Page 76 of Whispers in the Night

“Then we get evidence. We stick to him like glue until he makes a mistake.”

But even as she said it, Harper felt uneasy. Something didn’t quite fit. The withdrawals were suspicious, yes. The stalking behavior was concerning. But the murders were sophisticated, organized, ritualistic. Did Webb really seem capable of that level of planning and execution?

“We need to search his van,” Harper said. “Look for trace evidence, fibers, anything that connects him to the crime scenes.”

“We’d need a warrant for that,” Silas said. “And we don’t have probable cause yet.”

“Then we build probable cause. We watch him until he does something that gives us grounds for a warrant.”

For the next six hours, they did exactly that. Webb drove around Blackridge, seemingly aimless. He stopped at a park and sat watching people. He went to a library and used the public computers. He grabbed lunch at a food truck.

Normal behavior. Boring behavior.

Too boring for a serial killer in the middle of an active killing spree.

By early afternoon, Harper’s earlier certainty was crumbling. “What if we’re wrong? What if Webb is just a transient with creepy tendencies but not our killer?”

“Then we’re back to square one,” Silas said, confirming the fearful voice inside of her that was whispering the same thing. “But we can’t let him go yet. Not until we’re sure.”

At three p.m., Holloway called them back to the station for a debrief. Day two of the operation was winding down, and they needed to assess whether to continue for a third day.

In the conference room, the exhaustion was palpable. Officers had been rotating through shifts for thirty-six hours. The teams were tired, the leads were thin, and morale was flagging.

“Webb is still our best suspect,” Harper argued. “We have him on camera following a woman who matches the victim profile. We have financial irregularities coinciding with murder dates. We have a history of stalking behavior.” Was it air-tight? No. But it was the closest they’d gotten.

“We also have no physical evidence connecting him to any crime scene,” Holloway countered. “No witnesses. No forensics. Just suspicious behavior.”

“Which is more than we had three days ago,” Harper said, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Is it? Or are we just desperate for a suspect and Webb is convenient?” Holloway countered, making her feel like crap for pushing this angle so hard, knowing it was full of holes. The captain rubbed his temples. “I’m not saying we drop him. But I need more than suspicion before I can justify another day of this operation. The mayor is breathing down my neck about the cost.”

“Give us twenty-four more hours,” Silas said urged. “One more day. If Webb doesn’t do anything more incriminating, we’ll reassess.”

Holloway considered, then nodded. “Twenty-four hours. But if we don’t have something solid by this time tomorrow, we’re pulling the plug.”

After the meeting, Harper and Silas grabbed dinner from a local Chinese place and took it back to their desks at the precinct to eat while they reviewed everything they had on Webb. The more Harper looked, the more her certainty wavered.

“Talk to me,” Silas said, reading her expression. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that everything about Webb is almost right but not quite. He’s suspicious, yes. But is he our killer?” Harper tapped her pen against the desk, scowling. “Our unsub is organized, methodical, patient. He’s been killing for five years across multiple states without leaving much evidence behind. Does that sound like a guy who lives in his van and stalks his sister?”

Silas considered this, then said, “People can be complex. Can have different aspects to their personality.”

“True. But this feels off.” Harper tapped a few buttons on the keyboard in front of her and pulled up the crime scene photos. “Look at the precision of the carving. The careful positioning of the bodies. The ritualistic elements. That takes practice, focus, attention to detail. I’m not sure Webb has that kind of discipline.”

Silas’s eyes tracked every slash on the screen before meeting her gaze again. “So what are you saying? We’re wrong about him?”

“I’m saying I want to be sure before we put all our resources into Webb and miss the real killer operating right under our noses.”

Silas leaned back in his chair, those pale eyes studying her. “You’ve got good instincts. If something feels off, we should pay attention to that.”

Harper released a breath. “But we can’t just drop Webb either.”

Silas shook his head. “No. We keep surveillance on him while also keeping our eyes open for other possibilities.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost eight p.m. Night shift is taking over surveillance. We should get some rest.”

Harper glanced back at the image on the screen, at the victim who was depending on them to solve her case. She had a driving need to keep going until she found her man, but she knew Silas was right. It was just that the idea of sleeping while a killer was out there made her skin crawl. Still, she was running on fumes. Another night without real rest and she’d be useless. And Silas probably wasn’t faring much better.

“Okay. Cabin?”