CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
Shaw complied, revealing a list of previous employers that stretched back several years.
Veach had worked at various printing and design firms throughout Chicago, never staying more than two years at any one place.
But what caught Riley’s attention was what wasn’t there—no employment history before 2013.
The record simply stopped, as if Thomas Veach hadn’t existed prior to that year.
“What can you tell us about Veach personally?” Callahan asked. “His demeanor, his interests, anything that stood out to you.”
Shaw removed his glasses, polishing them absently on his shirt as he considered the question.
“Tom’s very good at what he does. Meticulous, detail-oriented.
Clients love him because he’s charming, outgoing, and has a way of making people feel at ease.
He would often handle our more demanding clients because of that quality. ”
“Did he ever mention his background, his family?” Riley pressed.
“He didn’t talk much about his personal life,” Shaw said, replacing his glasses.
“Though he did mention once that he came from a family of bootleggers during Prohibition. Seemed quite proud of it, actually. Said his ancestors had built hidden rooms and secret passages to store and transport liquor. Used to joke that he had outlaw blood.” He paused, a new wariness entering his expression.
“Why are you asking about Tom? Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with these murders? ”
Riley’s mind clicked the pieces into place.
The timing of his disappearance aligned perfectly with the beginning of the killing spree.
And his access to the guest list and invitations for The Evening of Elegance would have allowed him to insert himself into the event under a false name. Even his family history fit in.
“Mr. Shaw,” she said, “we’ll need copies of all this information, as well as any security footage you might have of Thomas Veach.”
Shaw suddenly looked pale. “Of course. I’ll print the file for you.
As for footage, our security system only keeps recordings for seven days, but I should have something recent.
” He moved to a printer behind the counter, his movements now tinged with anxiety.
“I can’t believe... Tom seems so normal.
A bit intense about his work sometimes, but nothing that would suggest.. .”
As Shaw busied himself with gathering the requested materials, Riley stepped closer to Callahan and Ann Marie.
“Veach is our guy,” she said quietly. “The bootlegger connection explains how he could know about the secret entrance to Victoria Ashworth’s wine cellar—possibly part of his family lore.
His work at the print shop gave him access to the guest list and invitations.
He’d know from the list that Margaret Thornfield was flying in from San Francisco.
Then it would have been easy figuring out what hotel she was staying in.
And his disappearance coincides perfectly with the murders. ”
“The timing fits,” Callahan agreed. “I’ll call for warrants right away—one for his arrest, another to search his premises. We might catch him at home if we move quickly.”
Riley remembered their conversation with Nathaniel Thornfield.
“And let’s not forget the connection between the three victims. Triad Ventures.
We need to look into that mall development and the lawsuit against it.
I’m betting Thomas Veach has a connection there, maybe through family property that was seized or devalued. ”
Shaw returned with a manila folder containing printouts of Veach’s employee file, along with a USB drive.
“Here’s everything I have on Tom. The drive has security footage from our front entrance and work area from the past week.
” His expression was troubled as he handed the items to Riley.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“If Veach contacts you, don’t let on that we’ve been here,” Callahan instructed.
“For your own safety, act perfectly normal. But call or message me immediately.” He handed Shaw his card.
“And if you think of anything else about him—any unusual behavior, comments that seemed off, anything at all—call that number day or night.”
Shaw looked slightly shell-shocked. “I will. I just can’t believe...” he repeated. “Tom seemed so normal.”
“That’s often the case,” Riley said, tucking both folders into her bag. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Shaw.”
As they exited the print shop, the bell chiming softly behind them, Callahan was already on his phone, requesting the warrants they would need to move forward. The morning air felt colder now, or perhaps it was just the chill of being so close to identifying their killer.
“I’ll head to the station and get the paperwork started,” Callahan said after ending his call. “We should have the warrants within the hour, especially given the high-profile nature of these cases. Meet me there?”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Riley confirmed.
“Good. With any luck, we’ll have him in custody by noon.” Callahan turned and strode toward his car, already pulling out his phone again.
As Riley and Ann Marie walked toward their rental car, Riley felt the familiar mix of anticipation and caution that came with closing in on a suspect.
They had a name, a face, and a motive taking shape.
But experience had taught her that this was often the most dangerous phase of an investigation—when a killer might realize they were being hunted and make desperate, unpredictable choices.
As they climbed into their vehicle, Ann Marie said, “Riley, so far, he’s killed the three women who formed Triad Ventures LLC. Nathaniel Thornfield said he thought they were the only members of that entity. Do you think that means he’s done killing?”
“Maybe, but let’s not count on it.”
“Do you think he’s still in Chicago?”
“We’ll see.”
As she started to drive to the police station, Riley hoped that the information they had would be all they needed to close the case. But she also knew that things were seldom that simple.