CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“We should probably grab something to eat,” he said, pulling out his phone. “But first, let me check in with Elena.”
Vic nodded, already dialing her own phone. “Go ahead. I need to call the field office anyway. I’ll see where we’re at with those other teams. Hopefully someone has come across something even remotely promising.”
Miles navigated to Elena's contact and hit Call while Vic placed her own call. She did so on Bluetooth with an earbud, making sure her conversation didn’t crowd out Miles’s call to Elena. Miles placed the call and Elena answered on the second ring.
“Hey, how's the case going?”
“Honestly? It feels impossible right now.” Miles kept his voice low, trying to eliminate as much crosstalk as he could over Vic’s phone call.. “We just interviewed another suspect who turned out to be a dead end. Three victims, and we're no closer to catching this guy.”
“I'm sorry. That must be frustrating.”
“It is. But listen, I know I don't have to call you during the day just to check in. I don't want you to think I'm being clingy or anything.”
Elena laughed. “Miles, I'm not your mommy. You don't need my permission to focus on your work. All the stuff we’ve been talking about…we’re working through it. I appreciate the call and the check-in, but please don’t think I have to have it.”
“I know, but after our conversation about communication...”
“I appreciate that you're thinking about it, but I also want you to catch this killer. I saw the story about the bus driver on my news feed this morning. I assumed it was connected to your case.”
Miles felt a mix of relief and concern. “Yeah, that's our third victim. The whole thing is escalating, and we can't seem to get ahead of it.”
“Then stay tough and stick with it. You proved your worth in San Francisco. So go help solve this one, too.
Elena's encouragement surprised him. He'd expected her to be more concerned about his safety or to push him to come home. Instead, she was telling him to keep fighting.
“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
“Just promise me you'll be careful. And don't forget to eat lunch.”
Miles glanced over at Vic, who was still deep in conversation with someone at the field office. Her posture had changed from casual to alert, and she was looking at the street ahead with a concerned expression.
“I promise. Listen, I should probably go. Vic's on the phone with the office, and it looks like she might have something.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Miles ended the call just as Vic finished her own conversation. She looked over to him with a mostly excited expression, but there was a little dread there as well.
“Please tell me you have good news,” Miles said.
"I think we might have our next lead." Vic set her phone down and increased the speed on the sedan even though they were coasting along a fairly busy highway. "I just spoke with Agent Mitchum. One of the bureau teams following up on university connections found something interesting."
“What kind of something?”
"A graduate student named Jeremy Walsh—a chemistry PhD candidate at George Washington University. Apparently, he's been posting videos online about what he calls 'negative chemical auras' around people."
“Chemical auras? That’s so New Age it’s almost… well, it’s pretty old. And he seems like a legit threat?”
“Seems that way. Mitchum said Walsh has been documenting these supposed auras using social media. YouTube, Instagram, TikTok. All public posts, and some of them show him getting into confrontations with people he claims are chemically contaminated.”
“Confrontations?”
Vic consulted her notes. “Verbal arguments, mostly. He approaches strangers and tells them they're radiating toxic chemicals. People get upset, obviously. Some of the videos show him getting really agitated when people don't listen to his warnings.”
Miles could see the connection immediately, despite the odd approach. “Someone who believes he can detect chemical contamination in people could be exactly the type to target victims based on their supposed toxic exposure.”
“Right. And as a chemistry graduate student, he'd have access to university labs, advanced equipment, and likely a knowledge of gas handling procedures.”
“Plus the same kind of paranoid mindset we saw in the manifestos. The killer believes he's protecting people from chemical contamination by eliminating the sources.”
“Mitchum said he was going to text me Walsh's address. He lives in an apartment near the GW campus.”
“What else do we know about him?” Miles asked. He was excited for a new lead but was also remaining grounded. It was becoming almost commonplace for leads to fall through.
“Not much yet. The team is still pulling his background, but Morrison said his social media posts go back about eighteen months. That's when he started talking about chemical auras and contamination.”
“Any connection to the victims?”
“They're checking now. But Miles, this guy has been publicly documenting his paranoia about chemical contamination. If he's our killer, he's been building his case against the victims in plain sight. If this is him, it should be very obvious pretty quickly.”
Miles dared to let just a bit of excitement shine through. “So if this Walsh guy is our man, maybe the notes being left behind at each crime scene aren't just explanations. Maybe they’re supposed to be continuations of his public campaign.”
“Exactly. He's been warning people about chemical contamination through social media, and when that didn't work, he escalated to direct action.”
“How far to the apartment?” Miles asked.
“About twenty minutes.”
While he waited—and while Vic sped as safely as she could to their destination, Miles pulled out his phone and searched for Jeremy Walsh on YouTube. Several channels came up, but one immediately caught his attention. “ChemicalTruthSeeker” had posted dozens of videos over the past year and a half.
