "But I have to warn you, the further back we go, the harder it will be to find anything. Records weren't always digitized back then."

  "I know," Juliette said, feeling a sense of determination wash over her. "But we have to try. Maybe we can widen the parameters, include cold cases, include cases that weren't murders, even."

  "I'm going to have a look. Immediately. I see what you're saying," Ebury said.

  Juliette felt deeply grateful that her boss's sharp insight allowed him to align his thinking instantly with whatever case they were busy with. Now that she'd had the idea of wider parameters, she knew that Ebury would take this as far as he could. He'd make sure nothing slipped through the net.

  She hung up, feeling a sense of relief that they weren't completely stuck. There was still something they could do. She turned to Wyatt and Sierra, who were both watching her intently.

  "I think we keep searching. We have to take the advice of a mentor of mine who said never give up. While Ebury gets the records, we can keep looking. If we drive further, we get past the seedy hotels and there are some apartment buildings beyond. I'm going to start asking people if they saw anything. All it will take is one tiny trace of evidence, one hidden cylinder, and we could be on the right path."

  ***

  As she walked the narrow roads, Juliette felt she was seeing the hidden side of Naples here, the ordinary life that people lived, clustered in their apartments, with the whole of history on their doorstep, but not much actual living space inside their walls.

  Washing lines crisscrossed the space above her, with colorful clothing flapping. From a window up high, she heard a baby's cry.

  She knocked on the closest door, and it was opened by an old woman, a stern faced Italian Nona, black-clad, looking at Juliette with a piercing gaze.

  "Buon giorno," Juliette greeted her, showing her badge. "Mi scusi, I'm sorry, I'm an investigator looking into the recent murders. I wanted to ask if you've seen anything suspicious here lately. Anything to do with balloons?"

  The old woman's face softened a bit as she looked at Juliette, and her eyes flickered with recognition. "Ah, FBI," she said, “Yes, I've heard about the killings. It's frightening. I haven't seen anything suspicious. But I did hear some loud noises coming from the alleyway last night. It sounded like someone was shouting or arguing."

  Juliette's heart quickened. This was something. "Can you tell me which alleyway?"

  The old woman nodded, pointing down the street. "It's just down there. But be careful, signorina. These are dangerous times we live in."

  "I will be careful," Juliette said.

  She walked down the alleyway, searching carefully, but she saw no sign of anything. If the woman had heard something, the criminals were long gone.

  She returned to the street, and knocked on the opposite door.

  It was opened by a young woman, with a child of about four years old clinging to her skirt. The woman was pretty, but with tired eyes.

  "Buon giorno," Juliette greeted her, showing her badge. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm an investigator looking into the recent murders. I wanted to ask if you've seen or heard anything suspicious nearby? Anyone moving or carrying anything, any sounds of a struggle, or any signs of balloons?"

  The woman shrugged. "Always, there are bad people in this neighborhood. And most of them come from the Spanish Quarter. It is that way." She pointed to the west. "In that direction. There is a route here that a lot of them take. The criminals wait in Garibaldi Square in that quarter. The robbers, the muggers, they all run through this way. I do not go out at night."

  "Thank you," Juliette said.

  Garibaldi Square and the Spanish Quarter was sounding like it might be her next port of call, but before she could start researching it, her phone rang again. Turning away from the door, she hurriedly took the call, seeing that it was Ebury.

  "Listen here," he said. Now, the excitement was audible in his voice. "We looked back, twenty years. Twenty years! And we got something!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Juliette couldn't believe it. Ebury's voice sounded totally different. She'd worked with him long enough to know when he was forging ahead on the hunt, when he felt a lead was solid. That tone was resonating in his words.

  "Tell me," she said, already rushing back down the narrow road to find the others, who’d been knocking on doors and investigating courtyards and empty spaces on the other side.

  "The FBI had nothing, but I looked in our local case files. Looked in the police archives. Twenty years ago, a man called Mario Battista was arrested in Brooklyn, New York."

  That was why he'd called her back so fast, Juliette guessed. This historic crime had been in the local police's own records.

  "What did he do?"

  "Mario was aged sixty at the time, and he was an immigrant from Naples, Italy."

  Juliette's eyebrows rose. There were parallels already.

  "He owned a balloon shop in Brooklyn, and he was arrested one morning, when passersby saw a young boy, tied to oversized balloons, floating above roof height."

  "What?" Juliette said, incredulous.

  "The boy was rescued. He was Stefano Battista. Mario's grandson."

  "And what happened?" Juliette said. There was Wyatt, coming out of a walled courtyard. She rushed to meet him.

