Page 91 of Whispers in the Night

“And if he kills someone tonight while we’re lying here?”

“Then surveillance will see it and stop him.” Silas pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “But torturing yourself with what-ifs doesn’t help anyone. Get some sleep. We need to be sharp tomorrow.”

Harper knew he was right, but sleep felt impossible. Her mind kept circling back to Sutton—sitting in his apartment right now, probably planning. Thinking about his next victim. Maybe even thinking about Harper herself.

The idea made her stomach turn.

But it also gave her an idea. A dangerous, reckless idea that Silas would absolutely hate.

What if she did make herself bait? Not obviously, not in a way that would alert Sutton. But subtly. Make herself available, create opportunities for him to approach her. Under controlled circumstances, with backup nearby.

It might be their only chance to catch him in the act.

Harper decided not to mention the plan to Silas. Not yet. Not until she’d thought it through more carefully.

But as she finally drifted toward sleep, her last thought was,I’m coming for you, Dale Sutton. And you have no idea.

Chapter 18

Harper spent the night researching every unsolved murder in cities where Dale Sutton had worked. Portland, Seattle, Baker City. She pulled reports from police databases, cross-referenced dates with Sutton’s employment records, built a timeline that stretched back seven years.

By the time gray dawn light filtered through the cabin windows, she had nineteen possible victims across four states. Nineteen women who matched the profile, who’d been killed with similar methods, whose murders remained unsolved.

Nineteen families who’d never gotten justice.

Silas found her at the kitchen table at six a.m., surrounded by printouts and case files, her laptop still glowing.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Couple hours.” Harper rubbed her burning eyes then turned back to the work spread out in front of her. “Look at this.”

She showed him the timeline she’d constructed. Sutton’s employment history overlaid with murder dates, the correlation impossible to ignore. In every city where he’d worked for more than a few months, women died.

“This is damning,” Silas said, studying her work. “But it’s still circumstantial. Defense attorneys would argue correlation doesn’t equal causation.”

“I know. But it’s a pattern. And combined with the evidence tampering, his proximity to Blackridge victims, his historyof inappropriate behavior—” Harper’s voice was tight with frustration. “How much more do we need before we can move on him?”

“Physical evidence linking him directly to a crime scene. Something he can’t explain away.” Silas poured coffee into two mugs and handed her one. “But this is good work. This shows motivation, opportunity, a clear pattern of behavior. It’s building blocks for the case.”

Harper sipped her coffee, staring at the faces of nineteen women who might have been Sutton’s victims. “We need to contact the departments in these cities. See if they have any physical evidence stored, anything that could be retested with modern forensics.”

“That’ll take weeks. Months, probably.”

“Then we start now.”

Later, at the station, Harper presented her findings to Captain Holloway. He studied the timeline grimly, his expression growing darker as he absorbed the implications.

“If Sutton really is responsible for all these murders,” Holloway said quietly, “we’re looking at one of the most prolific serial killers in the Pacific Northwest in decades.”

“Which is why we need to move carefully,” Harper said. “If we arrest him and can’t make charges stick, he disappears and continues killing somewhere else. We need ironclad evidence.”

“Agreed. I’ll start reaching out to the other departments, see what evidence they have in storage.” Holloway pulled up the duty roster. “In the meantime, Sutton is scheduled to work swing shift today—three p.m. to midnight. We maintain surveillance during his off hours, and I want extra eyes on him while he’s on patrol.”

“You’re still letting him work?” Harper couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

“It isn’t ideal, but we have no grounds to suspend him. He hasn’t been charged with anything, hasn’t violated any department policies we can prove. If I suddenly pull him off patrol, he’ll know we’re looking at him.” Holloway’s tone was firm as he sat back in his chair and looked up at her. “We keep him working, keep him thinking everything is normal, while we build our case.”

Harper clenched her teeth. She hated it, but she understood the logic. They couldn’t tip their hand too early.