—THE ZODIAC KILLER The first thing Amarok noticed was the warmth of Danielle’s small duplex. “Hello?” he called out. No one answered him. He figured if Danielle were home she would’ve come when he knocked. He’d had to break a window to get in, but … it didn’t hurt to make the attempt to be polite. He didn’t want to invade her private space, was still holding out hope that he would find her as alive as she’d been when she gyrated against him at the Moosehead not long ago, trying to get him to dance with her. As he stood in the entry, he heard the heater kick on. Anyone who was going away for an extended period would turn that off, he thought. Especially in Alaska. Yet her duplex had to be a toasty seventy-five degrees. The warmth put him on edge. He’d been hoping to find the place cold and empty so he could believe she’d moved back to the Lower 48. “Danielle?” he called again. “It’s Sergeant Amarok with the Alaska State Troopers.” Nothing. No movement.
