Angus made notes on the timeline they’d been building. “So our suspect was holding one victim while luring another. What else do we have?”

  “Fingerprints from Martha’s car yielded three partials,” Tammy continued. “Two came back as matches for known bakery customers—Mrs. Chen and Frank Lawson. Both regulars who would have legitimate reasons to touch her car in passing. The third is unknown, not in any database we can access.”

  “Run it through the FBI system?”

  “Already submitted. Could take a few days to get results.”

  Miguel leaned forward, studying the crime board. “What about those tire tracks from Beacon Point?”

  “Good match for an older-model Chevy Suburban or Tahoe. The tread pattern suggests worn tires, probably due for replacement. It’s not definitive, but it narrows our search parameters.”

  Angus thought about Tom Bradley’s ex-wife and her dark blue Tahoe. They’d need to verify his claim that he hadn’t driven it in years, but so far everything about Bradley remained circumstantial.

  “Martha’s work computer?” he prompted.

  Tammy’s expression grew more animated—this was clearly where she’d found something interesting. “That’s where it gets really intriguing. I found several downloads from the week before she disappeared. Someone accessed her computer and downloaded what appears to be a file recovery program and some kind of communication software that encrypts messages.”

  “Someone accessed her computer, or Martha did?”

  “The timestamps show the downloads happened during bakery hours, when Martha would have been working. The user account was logged in as ‘Admin,’ not Martha, at two p.m. that day. But here’s the thing—there’s also an encrypted folder created the same day, and I can’t access it without specialized software.”

  Miguel frowned. “Would Martha even know how to create encrypted folders?”

  “Based on what we know about her technical skills? Unlikely. Jenny said Martha barely knew how to update her business software.”

  The pieces were starting to form a disturbing picture. Someone with advanced technical knowledge had been manipulating Martha’s digital environment, possibly preparing for her disappearance by covering their tracks or setting up secure communication channels.

  “What about her social media activity?” Angus asked.

  “That’s been more productive. Martha was part of a private Facebook group called New Beginnings After Divorce. About two hundred members, all women dealing with relationship transitions. I’ve submitted a request for access to their administrators, but it could take a day or two.”

  Angus nodded, making more notes.

  "Wait," Tammy said suddenly. "I've been checking the wrong platforms. Martha told Jenny she met him on a baking forum, not a divorce support group. Let me check Sweet Bakers United and Artisan Bread Network... Yes, here's a DavidCares47 account on Sweet Bakers United, created two months ago.”

  The investigation was generating leads faster than they could follow them, which was both encouraging and overwhelming. Each new piece of information suggested Martha’s disappearance was part of a carefully orchestrated plan, but they still lacked the crucial details that would lead them to her location.

  “There’s one more thing,” Tammy said, and something in her tone made both men look up sharply. “We got a call overnight from a woman named Lana Price in Rock Harbor. She saw the news about Carol Winters’s murder and thinks she may have been contacted by the same predator.”

  Rock Harbor was about thirty minutes from Weyport, another small coastal community that attracted tourists during the summer months. If this predator was operating across a broader area than they had first suspected, it suggested a level of organization and mobility that made him even more dangerous.

  “What’s her story?” Angus asked.

  “She says a man named David contacted her through an online divorce support forum about six weeks ago. The messages were supportive at first, then became increasingly personal and romantic. He wanted to meet her for dinner at a restaurant on the coast.”

  Miguel sat up straighter. “And, did she?”

  “She didn’t. Lana got spooked when David insisted she leave her phone in her car during their meeting. Said it was about being ‘present’ and building ‘trust’. She declined to meet him and saved all their message exchanges.”

  Angus felt a surge of hope. Finally, someone had encountered a viable person of interest and lived to tell about it. “Is she willing to talk to us?”

  “She’s standing by for a video call whenever you’re ready. Says she’s been worried about other women ever since she backed out of meeting him.”

  “Set it up.” Angus glanced at Scout, who was sitting patiently by the door. “Give me five minutes to let Scout outside first.”

  Ten minutes later, they were gathered around Tammy’s computer for a Zoom call with Lana Price. She looked to be in her early forties, with short brown hair and intelligent eyes that showed both concern and determination.

  “Ms. Price, I’m Sheriff Reid. Thank you for contacting us. Can you walk us through your interaction with this David person?”

  Lana nodded, her posture suggesting someone who’d thought carefully about what she wanted to share. “It started about six weeks ago. I’d joined an online support group for women going through divorce, and David sent me a private message saying he’d read one of my posts and was impressed by my strength.”

  “What platform was this on?”

  “A website called DivorceCare Community. It’s supposed to be a safe space for people dealing with relationship transitions—discussing this from a Christian perspective. David’s profile said he was a widower who understood the pain of loss and starting over.”

  Angus exchanged glances with Miguel. A Christian-focused platform would have made Martha feel more comfortable about engaging with someone there.

  “How did the conversations develop?” Tammy asked.

