Page 85 of Whispers in the Night

They finished their coffee in silence, then headed back to the station. The sun had fully set now, the city lights creating a glowagainst the dark sky. Harper looked up at the station building—all those windows lit up with people working the case, trying to catch a killer.

One of them might be the killer himself.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

Inside, Sanchez had made progress on the security footage. “I’ve got Amanda Crawford on camera leaving the restaurant at seven thirty-two p.m. She walked north on Fifth Street, turned east on Maple. Lost her at the corner of Maple and Seventh. There’s a dead zone there, no cameras.”

“What about after the dead zone?” Silas asked.

“Nothing. She never appears on any cameras after that corner.” Sanchez pulled up a map. “The dead zone is about half a block. If someone was waiting there, they could have grabbed her without being seen on camera.”

“Someone who knew about the cameras,” Harper said. “Someone who knew exactly where the blind spots were.”

“A cop would know,” Morris said quietly. “We’ve done security assessments of the entire downtown area. We know where all the cameras are and aren’t.”

The implication hung heavy in the room. A cop. One of their own.

“Pull the duty roster for yesterday evening,” Holloway said with a dark edge to his voice. “I want to know which officers were on patrol in that area between seven and eight p.m.”

Morris pulled up the records. “Four patrol units were in the downtown area during that time window. Officers Sanchez and Beech in Unit 12, Officers Arden and Wilton in Unit 18, Officer Sutton solo in Unit 23, and Officers Greene and Williams in Unit 27.”

Harper felt her pulse quicken at Sutton’s name. He’d been patrolling that area. Alone. Right when Amanda Crawford disappeared.

But that didn’t mean anything. Sutton was assigned to downtown patrol. It was his job to be in that area. She couldn’t jump to conclusions based on scheduling coincidence.

“Cross-reference those officers with our profile parameters,” Holloway said. “Age, physical description, service record.”

Morris worked his keyboard. “Officers Sanchez, Beech, Arden, and Wilton don’t fit—wrong age or wrong physical build. Officer Greene is female. Officer Williams is sixty-two, too old for our profile.” He paused, scrutinizing the information that had already sparked Harper’s interest. “Officer Sutton fits. Mid-thirties, brown hair, average build. Three years with the department.”

“Sutton was at the farmers market yesterday when we checked in,” Silas said. “I talked to him. He seemed normal. Professional.”

“Serial killers often seem normal,” Harper reminded him. “That’s how they get away with it for so long.”

“We need more than coincidence before we start investigating a fellow officer,” Holloway said firmly, reminding her how dangerous it could be to jump to conclusions. “Pull Sutton’s full service record. I want to know everywhere he’s worked, everywhere he’s lived, any complaints or concerns. But we do this quietly. No one else knows we’re looking at him.”

“Understood,” Morris said with a sharp nod, already diving into his computer search.

They worked until midnight, reviewing evidence, building timelines, cross-referencing data. By the time Holloway finally sent everyone home, Harper’s eyes were burning and her head was pounding.

In the car, Silas drove in silence for a few minutes before asking, “Cabin?”

Harper nodded. She was too exhausted to speak.

At the cabin, Silas went through his usual security check while Harper changed into comfortable clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found him on the couch, laptop open but his attention clearly elsewhere.

“Come here,” he said softly when he caught sight of her.

Something inside of her sighed at his attention and promise of affection. It had been so long since she’d had…well, any of that.

Harper curled up next to Silas, letting him pull her close. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The normalcy of the moment felt wonderful and dangerous, as if she were waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under them.

Nothing in her life had ever been easy or normal. This slice of it felt like a trick—something she didn’t dare to trust. Yet she couldn’t help doing exactly that.

Silas made her feel safe, even when every instinct screamed that she needed to stay on guard.

“We’re going to catch him,” Silas said quietly, his fingers combing lazily through her hair.

“Are we? Because right now it feels like he’s always three steps ahead.”