  "Mario was arrested, but there was insufficient evidence, and eventually the charges were dropped, and he didn't do jailtime. I guess child protection must have kept tabs although there's no record of that here." He sounded regretful.

  "And the grandson? He could be our killer! Twenty years on, he must have been scarred by that, and could be looking to murder his grandfather, or a similar looking person, over and over."

  "I've looked up Stefano Battista’s current address in Brooklyn," Ebury said. "It’s the same address as his grandfather used, so it’s obviously a family owned building. I'm sending a team of cops around there as we speak. If you wait a minute, I'll try and patch you through to their bodycams."

  Juliette thumbed her phone onto speaker so that Wyatt could hear. She moved into the privacy of the small courtyard as Sierra came rushing through from the street outside.

  Quietly, while they waited for the audio visual information to come through, Juliette updated the others in a stage whisper.

  Wyatt's eyes widened as she shared the information.

  "If he's there, he's not our man," he muttered. "But if he's not?"

  "Then all bets are off?" Sierra declared excitedly.

  "Then we know we need to start hunting here." Juliette wasn't going to let herself get too excited. Not until the cops had confirmed what they needed to know.

  Just then, the audio visual feed came through, showing the picture that the cop was sending, as the team approached the address where Stefano Battista was suspected to be living. Their bodycams transmitted their every move and conversation to Juliette and her team.

  “It’s here, right?”

  “Yes. This is it. Number twenty-five,” the other cop said.

  They all huddled around Juliette's phone to watch, from the cops’ perspective, as the small, run-down building came closer into view. As they climbed the short flight of stairs to the row of shops, Juliette could see a couple of other people coming down the street, their faces distorted by the angle of the lens, giving them suspicious glances.

  The building's frontage was dilapidated, and Juliette could see loose tiles, peeling paint, and even a broken window along the way.

  And then, they reached the storefront where Mario Battista had lived, where he’d owned his balloon business, the storefront that Stefano Battista had inherited.

  The window blinds were pulled tightly shut, and she could tell from the speed of the footage that the team of cops were approaching it cautiously. They paused outside, one turning to the other who was holding up a hand to signal silence. Juliette's heart was pounding as she watched, waiting to see what would happen next.

  The door was ajar. She saw that as the camera got closer, and she felt as nervous and jumpy as she was sure the cops must, as they pushed it open.

  Nothing inside. Juliette could actually hear the sighs and mutters of disappointment as the cops confirmed that the storage area was abandoned, unused, and hadn’t even been properly locked up.

  But it was not empty, she saw, as the cameras followed the flashlight beams.

  Under a layer of dust, filling the floor, were old helium canisters. Juliette's heart skipped a beat as she realized what this meant. She watched as the cops moved closer to examine them, looking for any clues as to their relevance to the case. But she didn't think they would find anything, beyond the biggest clue of all, which was that Stefano Battista was no longer on the premises, and judging from the dustiness of those bottles, he hadn't been for a while. And that fit with the timeframe of having come to Italy months ago, to start stockpiling canisters and preparing for these crimes.

  At that point, the bodycam footage flickered out again and they were back with Ebury at the Manhattan FBI offices.

  "Well, there you have it," Ebury said. "He's not at the premises, and I'm now going to speak to passport control to see if they can find out if and when he left. But I think for now, you must assume he's there in Italy, and start searching."

  "For sure, this is the killer," Wyatt agreed. “Too many parallels.”

  "All the evidence is pointing that way," Juliette said.

  Ebury paused. "One other thing. I'm going to send you his ID photo, and there's also a photo of Mario, the grandfather, from twenty years ago when he was arrested. I'm sending both images to you now. Tell me what you think."

  Juliette's phone buzzed with the incoming photos. She opened the first one, to see what Stefano looked like.

  So, this was the man they were hunting. He had dark hair, a square jaw, and a twisted mouth with a slight scar on the left side. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were dark and piercing, with a hint of malevolence lurking in their depths.

  She committed his face to memory so that if she glimpsed it, she'd follow it. Then she showed it carefully to the others, giving them time to take in every nuance.

  "Now, let's take a look at this grandfather," she said.

  Opening the photo, she saw he was a slight, narrow-faced man, with hollow cheeks, short, dark hair, and a sad expression. The impression of his build was confirmed when she saw his height - just five-foot-five. A short, slim, dark-haired man with a grave demeanor. Exactly the appearance that the killer had sought out each time.

  "He's hunting his grandfather," she murmured.

  "That's what we think, this side," Ebury agreed. "I'm going to leave you with that. I'll get dates of his travel, but in the meantime, continue with the search, and hopefully it’ll go quicker now that you have a visual. I can’t overestimate the urgency. The Italian authorities do not want another death."

