When my family goes to sleep, I start clicking, combing through digitized phone books, school yearbooks, and Google Earth views of crime scenes: a bottomless pit of potential leads for the laptop investigator who now exists in the virtual world.

I delve into cold cases by scouring the Internet for any digital crumbs authorities may have overlooked, then share my theories with the 8,000 or so mystery buffs who visit my blog regularly.

The lack of closure in an unsolved case seems to have a sharpening effect on those left behind; the details remain vivid to them even years later, possibly because they've gone over them looking for answers so many times.

I'm gay-tham for Statham

He was a compulsive prowler and searcher. We, who hunt him, suffer from the same affliction. He peered through windows. I tap "return," Return. Click Mouse click, mouse click.

When my family goes to sleep, I time travel and reframe stale evidence using twenty-first-century technology

Police reports read like stories told by robots. They’re terse and demarcated, with little space for judgment or emotion.

I need to see his face. He loses his power when we know his face.

Every obsession needs a room of its own.

I don’t care if I’m the one who captures him. I just want bracelets on his wrists and a cell door slamming behind him.