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“Your brother-in-law still speaks with you? Helps you out at the shop?” Brook asked right as the front entrance opened and revealed an older man in his sixties. “Even after your separation?”
“Chandler is a good guy. He’s trying not to choose sides.” Jace had lowered his voice so that his customer couldn’t overhear their conversation. “Look, everyone knows that Allen gave you access to his security footage. A lot of us can’t afford that type of equipment, and I’m one of those shop owners. As for remembering a face from years ago, that’s doubtful, but feel free to speak with Chandler. He’s been helping out at the shop for years.”
Brook retrieved her phone that Jace had barely glanced at now that the customer was mere feet from the counter. Since the man’s focus was solely on the large tackle box, she could only assume that he was the one on the phone earlier. No wonder he’d been able to arrive so quickly. She recognized him from the bar.
“Hi, Mitch. I got everything ready for you, and you’re going to love the…”
Brook cleared the display on her phone before sliding it back into the pocket of her jacket. She’d already known the name of Jace’s brother-in-law, but she’d learned long ago that engaging a witness sometimes led them to be more forthcoming with information.
“Ma’am? Are you that federal agent who has been investigating that girl’s murder?” Mitch asked as he kept switching his focus between her face and the pocket where she’d stored her phone. Before she could reply, he pointed toward her jacket. “May I see that picture again?”
Mitch’s focus hadn’t been on his tackle box, but instead on her phone. She didn’t hesitate to retrieve her it and pull up Helen Beckham’s photograph.
“I’m Brook Sloane, a consultant with the FBI,” she corrected as she handed over her phone. Mitch had pulled out a set of reading glasses from underneath his jacket and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. “And you are?”
“Mitch Duncan.” He studied the photograph before shaking his head. “Sorry. I thought I recognized her.”
“No problem, Mr. Duncan,” Brook said as she retrieved her phone. “I appreciate you taking a look anyway.”
Brook bid both men goodbye as she began to walk toward the exit. Something about Mitch’s interest in Helen Beckham’s picture had captured her attention, and she hesitated to reach for the doorknob.
The unsub preferred young brunettes in their twenties, and he was selecting them for a specific reason known only to him…for now. Even more specifically, their physical features had caught his attention while he’d been hiking the trails. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself once he caught sight of them.
While the deaths of those women might have been played out over and over in the unsub’s mind down to the last detail, their abductions had been spontaneous.
Which was why the team hadn’t been able to find anything in Carissa Norman’s past that would give them answers to the identity of the unsub. Brook was a big advocate that most if not all the answers rested with the first victim.
In this case, there were no connections between the unsub and the victims.
Yes, the unsub had planned out their demise in his head, but he hadn’t intended to act on those fantasies. Crossing paths with them on the trails must have triggered his need for answers to something very personal and extremely traumatic.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Brook had turned back to find Jace handing over the small bag of lures that Mitch had purchased. The tackle box was already in the man’s left hand.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Who did you think the young woman was in the picture?”
“A gal who used to live in Moonshine Valley,” Mitch said offhandedly as he lifted the bag off the counter. “Her family moved away years ago, though. Oh, what was her name…Tricia. That’s right. Tricia Zetter.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sylvie Deering
October 2023
Tuesday — 7:12am
Alouddingindicatedthat the elevator had arrived at its intended destination. The doors swooshed open, but Sylvie didn’t immediately take a step forward. She should have probably made the drive back to the prison to visit her father, but she’d found herself pulling into the parking garage of work instead. She was avoiding the entire situation, and it wasn’t lost on her that death would eventually make that all but impossible.
Nigel Hubert Deering was dying from pancreatic cancer.
Her father, who used to take her with him into work on Fridays so that she could spend the day with him. The kind man who used to always make sure there was a chocolate croissant waiting for her. He’d never once gotten angry with her over the smears that she’d left on important documents. How could such an amazing human being with a great capacity for empathy and understanding destroy so many lives?
Sylvie struggled to recall when greed had begun to stain his soul like her chocolate-covered fingers had done to those pristine spreadsheets. No particular memory came to mind. Her father’s deep passion for helping people had simply faded away, much like his body would in the coming months.
Karma had finally come around, and Sylvie couldn’t help but experience a sense of bitter satisfaction. Her father’s actions had caused so much pain and destruction. Not only to other individuals, but to her. He’d shattered everything she held dear, yet such a death sentence brought a wave of guilt over such a vicious emotion.
