Weapon of Opportunity
Part Six: The Light House

"It was a nice theory," the tone of Mahey's voice wasn't meant to be condescending, but it sounded that way to MacGyver and Pete. "I think we've taken this as far as we can go."

Mac squinted through the binoculars, focusing into the distance. "We're not done yet."

"Do you really think you're going to spot the killer just standing in the window waiting for you to make him?" Mahey shook his head. "I know that killers often return to the scene of their crimes... what I think it's just wishful thinking that he's gonna come back to the scene of his first crime... especially now, today."

Mahey was tired and frustrated, and he couldn't keep himself from expressing his disappointment. He felt that they'd wasted an entire day visiting the locations of each victim's death—from most recent to the first—and he didn't seem any closer to catching his serial killer.

"All of the locations were linked by line-of-sight, except for our cat burglar," Pete asked, with a touch of exasperation. "You think it's just a coincidence that five out of six times we could see the location of the previous murder from one of the windows of each place?"

"Yes, I think it is coincidence. The only consistent pattern we have found is the fact that every victim was a low-life criminal that nobody is going to miss," Mahey argued.

"Except for Tabatha Carr," Mac's retorted.

Mahey snorted, leaning out of the open window. The pavement, four stories below, was clear of pedestrians. He cleared this throat and spat. "Maybe there's something about her that the investigation hasn't revealed yet. Face it, MacGyver – you're grasping at straws. There is no line-of-sight connection."

Pete was trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "It doesn't mean that there's no pattern, detective. It could be that particular murder was unrelated to the others. Or ... you said that this fellow, this burglar, broke into Miss Carr's apartment before her death. Maybe he saw something that made it necessary for him to be eliminated. The killer must spend some time studying his victims, getting to know their habits so that he can arrange for their deaths to seem natural." Pete tapped his lip, thinking hard. "But in Miss Carr's case, the killer was rushed ... forced to act too soon. That's why you got your clue that her death was unnatural, and maybe this burglar was the reason he made a mistake. He saw the killer hanging around her apartment and the killer saw him, so he moved on her too soon and then had to silence his witness before he could be identified."

Mahey refused to be convinced so easily. "And maybe the cat burglar was the murderer, and his death really was an accident. There have been no more suspicious deaths reported since he was found. But then again, our only other candidate for a suspect has been in protective custody." Mahey's jibe was delivered without conviction; he didn't really believe that Mac was guilty or suspect. But his words made it clear to both Mac and Pete that someone believed it.

Mac adjusted the binoculars and continued to sweep the area. There wasn't much to see. From the large southward-facing window, there were many buildings in view, but most turned blank brick walls toward MacGyver's probing gaze. Rows of apartment buildings rolled away down into a shallow valley. What windows might have been visible were screened by the roofs of other buildings and the occasional cluster of trees. At the farthest point visible to the left, a single window gaped open; the location of the second suspicious death.

They had just come from that place. Mac could see the small yellow flag he had left on the ledge to help locate it from a distance.

Mac turned his searching toward the right, up the hill. There were few possibilities in that direction. A park ate up most of the area; thick groves of tall trees blocked the horizon. Nearby, a business district offered billboards depicting vacant-eyed young female models wearing impractical clothing; scenic, but not helpful.

Mac moved to the westward-facing window and carefully focused past an undeveloped ridge of land. He could see a single building; it was low and flat, sitting on the crest of the hill beyond. Dark-tinted glass paneled the single upper landing.

Mac increased the focus of the binoculars to the limit, but he could make out nothing through the opaque panes of glass. "What is that building? It looks like an office of some kind."

Mahey focused his own glasses toward where Mac pointed. "Those are the offices of Social Services. Social workers, Public Defenders, civil rights advocates. My police station is just down the block from it." His tone was dismissive. He dropped his glasses so that they swung on the cord looped over his neck. "Dead end."

"Any chance of a connection with our civically disobedient victims?" Mac asked dryly. How did this man become a detective, anyway?

"We checked for that. None of the victims had any connection to the others. They all had different lawyers, their parole officers were located in separate offices ... we've checked and checked again." He sighed. "We are wasting time."

Mac did not answer. The sun, now moving toward the shimmering west, cast its lurid rays from behind the building on which his binoculars were trained. The walls of windows filtered the light, and silhouetted something that caught Mac's undivided attention.

"You may be wasting time, Mahey. I think I just got lucky." He leaned out the window and affixed a red flag to the sill. "Let's get there."

Mahey flashed his badge as they dashed past the shocked receptionist. Mac headed toward the end of the building, counting doors to find the right office. Mahey caught his arm and thrust him back, one hand on his gun as he backed against the wall. The door was ajar two or three inches, and there was no lights on inside.

Mahey pushed the door open with his elbow and crept around the threshold. He darted into the room, drawing his gun in a fluid motion. He did a rapid sweep of the room. "Clear."

Mac and Pete entered the room behind Mahey. Mac touched the wall next to the door, filling the room with light.

There was no one in the room. A desk and two chairs were against the inner wall. Perched in the corner formed by glass walls stood a telescope. Mac walked to the window and, careful not to touch anything, he bent his knees and sighted down the scope. It was trained on a little red flag, flapping in the breeze. "Bingo."

Pete circled the desk. "Looks like someone left in a hurry." The drawers had been hastily emptied, leaving a scattering of paper clips and a couple of pens. There were clean spots amid the dust on the vacant shelves and indentations on the carpet where furniture had once been placed.

"Pete," Mac said, moving aside so that Mahey could peer though the telescope, "would you go and ask the receptionist who most recently occupied this office?"

"Sure, Mac. I'll be right back."

Mahey's voice was muffled as he ducked his head down to see out of the telescope without moving it. Whoever had set it up was several inches shorter than he was. He held his cellular phone to his ear as he switched from left eye to right trying to focus. "This is Mahey ... I need a CSI unit over here on the double ... Offices of Social Service on Ocean View Road ... when? Ten minutes ago, that's when!" He snapped the phone off. "Wait, I see something ... it's kinda fuzzy ... no, there's your flag! Well, I'll be a sonofab ..."

Mac wasn't listening to him. He was looking at the carpet near the windows. The corner of the office pointed due south, offering a panoramic view of the hill sloping down from the building. The telescope was standing on a sturdy tripod focused through the southeastern window. Over by the southwestern view, Mac knelt to examine the thick carpet.

"The telescope used to be here," he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else who might have been listening. Measuring with his eyes, he estimated where the telescope might have pivoted. He stood in that place and brought up his binoculars to his eyes.

The sky above the Pacific was clear today, the westering sun reflecting brightly on the water. The refracted light clouded the details of what Mac could see through his binoculars. He could just make out the waterfront at the foot of the green slope stretching down from the office. Ships, boats, and structures were a blur before his eyes, but he kept looking, sweeping his gaze back and forth. He saw something that struck him as familiar, but his glasses were turned up as sharp as they could focus.

Frustrated, Mac lowered his glasses and looked around. On the wall, half covered by the curtain, hung an old calendar. Mac took it down and rolled it up into an oval cylinder. He slipped this over the lenses of his binoculars and focused again.

"What are you doing?" Mahey asked, annoyed. "That might be evidence!"

"This cuts down on the ambient light that's interfering with my vision," Mac replied. "Don't worry, I won't eat it when I'm done. I just need to see a little clearer ..." Mac stopped talking as an icy feeling settled in his guts. The light filter had worked. The familiar grayish-blue blur he saw now resolved into a clearer picture.

He was looking through the patio doors of his own houseboat.