Zoe had not wanted to try to sleep, but Shelley had pointed out that they needed rest for what was likely another long day ahead. Zoe had been in favor of returning to the investigation room and working through the small hours of the night, but Shelley, driving their car, had pulled in outside the motel and insisted.
It was hard to sleep, knowing that you had failed. That you had had a killer in your grasp and still missed him. Just how she had done that, she still struggled to understand. Everything had been right—the car matching the tire tracks, the color the same as the paint under the dead girl’s fingernails, all the numbers adding up. The right suspect for the case.
But he had not been the right suspect, and there was no way now that Zoe could hold on to that futile hope.
She had failed, and when she closed her eyes, she saw those dead women staring back at her from the crime scene photos she had spent so long studying. Not enough, they seemed to be telling her. You didn’t do enough to stop him. She had followed up with the state trooper patrols, but no one reported seeing anything.
She rolled over, switching to her other side. The sheets were already tangled around her legs from over an hour of tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or quiet the noise in her head. She kept going over and over it, the pattern, the numbers, the coordinates on the map. No matter how she looked at it, she felt right. Like there had been no possible way that she had made a mistake on any of it.
And yet the suspect had been the wrong man, all the same, and the real killer had gotten away. Maybe to kill someone else. Most likely, she had to admit to herself. You didn’t get this far and then stop because the cops were too close.
Zoe forced her eyes shut again, trying to find something Zen deep inside her that would allow her to relax and drift off. It was not easy. The faces of dead girls swam in her vision, taunting her with her failure. She had failed them. She had failed someone else, someone whose face would join them before long.
She couldn’t think about this. She rolled again and tried to crush herself into sleep, squeezing her eyes so tightly shut that her whole face wrinkled inward.
Sometime later, she must have slept. She must have, because her mother wasn’t here in Kansas, and therefore there was no way that she could have been standing over Zoe’s bed.
“Mom?” Zoe whispered, her voice coming out small and high, the voice of a child.
“Why didn’t you pray for forgiveness?” her mother asked, harsh and stinging. “I told you, devil child. You have to beg God to change you.”
“I did pray, Mom,” Zoe protested. She had. Every night, her knees raw with kneeling on the wooden floorboards by her bed, asking God to change her.
“Then what is this?”
Zoe felt the weight of something thrown down on the covers beside her and flinched. She knew what it was already. It was evidence—signs that she had still been using her power, still seeing the numbers. She should never have written anything down. She had just wanted to remember the calculations, use them to build something of her own maybe. Jenny was the only one in her class who could afford a toy robot, but Zoe had seen all the pieces inside and known how it worked. If she could just get the pieces together—
“You are a wicked child,” Zoe’s mother said, her breath hot on Zoe’s face. “Zoe, you get out of that bed right now and you pray with me. We’re going to pray all night long, do you hear me? We’ll pray for you not to shame and disgrace us again. Get down here on your knees.”
Zoe struggled out of the bed, feeling the hard wood on her tender skin with a whimper, and clasped her hands together.
And it was almost an unnoticeable change into another day when she began to pack her things, getting them all into two single cardboard boxes, everything she had in the world.
“You can’t just walk out like this,” her mother hissed, flinging words like vipers from the doorway. “We are your family, Zoe. Who ever heard of a child doing this to her poor mother?”
“You are not my mother anymore,” Zoe said, taking a dress down from a hanger in her wardrobe. “At least, not legally. I can do what I want.”
“I bought that dress,” her mother said, stepping forward and snatching it out of her hands. “That is mine. You can’t have it, devil!”
“There is no devil,” Zoe said, tired of this conversation, tired of the same thing over and over again. “There is just me.”
“You are the demon.” Her mother pointed into her face, stepping forward, broaching her personal space. “You are the devil, you are the evil thing. There never was a child of mine. You were birthed from me a demon. And demon, you will steal from me no more!”
Zoe’s mother swiped the box from her hands, sending it crashing to the floor. Clothes and books spilled out, the small number of items Zoe had gathered herself over the years and actually liked. Small, bright pieces of candy scattered in a Fibonacci spiral around everything. Photographs of dead girls spilled out from the pages of books. She itched to reach and pick them up, to turn them over and see what might be written on the back, but they were part of her mother’s household now. And this was no longer Zoe’s home.
She stared at them for a moment, knowing her mother was going to have to win at least a part of this fight. Legally emancipated or not, Zoe was not going to resort to physical violence. So long as she was away from here, that was enough.
“Okay,” she said, and turned and walked out, and that was all.
And she woke sweating, feeling the weight of her mother’s hand across the back of her head, reeling for a moment before she realized she was still in a motel in Kansas.
