Page 96 of Whispers in the Night

“We’ve got him,” Harper agreed.

The shock was strong, as well as the urge to celebrate. But it was too soon. They still had to bring him in.

They were at the station by seven a.m., despite not being due until eight. Captain Holloway was already there, looking like he’d been awake all night. When Harper told him about the DNA results, his expression hardened.

“Amanda Crawford’s blood in the back seat of Sutton’s patrol car,” Holloway repeated, as if needing to hear it again to believe it. “That’s our smoking gun.”

“Combined with the GPS data, the fiber evidence, the employment history—” Harper pulled up the comprehensivecase file they’d built. “We have enough for an arrest warrant and search warrants for his home and vehicle.”

“I’ll call the DA’s office, get the warrants drawn up.” Holloway checked his watch. “Sutton’s scheduled to report for shift at three p.m. We take him then, in the station parking lot as he’s arriving. Controlled environment, multiple officers present, minimal risk.”

“What about searching his apartment?” Silas asked. “If he’s keeping trophies, that’s where they’ll be.”

“We hit the apartment simultaneously. Coordinate the timing so he doesn’t get any warning.” Holloway pulled up the duty roster. “I want this airtight. No mistakes, no chances for him to run or destroy evidence.”

They spent the morning coordinating the operation. Assembling the arrest team, briefing officers without revealing the suspect’s identity until the last possible moment, preparing search warrant execution teams for Sutton’s apartment and personal vehicle.

At ten a.m., Morris rushed into the conference room. “I’ve been digging deeper into Sutton’s background. Found something that I think ties everything together.”

He pulled up records on the main screen. “Before Baker City, before the security job in Portland, Sutton was in the military. Army, stationed at Fort Lewis in Washington. Guess when he was stationed there?”

Harper felt the pieces clicking into place. “Five to seven years ago. When the Nevada murders started.”

Morris snapped his fingers and pointed at her excitedly. “Exactly. And look at this.” He showed them service records. “Sutton took leave time that coincides with the Nevada murders. Three separate trips to Reno during the weeks when victims were killed.”

“He was following Harper even then,” Silas said. “Before he started working in law enforcement. He attended her press conference in Nevada, fixated on her, and started planning.”

“Gets better,” Morris continued. “I pulled his military personnel file. He was discharged early—technically honorable, but there were concerns. A female officer filed a complaint about stalking behavior. Nothing that resulted in charges, but enough that his command encouraged him to separate from service.”

“Pattern of behavior going back years,” Harper said with grim satisfaction. “Stalking women, fixating on them, escalating to violence.”

“And he’s smart enough to keep moving,” Holloway added. “Never staying in one jurisdiction long enough to draw serious attention. Building experience in law enforcement and security that gave him the skills to evade detection.”

The full picture of Dale Sutton was emerging. He wasn’t just a serial killer, but a predator who’d been honing his craft for years. Who’d used his military training and law enforcement knowledge to hunt women across multiple states, staying ahead of investigators by understanding exactly how they worked.

At eleven a.m., the DA’s office called. Warrants approved—arrest warrant for Dale Sutton, search warrants for his apartment, personal vehicle, and work locker. They were authorized to move at three p.m.

Four more hours.

Harper used the time to review everything one more time, making sure they hadn’t missed anything. The case was solid—DNA evidence, GPS data, employment history, pattern of behavior. Any competent prosecutor could get a conviction.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. That Sutton was too smart, too careful to not have a contingency plan. The longer they waited, the more antsy she became.

“You’re overthinking,” Silas said, appearing at her elbow with coffee.

“What if he knows we’re onto him? What if he runs before we can arrest him?” she voiced her concerns.

“He doesn’t know. We’ve been careful,” he assured her. Silas pulled her away from the monitors. “The case is solid. The warrants are issued. The teams are briefed. In four hours, Sutton will be in custody.”

Harper wanted to believe that. But her instincts screamed that something was about to go wrong. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just that they were finally so close, she was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

At two p.m., Holloway gathered everyone for the final briefing. Thirty officers in the conference room, all sworn to secrecy until the operation was complete. When Holloway revealed that they were arresting one of their own, the shock was palpable.

“Officer Dale Sutton is suspected of murdering at least six women in Blackridge and potentially nineteen more across four states,” Holloway said, his voice carrying across the silent room. “We have DNA evidence, GPS data, and a clear pattern of behavior. When he arrives at three p.m., we take him into custody. Smoothly, professionally, with no opportunity for resistance or flight.”

He assigned teams—arrest team for the parking lot, search team for Sutton’s apartment, backup units positioned throughout the station. Everyone had a role, everyone knew their part.

“This is one of our own,” Holloway continued. “That makes it harder. But it also makes it more important that we do this right. For the victims, for their families, and for the integrity of this department.”