CHAPTER EIGHT
"I keep thinking about the logistics," Vic said, changing lanes to avoid a slow-moving truck. "How do you get someone thousands of feet in the air without anyone noticing? Especially with weather balloons. Even the smaller, cheaper ones would be hard to miss."
“They must have a pretty isolated launching spot,” Vic said.
"But you would still need to drug or incapacitate the victim first," Miles said. "Then somehow get them into a harness, attach the balloons, and release them. That's not exactly a stealth operation."
Miles pulled up information about weather balloons on his phone, trying to center his mind.
He used his favorite AI source and found what he needed quickly.
"A standard weather balloon can lift about seven pounds when inflated,” he read.
“To lift an average person, you would need at least thirty balloons, probably more to account for the weight of the harness system. "
Vic glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to the road. "Thirty balloons. Can you imagine trying to manage that many while also controlling an unconscious person?"
"It would take time and space," Miles said. "You couldn't do it in a populated area. Too many variables, too much risk of being seen. Like you said, you’d need somewhere isolated, probably with vehicle access to transport the victim."
"And the victim would need to be completely incapacitated," Vic added. "If they woke up during the process, they could fight back or call for help. The whole thing would fall apart."
"The killer is meticulous...just like all of the other disciples have been. They wouldn't attempt something this complicated without having every detail worked out in advance. God only knows how long they spent planning this all out."
"So they scout locations, test the balloon system, practice the timing." Vic merged onto the exit ramp. "But that level of preparation means they're not operating impulsively. They're choosing victims deliberately and giving themselves time to plan each murder."
"Which means there's probably a cooling-off period between kills," Miles said. "Unlike some of the other disciples we've encountered, this one may not escalate rapidly after these initial two. They'd have to take their time because of the elaborate set-up.”
“Ah, if we could only be so lucky,” Vic said with a weary smile.
The GPS announced their arrival several minutes later, and Vic pulled up to the curb in front of a single-story ranch house with a well-maintained front yard. Two cars sat in the driveway, and Miles noticed that the curtains were drawn despite the afternoon sunlight.
They walked up the concrete path to the front door. Miles rang the doorbell and heard movement inside almost immediately. The door opened to reveal a woman in her early sixties with graying brown hair styled in a short bob. Her eyes were red from crying, and she held a tissue in one hand.
"Mrs. Parker?" Miles asked gently. "I'm Agent Sterling with the FBI. This is Agent Stone.”
She nodded and said, “A lady by the name of Detective Morales called ahead to let me know you’d be coming."
“You’re Amanda’s mother, correct?” Vic asked.
“Yes, that’s right. Linda,” she said, offering her small hand for a shake. “Please, come on in.”
They followed her inside and Miles could practically feel the sorrow coming off of Linda Parker.
The house matched it; the interior of the house felt heavy with grief.
The living room was neat but the air itself seemed thick.
A man sat on the couch, probably Linda's husband, and a younger woman occupied a chair near the window.
The younger woman looked like she had been crying recently and was working hard to hold herself together.
"This is my husband, Robert," Linda said, "and our older daughter Jessica, Amanda's sister."
Robert stood to shake their hands, his grip weak and distracted. Jessica remained seated but acknowledged them with a small nod. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and Miles could see her knuckles had gone white from the pressure.
"We're very sorry for your loss," Vic said as they settled into chairs Linda had indicated. "We know this is an incredibly difficult time, but we hope any answers we get now will help us find the people responsible and hopefully prevent any further events like this."
Linda sat beside her husband and reached for his hand. "The detectives said the FBI is involved because they think Amanda's death is connected to other cases? The…the Elementalist cases I've seen on the news, is that right?"
"We're investigating that possibility, yes," Miles said carefully. "We have some questions that might help us understand what happened. Is that all right?"
"Of course," Robert said. His voice was rough, like he had been crying or shouting or both. "Anything that helps you find whoever did this."
Miles pulled out his phone to take notes. "Can you tell us about Amanda's work at SkyHigh Adventures? How long had she been instructing there?"
"About eight years," Linda said. "She started right after college. She loved skydiving and had been doing it since she was twenty-one. Teaching others to jump was her dream job."
"Did she ever mention any problems at work?" Vic asked. "Conflicts with coworkers or students?"
Linda shook her head. "No, never. She got along with everyone there as far as I know. Her boss was always telling us how much the students loved her, how patient she was with nervous first-timers. She even had a few clients who sent her birthday cards. She made friends with a lot of people there."
Jessica spoke for the first time, her voice barely above a whisper. "She was good at making people feel safe. I think it’s why she was so good at her job."
Miles noted the past tense, the way Jessica seemed to be forcing the words out. "In the days or weeks before her death, did Amanda mention feeling followed or threatened in any way?"
"No," Robert said immediately. "Nothing like that. She would have told us if something was wrong." He looked to Linda to see if she agreed, and she gave a small nod.
"She called me every Sunday," Linda added. "We talked for at least an hour. She never said anything about being worried or afraid."
