Page 86 of Whispers in the Night

“He’s made mistakes. The fibers, the pattern in victim selection, the escalating violence. He’s getting sloppy.” Silas’s hand drifted down and rubbed slow circles on her back. “We just need one more piece of evidence. One more connection. And it’ll all click into place.”

Harper wanted to believe that. But six women were dead, and the killer was still free.

She thought about Officer Sutton. About how unremarkable he’d seemed when they met him. How easily he’d blended into the background of the investigation. If he was the killer, he’d been hiding in plain sight this whole time. Watching them work the case. Knowing exactly what they knew.

The perfect position for a predator.

But the captain was right—they couldn’t accuse him without proof. Couldn’t even investigate openly without risking tipping him off. They had to be smart. Strategic. Patient.

Harper was so tired of being patient.

“Sleep,” Silas murmured with a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Tomorrow we’ll look at Sutton’s records. See if there’s anything there. But tonight, you need rest.”

Harper knew he was right. When he shifted, she sat up. Allowed him to take her hands and pull her to her feet. She let him guide her to the bedroom, let him pull back the covers and tuck her in. He climbed in beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Harper whispered into the darkness.

“Me too.”

Harper closed her eyes, trying to quiet her mind. But all she could see was Amanda Crawford’s face. Melissa, Amy, Nicole, Jennifer, Rachel. Six women. Six lives ended.

And somewhere out there, the killer was already selecting number seven.

Chapter 17

Harper woke to gray morning light and the sound of rain pattering against the cabin windows. Silas was already up. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, the smell of coffee drifting into the bedroom.

She lay there for a moment, listening to the rain and trying to convince herself to get out of bed and face another day of hunting a killer who stayed consistently ahead of them. Six women dead. A suspect list that included fellow officers. A fiber evidence breakthrough that pointed toward law enforcement but didn’t narrow it down enough to be useful.

They were missing something. Some crucial piece that would make everything click into place.

Harper forced herself up, showered, dressed. By the time she emerged, Silas had breakfast ready—scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh coffee. The domestic routine was becoming familiar, comforting in a way that both warmed and terrified her.

“Morning,” he said, handing her a plate. “You were restless last night. Bad dreams?”

“Just thinking.” Harper sat at the small kitchen table, remembering how she’d tossed and turned all night. “About the case. About what we’re missing.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Silas joined her with his own plate. “Holloway said Sutton’s full service record would be ready thismorning. And we should have more security footage analyzed from Amanda’s route.”

They ate quickly, both eager to get to the station despite the early hour. The rain had settled into a steady drizzle by the time they pulled into the parking lot at seven-thirty a.m.

Inside, the station was already buzzing with activity. Morris and Holt were at their desks, surrounded by coffee cups and case files. Sanchez had three monitors going at his tech station. And Captain Holloway was in his office, door open, looking like he’d been there all night.

“Conference room in ten,” Holloway called out when he saw them. “Got updates on multiple fronts.”

Harper and Silas grabbed coffee and settled into the conference room. When everyone had gathered inside and the door was closed, Holloway pulled up several documents on the main screen.

“First, Oliver Webb,” Holloway began. “We’ve been surveilling him for four days now. In that time, he’s done nothing but exist. No contact with potential victims, no suspicious behavior beyond being a transient who follows women occasionally.”

“That’s still suspicious,” Harper said.

“It is. But it’s not murder.” Holloway pulled up Webb’s timeline. “More importantly, we got access to his phone records through a warrant. On the nights that Jennifer Cross and Rachel Kim were killed, Webb’s phone pinged cell towers in completely different parts of the city. He has alibis.”

Harper felt frustration spike. “He could have left his phone somewhere to establish an alibi.”

“Could have. But we also pulled traffic camera footage.” Holloway showed them images. “Webb’s van was caught on camera during the estimated times of death for both Jenniferand Rachel—miles away from the crime scenes. Unless he has a twin or can teleport, he’s not our guy.”

The disappointment was crushing. Webb had seemed like such a strong suspect—the right age, right build, suspicious behavior, financial irregularities coinciding with murder dates. But if he had solid alibis for two of the murders, he couldn’t be the killer.