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Laura and Nate headed straight for the same desks they had been working at the day before, finding them still unoccupied. That was good, at least. Having to move around and find a new base was tedious. She took the folder full of printed case files she had created yesterday out from under her arm and placed it on the desk, starting to gather each of the sets of pages into piles so they could go through them one by one.
The detective she had spoken to materialized with a map of the area, crisply folded and clearly unused. At her gestured direction, he spread it out across the empty space on the desk, allowing them to see the whole of the town and its environs at a glance.
“Thanks,” Laura said, then turned to Nate. “Right.”
“I’m ready,” Nate said, holding up a tub of pushpins and a red marker pen he must have procured from someone else while she was busy and not paying attention.
Laura grinned. It was good to work with someone who always understood exactly what she wanted to do. “First victim, chronologically. Allison Park. She was found in the forest – roughly opposite to Westfield Lane on the west side of town; you should be able to find a clearing.”
Nate studied the map with a frown. “I have something – it’s marked with the symbol for a ruined structure.”
“That’s right,” Laura nodded. “According to this, there was a ruined building – the remains of an old forester’s hut – that was being used by homeless people. Someone had put up a tarp over it. That’s where she was found – under the tarp.”
“Let me guess, they assumed a homeless guy got high and murdered her and then never bothered to fully investigate it,” Nate said, his voice almost a growl.
“Sounds like that’s about right,” Laura agreed. “Mark that with a pin.”
Nate pushed the pin into the spot. It gave a little into the desk below, but they could worry about being charged for property damage later. They were already in so much trouble with Rondelle, a little more barely seemed to matter.
“Next was Sarina Waterman in the alleyway by the disused buildings,” Laura said, skimming through the report to see if there was anything that would help them narrow the location down further. “Off Buckfield Avenue.”
“Hang on,” Nate said, doing a search on his cell phone for the location. Once he’d found it, he compared the two maps and then pushed a pin into their paper copy just north of the previous one. “Okay, next?”
“Alayna Honeysett was by the roadside – on the 75, there’s a road bridge that goes over a small river.”
“I’ve got it,” Nate said, nodding and marking it off in the north of the town.
“Joy Kingsley,” Laura said, and didn’t have to say anything else as Nate marked off a location that was further to the east – the spot they had driven to when this all started.
“And the last one is July Hall, right?” Nate said.
“Right,” Laura confirmed. “Near the warehouses in the south-east.”
Nate found and marked the spot off perfectly, given that they were already familiar with the location.
They both stared down at the map.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Nate asked.
“It’s a circle,” Laura said. “He’s working his way around the outskirts of town.”
“And he’s doing it by finding all the abandoned spots, places where no one would notice someone,” Nate pointed out. “Old ruins, abandoned huts, empty warehouses – it’s all places that have been left alone for long enough you could be confident you wouldn’t be disturbed. Even the road bridge – once you’re underneath it, no one is going to see you from the road.”
“It’s more than that,” Laura said, inspiration striking. “Look. The forester’s hut had been made livable with the use of a tarp. We know people have been living in the other hut where Joy was found. You could easily camp under the bridge. No one would notice you sleeping in an empty warehouse. I think he’s not just killing them there – I think he’s living there. That’s why he has to move on to a new spot each time.”
“That’s why the bars change, but there’s overlap in the patrons,” Nate mused. “You just have to be walking home along the route near to where he’s living. He has all the time in the world to stand there and watch the road at night and wait for someone to come by. He might even be doing it to keep himself safe, given the environment, not specifically to watch for someone to kill.”
“But then he sees her, and he can’t resist,” Laura said. “It’s been a couple of years since the last one. He remembers what it was like. The rush of power. The way he felt when he saw the life go out of their eyes. She’s drunk, defenseless, alone. He makes sure no one can see them, and then he begins to stalk her. He lets her see him, lets her get scared. He knows the area. He knows he can take her down easily. He lets her run a little – and then he grabs her.”
Nate stared at her with a horrified look. “Damn,” he said. “I know you have your way of getting inside their heads and seeing how they think, but… that was chilling.”
“Sorry,” Laura said, with the ghost of a smile. “But it feels right. This is him. He’s living in these places. He must be.”
“I agree,” Nate nodded. “Which means we just need to figure out where the next spot will be.”
“Where was she last seen?”
Laura and Nate looked up at the same time to see a younger detective at the next table over, talking to someone on the phone.