  Juliette looked again at the photos. It was clear to her that Stefano Battista was seeking revenge against his grandfather for what had happened to him all those years ago. He was murdering lookalikes.

  Now, they could use technology and information to help them in the hunt. It wasn’t like stabbing in the dark any longer.

  "We're going to need to look at camera footage wherever it can be obtained," Juliette said. "Every city camera, every scrap of footage. Now that we have a face, and a name, we can track him. Do you have software that can help to pinpoint him fast?"

  "Yes. I’ve got a facial recognition program I can use, and I'm going to start searching," Sierra said.

  Juliette thought hard. "Where's he staying? Has he rented a room? Has he used a hotel? Maybe he gave his ID or used a credit card. That's another starting point here. I'll explore that angle."

  Wyatt nodded in agreement. "I'll check with the local police, see if they have any leads, any records of him. If he’s been here a few months, perhaps he’s gotten into trouble or been picked up."

  Juliette smiled gratefully at her team. They were all dedicated and skilled, and she knew it was the best chance they had of catching Stefano Battista before he struck again.

  "Let's get back to the police station now, and get to work," she said, determination in her voice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The atmosphere in the police station's small office was focused and intent. For a few minutes, Juliette realized that all she could hear was the patter of fingers on keyboards as she, Wyatt, and Sierra all pursued the angles that might lead them to Stefano Battista.

  Sierra was calling up the CCTV footage from every area, starting with the place where her calculations had led back to yesterday, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  Wyatt was on the phone to Detective Dario, giving him the name, description and ID of the man who was now their new, strong suspect, so that they could look for any cases or reports.

  Juliette turned to the phone. Now that she had a list to use as a starting point, she needed to contact hotels, smaller bed and breakfasts, independent operators, as well as storage and warehousing facilities. She knew that he could have gone deep underground, could be staying with friends, or renting a room privately, but there would also be the storage element and there was no getting around that. Those helium tanks were bulky, and they had to be stored somewhere; he would have had to collect them over a long period of time. That would have meant using premises somewhere, and she was determined to find them.

  She felt as if they were now all racing toward the finish line, and it was just a case of who reached it first. Herself, Wyatt, Sierra - or else, the unwanted outcome she didn't want to think about - the killer.

  Phone call after phone call resulted in a 'no, I haven't heard of him.' The list of storage facilities was growing every time she went online to look for more, and she knew that some might not be online at all, especially if they were taken.

  Naples was a huge city, full of nooks and crannies, houses, and buildings, tucked away in the winding streets. Juliette was trying her best not to feel discouraged, but she couldn't help realizing what a massive task this was, especially in such a limited time.

  Given a month, she was sure that they could have a much better picture of this city, its bolt holes, its hidden rooms. But they didn't have a month. She wasn't sure they even had a day.

  Normally, she would have suggested that they take a break, breathe some fresh air, regroup, but they didn't have the luxury of that time.

  The most she could do to energize her team was to get up and hurry through to the well-used coffee machine in the main police station's office.

  There were a few policemen at work, and one of them, an experienced looking cop with a lean, calm face and graying hair, glanced up as she walked in.

  "American FBI? You are hunting the balloon killer?"

  "We are."

  "Any success so far? You need help?" he offered.

  "We're trying our hardest. We're looking at camera footage, hotel bookings, any history with the police. If you have any other ideas, they'd be very welcome. We're under big pressure of time here," she admitted.

  He nodded solemnly. "I guess there is the risk he will kill again tonight?"

  "Exactly," she said. It made her feel sick inside to think of those balloons, soaring up into the air, carrying a helpless, trapped victim to certain death.

  He nodded. "If you are searching in a particular area, I would suggest the Spanish Quarter. We always have the biggest trouble from there. It is a place where a lot of the illegal immigrants find cover. A lot of the drug dealers live there, and it's a place where the police don't like to go."

  Juliette nodded.

  "I appreciate that," she said.

  She now had two leads back to the Spanish Quarter, because she recalled that the young mother had also mentioned it was a trouble spot, and also not far from the pick-up bar where the killer had taken a victim.

  The Spanish Quarter wasn't a small place. From her reading so far, Juliette had learned that this was the area of the city so named because, in the sixteenth century, it had been created to house Spanish garrisons whose purpose was to quell revolts from the Neapolitan locals. With a tumultuous history, its reputation continued today, and in these closely packed streets, forming a grid of about eighteen streets by twelve, fourteen thousand people lived - and the Neapolitan culture was extremely strong. There were numerous churches and legendary pizzerias, but also a strong criminal element. It was a place where outsiders were not welcome, and the police were often met with hostility.