"What about her personal life?" Vic asked. "Was she seeing anyone? Any new friendships or relationships that you can think of?"
Jessica's hands tightened further in her lap. "She had been dating someone for a few months, but it wasn't serious. I think he lives like an hour away, so they never saw each other all that much. She spent most of her free time at the jump center or hiking. She liked being outdoors."
Miles made notes on his phone, watching Jessica carefully. She looked like she was barely holding on, her breathing shallow and controlled in a way that suggested she was fighting tears. He guessed she’d been doing that for quite a while now, ever since her sister’s body had been discovered.
"Did Amanda have any hobbies or activities outside of skydiving?" Miles asked.
"She ran marathons," Robert said. "Completed three of them in the past two years. She was training for another one next month. She…well, I don’t believe she ever placed very high in them, but she loved to run."
Miles nodded, thinking of the oxygen a typical runner would use up during a run…and then layer that against the distorted message on the letter the killer had left behind.
"Do you know if she ever participated in any athletic studies or fitness research?
Anything that would have involved medical testing or performance evaluation?
" she asked. Miles nodded enthusiastically, as such studies had been a huge help to them in past cases…
even as recently as the very last case. In fact, it was causing him to get a bit of déjà vu.
Linda and Robert exchanged glances. "Not that we know of," Linda said, clearly giving it some serious thought. "Why do you ask?"
"We're trying to establish if there's any connection between Amanda and another victim we are pretty sure was taken in the same way," Vic said. "Sometimes these connections aren't obvious at first."
Jessica made a small sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Everyone turned to look at her and Miles saw tears beginning to stream down her face. She pressed the tissue to her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
Linda moved quickly to sit beside her daughter, wrapping an arm around Jessica's shoulders. "It's okay, honey. Let it out."
But Jessica shook her head violently, still fighting for control. Her breathing had become ragged and uneven. Miles recognized the signs of someone on the edge of a complete breakdown, holding on by pure force of will.
"I'm sorry," Jessica managed to say. "I just keep thinking about her falling. About how scared she must have been. I just…my God, to think of her up there…it’s like something out of a living nightmare.”
The words hit the room like a physical blow.
Robert's face crumpled and he turned away, his hand covering his eyes.
Linda held Jessica tighter, her own tears flowing freely now.
And just like that, Miles was sitting in a chamber of grief.
He gave them a moment, understanding that some grief couldn't be rushed.
Vic remained still and respectful, her phone in her lap as she looked patiently to the floor.
After a long minute, Jessica pulled back from her mother and wiped her face. "I'm sorry. I thought I could hold it together."
"You don't need to apologize," Vic said gently. "There's no right way to handle something like this."
Jessica nodded and took a shaky breath. "Do you think you can find who did this to her?"
"We're going to do everything we can," Miles said, and meant it.
They asked a few more questions about Amanda's routine, her friends, and her typical schedule.
Linda and Robert answered as best they could, their responses punctuated by long pauses and visible effort to maintain composure.
Jessica stayed quiet, occasionally wiping her eyes but mostly staring at the floor.
When it became clear that the family had no information about threats or unusual behavior in the days before Amanda's death, Miles knew it was time to leave.
They had learned what they could, and staying longer would only prolong the family's pain.
He already felt like he had overstayed their welcome.
"Thank you for speaking with us," Miles said as they stood to leave. "If you think of anything else, anything at all that seemed unusual or out of place, please call us." He handed Linda his card and she took it with trembling fingers.
"Do you really think you can find them?" she asked.
"We have resources and experience with cases like this," Vic said. "We won't stop until we have answers."
Linda walked them to the door, her movements slow and heavy. As they stepped outside, Miles heard Jessica begin to cry again, the sound raw and broken. Linda closed the door quickly, as if trying to contain the grief inside.
They walked back to the car in silence. Miles waited until they were both inside with the doors closed before speaking.
"She's barely holding on," he said. “All of them…”
Vic started the engine and pulled away from the curb. "Losing a sibling is devastating. And the way Amanda died, the violence of it, that makes it even harder to process."
Miles thought about Jessica's question. Do you think you can find who did this to her? He wanted to believe they could, wanted to have Vic's certainty. But two victims were already dead, and they still had no clear leads beyond the connection to Kane's philosophy.
"We need to identify the second victim," Miles said. "If we can find a connection between them and Amanda, we might be able to figure out how the killer is selecting targets."
“Well, that’s not really up to us, though. Forensics is working it and I’m assuming they don’t really have much to work from based on the terrible crime scene photos.”
"So…what now? Maybe we should go talk to Clyde Newsome? The astronomer who saw the victim fall."
“Yeah, that would be my move,” Vic agreed. “HIs information is in the case files somewhere if you want to pull it up.”
Miles did just that and found Newsome’s address and phone number.
“Got it,” he said. “I’ll give him a call, see if he’s at home or at work.
” As he made the call, Miles stared out the window at the passing streets, at the normal people going about their normal lives, completely unaware that the long-stretching shadow of the Elementalist has fallen on Los Angeles.