CHAPTER EIGHT
As they drew closer to the storefront, they both decided that heading back was indeed the smartest move for now.
The crime scene was already processed and released back to them for continued access, and that standing in the physical space was more useful than working off photographs and reports when what they were trying to understand was the neon infrastructure specifically.
Kowalski met them on South Congress with the key. The yellow tape was still across the door but the small sidewalk crowd from earlier in the day had dispersed, replaced by ordinary foot traffic. A few people glanced at the dark sign in the window as they passed but that was all.
Inside, the shop was exactly as they had left it.
Kowalski stayed near the door while Miles and Vic moved through the front room and into the reading space.
This time, they paid less attention to the crystal ball apparatus and the modified transformer, which had already told them what it was going to tell them.
Miles approached the neon signs one by one, certain they would end up being the key.
There were five neon pieces in the storefront in total.
The large custom sign in the front window was the most prominent, the flowing violet and gold script with her name and the word READINGS beneath it.
That one was clearly the centerpiece of the exterior presentation, the piece Celestine had spent considerable money on.
It was mounted in a custom frame fitted to the window opening, and it was of a size that would require a dedicated transformer rather than a small off-the-shelf power supply.
A second sign hung above the interior doorway between the front room and the reading space, a smaller piece in warm white neon that spelled out the word WELCOME in a simple arc.
A third was on the wall of the reading room itself.
It was a decorative piece, just abstract curves in pale amber that didn't spell anything but added to the atmosphere of the space.
The fourth was a small OPEN sign near the front door, standard commercial stock, the kind available through any sign supplier.
The fifth was the crystal ball display, which was its own category.
Miles crouched near the back of the main window sign and looked at the rear of the mounting frame. The transformer for the large sign was mounted to the wall behind the frame. Its housing was partially obscured by the frame's structure. He leaned closer and looked at the face of the unit.
"Here," he said.
Vic came around the display and crouched beside him. The back panel of the transformer housing had a small adhesive label on it, roughly two inches square. It showed a stylized star graphic and the words Lone Star Neon in clean sans-serif type, with a phone number and website below.
Miles stood and moved to the interior doorway sign.
He reached up and felt along the back of the mounting bracket until he found the transformer unit; it was mounted above the door frame, out of sight from the front.
It took some creative movement, but he was able to find yet another label.
It showed the same design, and the same company name.
The other three signs were either unlabeled or had generic manufacturer markings with no installer information.
The crystal ball display unit, given that it was a custom theatrical prop rather than a standard installation, had been built to order by the San Antonio designer Kowalski had mentioned in his notes.
Given that, Miles doubted it was part of any sign company's work.
Still, two of the larger professionally installed pieces bore Lone Star Neon's name.
“Hey, Miles,” Vic called out. “I found the financials.”
Miles found her in a small office at the back of the building.
It was a narrow room behind the storage area that held a desk, holding only a filing cabinet and a shelf of binders.
Vic had already opened up one of the cabinets.
They looked through a few of the records together, finding that everything was organized clearly.
Invoices had been sorted by vendor and year in labeled folders.
Celestine had been meticulous about her paperwork in a way that the decor of the front rooms didn't necessarily suggest.
Curious, Miles went to the L section and found records for Lone Star Neon.
The folder held three invoices spanning six years: the original installation of the window sign, a service call two years later when the transformer had been replaced under warranty, and a more recent invoice for the interior welcome sign.
“This is the company who provided the two larger signs,” he said.
"So, she was a regular customer?”
"Somewhat. But this one invoice for the service call indicates that they could have easily known the layout of this shop. At minimum, anyone who had worked on these installations would have been inside this space and seen the crystal ball setup in the reading room."
Vic set the invoices back in the folder. "Then that definitely seems important."
"Very," Miles said as he took out his phone and snapped a photograph of the Lone Star Neon contact information from the most recent invoice. "But first let's find out what we're actually dealing with in terms of scale."
He called the number from the invoice while they were still standing in the back office. The phone rang twice and a woman answered, her voice brisk and pleasant.
"Lone Star Neon, this is Debbie."
"Hey, Debbie. This is Special Agent Miles Sterling with the FBI. I have a few questions about your company's work in the Austin area. Do you have a minute?"
The brief pause told Miles that she was trying to sort out if she’d heard him right. Why would the FBI be calling a neon manufacturer? "Sure, I suppose,” Debbie eventually said. “I mean for the FBI. What kind of questions?"
"We're trying to get a sense of the scope of neon sign installations in Austin. Specifically, we're wondering if your company has any approximation of how many neon signs might be currently active in the metro area."
There was a longer pause, and then Debbie made a short sound that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"Agent Sterling, I genuinely have no idea.
We install and service hundreds of them ourselves, so if you're asking for a total city-wide number, I wouldn't even know where to start.
There are other companies operating here, too, and then there's all the commercial stock that gets installed without a specialist. Not to mention all the old stuff that's been up for decades.
It's not the kind of thing anyone keeps a running count of. "
"But you said hundreds from your company alone?"
"At least. Probably more, depending on how far back you go."
Miles looked at the wall of the office. "We'd like to come by in the next day or two to ask some more specific questions about your installations and your process. Would that be possible?"
"I can check with the owner, but I'm sure that's fine. We're happy to help however we can." She sounded genuine enough about it. "Should I have him call you back?"
"That’s not necessary. We’ll head over first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He ended the call and pocketed his phone. "Hundreds,” he said. “It’s not exactly a usable number. Even if Lone Star Neon's installations represented a fraction of what's actually out there, we're talking about dozens or hundreds of potential sites across the city. We can't surveil all of them."
Vic leaned against the doorframe of the small office. "So, the geographic and target scope is too wide to contain proactively."
"Right now, yes." He moved back through the storage room toward the reading space, taking one more look at the crystal ball display as he passed it.
The sphere sat inert on its side table, the base still open from the crime scene examination.
"What we know about this killer is that they understand high-voltage electrical systems at a professional level.
They knew how to modify a transformer to remove its safety mechanisms, increase its output consistency, and ensure it would deliver a lethal shock without tripping the breaker.
That's specific and advanced knowledge."
"Or someone with a background in one of those areas who's moved on to something else," Vic said.
Miles nodded as he made his way to the reading room. "The Lone Star Neon visit is still worth doing. Their service records will tell us who had legitimate access to installations like this one, and if the killer has any connection to the sign industry, that's where it's going to show up."
Vic nodded. "And until then?"
Miles looked at the dark window sign, the violet and gold glass cold and colorless without power.
There wasn't a clean answer to the question that didn't require the killer to provide it himself.
They had a method, a note and a victim, and from those things they could build a partial profile: advanced electrical knowledge, access or ability to gain access to commercial premises, a philosophical framework around light and authenticity that had been pointed in a specific direction.
And it seemed that neon was their element of voice.
But partial was the keyword. The profile had shape without specificity, and specificity was what they needed to find the next target before the next target became a crime scene.
"We wait on the transformer trace," he said. "We do the Lone Star Neon visit. We see what Sarah pulls from the client records." He moved toward the front of the shop and looked out to the streets, slightly darkening as afternoon gave way to evening.
As they took one last look around the store, they both seemed to understand where they currently stood. The honest version was that the killer's identity was going to remain a mystery until he gave them more to work with, and the next thing he gave them was going to come at someone's expense.