Page 54 of Whispers in the Night

***

By six a.m., they were back at the station. The sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that felt obscene given what they’d just witnessed. The conference room had transformed into command central over the past week, every wall covered with victim photos, detailed timelines, geographic maps marked with pins and string connecting locations.

Jennifer’s photo had been added to the board—a professional headshot provided by her employer, taken maybe six months ago. She was smiling in it, confident and alive and vibrant. So jarringly different from the last time Harper had seen her that it made her stomach turn.

The team was running on fumes. No one had slept. They’d spent two hours processing the crime scene, then another hourdoing the notification. Jennifer’s parents lived in Salem, about an hour north. Holloway had made the call himself, his voice heavy as he delivered the news that no parent should ever have to hear.

Harper tried not to think about that. Tried not to imagine Jennifer’s mother getting that phone call at five in the morning, hearing that her daughter had been murdered, carved up, used as a message board for a serial killer’s vendetta. If she let herself think about that, she’d break completely.

“Four victims in six days,” Holloway said, staring at the board with exhausted eyes. “This kind of acceleration is extremely unusual for an organized serial killer.”

“He’s building toward something,” Harper said, forcing her brain back into profiler mode. “Coming to some kind of climax. The escalation in violence, the increasingly personal messages—he’s not just killing anymore. He’s trying to prove something.”

“That he’s smarter than us,” Morris muttered darkly from his desk.

“No.” Harper studied the timeline they’d constructed, the pattern of deaths growing closer together. “That he has complete control. Over the victims, over the investigation, over me specifically. He’s demonstrating his power. Showing us—showing me—that he can do whatever he wants and we can’t stop him.”

“Then we need to prove him wrong,” Dax Mercer said from the doorway. Harper had met him briefly yesterday—former Army Ranger, now Blackridge detective, and from what Silas had said, one of the few people on the force he actually trusted completely. “We need to take back control of this investigation.”

Silas was standing by the geographic map, studying the victim locations with the intense focus Harper had come to recognize. His mind was working, connecting dots in that way that made him a good detective.

“We’ve been looking at this as hunting grounds,” he said slowly. “The gym, the coffee shop, places where he selects victims. But what if we’re thinking about it wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Harper moved to stand beside him.

“Look at where the bodies are being found.” Silas pointed to the pins on the map. “Paper mill, alley behind a downtown bar, construction site, now a parking garage. All of them are public spaces but isolated at night. All places where he could work undisturbed for hours.”

“He’s not killing them where he takes them,” Harper realized, her mind racing ahead. “There’s a secondary location. Somewhere completely private where he can spend time with them, do the initial kill and the carving work. Then he transports the bodies to the dump sites for us to find.”

“Which means he needs several things,” Holloway said, moving to the map. “A vehicle large enough to transport bodies. Access to a private location where screaming wouldn’t be heard. And enough time that neighbors or coworkers wouldn’t notice his absences.”

“We need to expand our search parameters,” Harper said. “Look at surrounding counties for similar murders with the same MO. Cross-reference vehicle registrations, property ownership, anything that might point us to his kill site.”

Morris was already pulling up databases on his laptop. “On it. And I’ll reach out to Oregon State Police, see if they have any unsolved cases matching our victim profile.”

“Good.” Holloway checked his watch. “It’s six a.m. I want everyone to go home, get some sleep, be back here by noon. We’re no good to anyone if we’re running on empty.”

“Captain—” Harper started to protest.

He shut her up with a quick, sharp look. “That includes you, Sinclair. You’ve been up for twenty-four hours straight. Go backto the cabin, sleep for four hours, then come back with a clear head.” His tone left no room for argument. “That’s an order.”

***

The drive back to the cabin was quiet. Harper stared out the window, watching the town wake up around them. People heading to work, kids waiting for school buses, a woman walking her dog. Normal life continuing while Harper’s world had blood and symbols carved into it.

“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” Silas asked as they pulled into the driveway.

“Probably not.”

He sighed heavily. No doubt, he wouldn’t sleep either. “Then at least eat something. Shower. Give your brain a break from the case for twenty minutes.”

Harper nodded numbly. Silas was right—she needed to maintain basic functionality or she’d be useless. But the thought of food made her stomach turn, and the idea of closing her eyes meant seeing Jennifer’s body every time she blinked.

Inside the cabin, Silas headed straight for the kitchen. “Sit. I’m making breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered as she slipped out of her shoes.

“Don’t care. You need protein and calories in your system.” He pulled out eggs, bread, cheese. “Sit down before you fall down.”