  “At first, they were really encouraging. He seemed to understand exactly what I was going through—the loneliness, the self-doubt, the fear of trusting again. He quoted scripture sometimes, talked about God having a plan for healing broken hearts.”

  The description sent a chill through Angus. Someone who could manipulate faith and vulnerability was particularly dangerous to women like Martha, who were already struggling with questions about their worth and God’s plan for their lives.

  “When did it become romantic?” Miguel asked.

  “Gradually. He started saying things like I deserved to be cherished, that he could see my inner beauty through my words. Then he began talking about meeting in person, said he felt a spiritual connection unlike anything he’d experienced before.”

  “And he wanted to meet on the coast?”

  “Yes, at a restaurant called Ocean’s Edge in Camden. Said he’d chosen it because it was romantic and peaceful, somewhere we could talk without distractions.” Lana paused, her expression growing troubled. “But then he started making these specific requests about the meeting. No phones, no distractions, just two souls connecting authentically. That’s when I felt goose bumps—no one who cares about your safety asks you to ditch your phone.”

  “That’s when you got suspicious?”

  “That, and something else. When I asked him questions about his background—where he worked, details about his late wife—his answers were always vague. He’d deflect by talking about looking forward instead of backward, or he’d turn the questions back to me and my healing journey.”

  Angus leaned forward. “Did you save any of these conversations?”

  “All of them. After I decided not to meet him, I had this feeling that something was wrong. Call it women’s intuition, but I kept everything just in case.” Lana reached off-screen and returned with a tablet. “I can email you screenshots of the entire thread.”

  “That would be extremely helpful. What can you tell us about his profile?”

  “Pretty generic. The photo looked like a stock image—middle-aged man, kind of blurry, wearing a baseball cap. Said he was forty-five, lived in ‘coastal Maine’, worked in consulting. Nothing specific enough to verify.”

  “Do you remember the email address he used?”

  Lana consulted her tablet. “The messages came through the platform at first, but when he wanted to move to email, he used DavidCares47@gmail.com.”

  Tammy was already typing, running searches on the email address. “Got it. I’ll trace whatever I can about when it was created and what other platforms it might be associated with.”

  “Ms. Price, you may have saved lives by coming forward,” Angus said. “Is there anything else about this David person that struck you as odd or memorable?”

  “Just the way he wrote. Very polished—like he’d said the same things before. And he was pushing really hard for that in-person meeting. When I kept making excuses, he got more insistent. Started saying things like God was bringing us together for a reason, that I was letting fear keep me from my blessing.”

  Lana promised to send all the message screenshots and Angus thanked her for her time and courage in coming forward, promising to keep her updated on their progress. After they ended the call, the three investigators sat in contemplative silence. The scope of their case had just expanded dramatically, but so had their understanding of how their suspect operated.

  “He’s not just local,” Miguel said finally. “He’s working multiple towns, multiple platforms—probably targeting dozens of women at a time.”

  “And he’s using their faith against them,” Tammy added, her voice edged with anger. “Manipulating their spiritual vulnerability just as much as their emotional loneliness.”

  Angus stared at the crime board, seeing connections that hadn’t been visible before. “Run that email address through everything you can access—dating sites, social media platforms, any forum related to divorce or widowhood. If this guy is operating at the scale we’re starting to suspect, he’s left a digital trail somewhere.”

  Tammy’s fingers flew across her keyboard, pulling up databases and search tools that Angus barely understood. Technology had advanced significantly since he’d started in law enforcement, but cases like this reminded him that the criminals had evolved right along with it.

  “Sheriff,” Tammy said after several minutes of intense searching, “you’re going to want to see this.”

  She turned her laptop so both men could see the screen. It showed a forum post from a website called Romance Recovery Resources, dated about three months earlier.

  The username was DCaresForYou, and the post read: “What are the best opening lines to win a divorced woman’s trust? Looking for approaches that feel spiritual and supportive rather than predatory. These women have been hurt and need to feel safe before they’ll open up.”

  The responses were a chilling education in manipulation—dozens of suggestions for exploiting vulnerability, packaged in language about healing and spiritual connection.

  “He’s been researching,” Miguel said, disgustingly. “Studying how to manipulate grieving women like it’s a science.”

  “And learning from others,” Angus added grimly. “Looks like our guy recycles his aliases.”

  The forum responses showed that David wasn’t working in isolation—he was getting advice from others who knew how to exploit the same tactics. But whether that meant they were dealing with multiple predators or just one very methodical one remained to be seen.

  “Keep digging,” he instructed Tammy. “I want everything on this David persona—every platform he’s used, every woman he’s contacted. And see if any of it connects to our local area.”

  As Tammy resumed her digital investigation, Angus stood and walked to the window, his mind racing through the new information. Martha Porter wasn’t just the victim of a random predator—she’d been carefully selected and manipulated by someone who’d made a study of exploiting women in her exact situation.

  Somewhere out there, Martha was being held by a man who’d perfected the art of gaining trust only to destroy it. The thought of what she might be enduring made his jaw clench with determination.