“Found his YouTube channel,” Miles said, clicking on the most recent video.
The video opened with a young man in his mid-twenties sitting in what appeared to be a cluttered apartment.
Jeremy Walsh had dark hair that looked like it hadn't been cut in months, pale skin, and the intense stare of someone who never slept well.
He wore a wrinkled t-shirt and spoke directly to the camera.
“Day forty-three of chemical aura documentation,” Walsh said. “The contamination levels in the downtown area are increasing exponentially. I recorded twelve separate instances of severe chemical radiation just walking to the coffee shop this morning.”
Miles felt a chill. Walsh's tone was calm and matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than conspiracy theories about chemical contamination. He had a calm, almost cool look about him. Young, handsome, and a bit crazed.
“He sounds completely rational,” Miles said. “That's what makes him dangerous.”
“Keep watching,” Vic said, glancing at the phone screen while maintaining attention on traffic.
In the video, Walsh held up a handheld device of some kind.
“Using my modified spectrometer, I can detect chemical signatures that most people can't perceive. The barista at the coffee shop was radiating fluoride compounds, probably from dental work or contaminated water supplies. When I tried to warn her, she became hostile and defensive.”
Miles paused the video. “Fluoride compounds. He's specifically focused on fluorine-based chemicals.”
“That's not a coincidence.”
“And he’s also using what he’s claiming is a modified spectrometer… but it doesn’t look like any spectrometer I’ve ever seen.”
Miles scrolled through Walsh's other videos. The titles alone were revealing without even having to watch the videos: “Chemical Contamination at Metro Stations,” “Toxic Auras in Government Buildings,” “Warning: Fluoride Radiation in Public Schools and Churches.”
“Vic, look at this.” Miles held up the phone. “He posted a video three weeks ago called 'Elementary School Chemical Crisis.'
Miles clicked on the video. Walsh appeared on screen standing outside a school from a good distance. There was no traffic around the school, making Miles assume the video had been filmed during the weekend or after hours. His crude little device was pointed at the building.
“The chemical contamination emanating from this facility is beyond anything I've previously documented,” Walsh said to the camera. “The fluoride radiation levels are so intense I can barely stand to remain in the vicinity. Someone needs to warn the teachers and students before permanent damage occurs. But of course, congress and school boards can’t be bothered by something like this because there is no money to be made.”
“Vic… there are so many of these videos… at least fifty.”
He clicked on another one of Walsh standing outside of an apple orchard, shaking his head.
“The chemical auras surrounding this establishment are off the charts,” Walsh said.
“Pesticides, preservatives, synthetic fragrances.
The old man working inside is radiating enough toxins to contaminate an entire city block.
This is exactly the kind of chemical warfare I've been warning about.”
He then came to another post, this one titled: “Confronting Chemical Carriers.” This video was shakier, apparently filmed with a handheld camera on a city street.
“Day fifty-one of aura documentation,” Walsh's voice said from behind the camera.
“I'm approaching a subject with severe radiation sickness to offer cleansing assistance.” The camera focused on a middle-aged woman walking out of a dental office.
Walsh approached her, holding his spectrometer. His breathing was loud and ragged.
“Excuse me, ma'am,” Walsh said. “I'm detecting extremely high levels of fluoride contamination around you. You've been exposed to dangerous chemical compounds.”
The woman stopped and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Your aura is radiating toxic fluoride. It's probably from dental treatments or contaminated water. I can help you understand the cleansing process that will neutralize these compounds.”
“Get away from me,” the woman said, backing away. “Are you… are you filming me? Get away!”
Walsh followed her with the camera still running. “Please, you don't understand the danger you're in. The chemical contamination is affecting your spiritual matrix. I have methods that can help purify your molecular structure.”
“I'm calling the police,” the woman said, pulling out her phone.
“The authorities don't understand chemical auras,” Walsh said, his voice becoming more agitated. “They're part of the contamination system. Only someone with proper spectrographic training can detect the radiation you're carrying.”
The woman started walking faster, but Walsh kept following. “At least let me document your contamination levels. People need to understand how widespread this chemical warfare has become.”
The video ended abruptly as the woman rounded a corner and Walsh apparently lost sight of her. Miles could hardly believe what he was seeing. It seemed that Jeremy Walsh ticked just about every box, and then some.
“Yeah…” Vic said, “he seems a little off the charts, right? Maybe a little mentally unstable?”
“Could be.”
Vic sighed and glanced down to the map on her phone. “Well…we’ll find out soon enough. We’ll be there in five minutes. You ready?”
All Miles could do was nod because quite honestly, he wasn’t sure.