  But now they had Lana Price’s evidence, a digital trail to follow, and the beginnings of a profile that showed how their suspect operated. For the first time since Martha disappeared, Angus felt like they were finally hunting the hunter instead of stumbling through his carefully laid traps.

  The question was whether they could unravel his web of deception before he decided Martha had outlived her usefulness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The drive north from Weyport to Rock Harbor took Deputy Sheriff Miguel Garcia through some of Maine’s most picturesque coastal scenery, but today he barely noticed the pine forests and glimpses of the Atlantic that usually made the route so appealing. His mind was focused on the questions he needed to ask and the answers that might provide a solid lead in Martha Porter’s disappearance and hopefully Carol Winters’s murder as well.

  Rock Harbor was smaller than Weyport, a working fishing village that hadn’t yet been discovered by the summer tourist crowds. The houses here were modest and practical, built to withstand harsh winters rather than impress visitors. Karen Bradley’s address led him to a small cape-style home on Mariner Street, its white clapboard siding and neat front garden suggesting someone who took pride in her surroundings despite limited means.

  The woman who answered the door looked to be in her late forties, with short brown hair and tired eyes that spoke of someone who’d seen enough of life’s disappointments to be wary of unexpected visitors. She was dressed simply in jeans and a sweater, and when Miguel showed his badge, her expression shifted from guarded to worry.

  “Mrs. Bradley? I’m Deputy Sheriff Garcia with the Weyport Sheriff’s Department. I called earlier about speaking with you regarding a case we’re working on.”

  “Yes, of course. Please come in.” Karen stepped aside, gesturing toward a small living room that was clean and organized but modestly furnished—evidence of someone living on a careful budget. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “That’s kind of you, but I’m fine. This shouldn’t take too long.” Miguel settled into the chair she indicated, noting how Karen perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to flee at any moment.

  “Mrs. Bradley, we’re investigating a case that may involve a vehicle similar to yours—a dark blue Chevrolet Tahoe. We’re hoping you might be able to help us establish some details about your vehicle’s whereabouts this past Tuesday evening.”

  Karen’s brow furrowed. “Tuesday evening? You mean this past Tuesday?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Specifically between six and midnight.”

  “I was here all evening. Made dinner, read for a while, went to bed early.” She paused, studying Miguel’s face. “Why? Has something happened involving my Tahoe?”

  Miguel maintained his neutral expression. “We’re just trying to eliminate possibilities. Can you tell me about your vehicle? Make, model, year?”

  “It’s a 2012 Chevrolet Tahoe, dark blue. I’ve had it since the divorce five years ago,” she replied, her voice catching slightly on the word divorce. “It’s reliable, which is important when you live alone.”

  “Did anyone else have access to your vehicle Tuesday evening?”

  “No, I live alone. Have since I moved here from Weyport after the divorce.” Karen shifted uncomfortably. “Deputy Garcia, what kind of case are we talking about? You’re asking very specific questions about my car.”

  Miguel chose his words carefully. “We’re investigating a missing person case, and a vehicle matching your Tahoe’s description was seen in the area. We’re just trying to account for all similar vehicles.” He chose not to mention the potential connection to Carol Winters’s murder for fear of spooking her.

  The explanation seemed to increase rather than decrease Karen’s anxiety. “A missing person? From Weyport?”

  “Ma’am, I need to ask you to think carefully about Tuesday evening. Did you check on your vehicle that night? Go out to the garage or driveway for any reason?”

  Karen was quiet for a long moment, her expression growing troubled. “Actually, now that you mention it, the Tahoe wasn’t in the driveway yesterday morning when I left for work. I take the bus, so I obviously didn’t notice it at the time.”

  Miguel felt his pulse quicken but kept his voice steady. “It wasn’t there?”

  “No. I parked it there Tuesday evening when I came back from the grocery store. I just assumed my neighbor borrowed it because it was back when I returned from work last night.”

  “You didn’t report it missing?”

  “I … no. Why would I? I thought my neighbor Mrs. Keating had borrowed it again. She has a spare key for medical appointments. I called her Wednesday evening when I got home from work and the Tahoe was back, but she said she hadn't taken it. By then I felt foolish reporting it since nothing was missing.” Karen wrapped her arms around herself. “But now you’re asking about it, and I’m wondering if something more serious happened.”

  Miguel made careful notes. “Mrs. Bradley, besides your neighbor, does anyone else have access to your vehicle? Current or former family members?”

  The question seemed to hit a nerve. Karen looked down at her hands before answering. “Tom used to have a spare key when we were married. For emergencies, you know, in case something happened to me or I locked myself out.”

  “Tom being your ex-husband, Tom Bradley?”

  “Yes. He lives in Weyport, works as a contractor there.” She looked up at Miguel with eyes that showed growing fear. “I should have gotten that key back after the divorce, shouldn’t I?”

  Karen’s silence stretched long enough to become an answer in itself. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Things were … difficult after the divorce. There were a lot of details to sort out, and honestly, I just wanted to get away from Weyport and start over. I’m not sure I ever asked for all the keys back.”