***
The buzz of a text alert lifted Zoe out of her fitful nap for a second time, forcing her eyes open. Her face was pointing toward the digital clock, and she read the display with a sense of dull inevitability. Of course, she had not made it all the way through to the morning. It was only a little after five a.m., just a short few hours since she had put her head on this rock-hard pillow.
Zoe reached out and lifted her cell phone. She was not properly sleeping anyway, not really, and on a case like this an agent didn’t ignore a message. Whatever it was could be crucial, timely. The kind of information you needed to know right away.
She read the message, and felt her heart sinking even lower than she had thought it was possible for it to go.
“No,” she said, out loud. “No, no, no!”
Shelley stirred on the other bed, her eyes flickering open. “What is it?” she asked, the drowsiness of sleep disappearing as she kicked herself into awareness.
“State troopers,” Zoe said, holding back a lump of something in her throat that threatened to overwhelm her. “Two of the fair’s employees have been reported missing by their families. They woke up this morning and realized that they never made it home last night. They’re putting out an APB for their description and launching a manhunt. Looks like all hands on deck.”
“He took them, didn’t he?” Shelley asked. She sat up in the bed, her blonde hair falling messily down over her shoulders, mussed with sleep. “Our killer.”
Zoe did not have to tell her yes. They both knew.
They had failed to stop him, and now two more women would pay with their lives.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Zoe leaned forward in her seat, wishing the car would move faster. She could see that Shelley already had her foot on the gas as far as it would go, but that did not seem to be fast enough. She held tight to her seatbelt, trying to ignore the motion sickness fighting its way up her gullet in favor of focusing on the task ahead.
Zoe shifted around to look into the back seat. The tall state trooper Max, the sheriff, and one of his deputies were along for the ride. Zoe and Shelley had raced from their motel to their base of operations, and from there straight out to the scene with barely a pause.
Dawn was only just breaking, and they were close by the Kansas Giant Dinosaur Fair, only a few minutes away along the highway. “Anything yet?”
The sheriff s
hook his head, glancing down at his phone. “Looks like we’ll be the first there.”
Their quick actions in waking and getting in the car had put them first on the scene. More officers had gone by the residences of the two women to take statements. Two families who had woken in the morning to find beds not slept in, loved ones not come home.
Out of the whole staff, only the two women were still missing. All of the others had left much earlier and were accounted for at home. That much had been ascertained by a simple phone-around.
There was a tension inside the car, each of them knowing that they were not likely to find the women alive. Either one or both of them would have to have been the killer’s latest victims. All that remained was to find out which of them it was, and whether he had been fully successful in his crime.
Shelley flipped on the turn signal, trying to turn across the traffic to get to the parking lot. She cursed as she watched her mirrors and the oncoming lane, waiting for a break in busy morning transit of large trucks taking loads across the state. It was only a few seconds’ delay before she could get through, but all of them felt it. Every single second counted in a case like this.
Zoe forced the car door open and jumped out before Shelley had even put it into park, her eyes already making out a smudge on the edge of the lot that looked like nothing more than a pile of rags on the ground. Zoe had been to enough crime scenes to know that it was not a pile of rags. It was clothing, and the clothing was on a woman.
From the road, the slight ten-degree slope of the lot hid the body perfectly. Closer up, it was impossible to miss. Zoe spread her arms out behind her as a warning to the others not to approach, and began to carefully and slowly examine the area.
As expected, there were no footprints. The ground was hard, except for the edge of the lot where grass was encroaching back across the surface, but the killer had not made the mistake of stepping in the mud. As Zoe crouched and then shuffled forward, examining everything carefully and tilting her head to get a different angle, she saw no sign that might provide evidence of the sequence of events. The sun was broaching the other side of the highway, rising above the flat land that stretched out a distance away from the trees. Golden light filtered down and over the body, picking out the glints of copper in the dead woman’s brown hair.
Golden light for the golden ratio, Zoe thought, inching her way closer as she assessed the victim’s measurements. There was blood pooled around the body, though in a tighter and neater circumference than they had seen at the last crime scene. Even so, Zoe calculated that it was as many pints as a body could spare, allowing for the soak into the soil. The woman had fallen here, without much of a fight. She had bled out without moving, perhaps already unconscious from the blood loss or the shock before her heart ran out of blood to pump. Zoe could see a deeper wound to the neck, longer by an inch and a half, though the angle of attack was consistent with the other bodies. The height target of five foot eleven for their killer remained intact.
There was no disturbance to the blood, everything preserved neatly. He would have liked that, Zoe thought. He would have been pleased. But for her, it meant there were no signs or clues indicating what might have happened to the other one.
“It’s the older woman,” Max said, thumbing his phone screen just behind Zoe. She turned to look at him. “Employee file photos just came through. The teenager is blonde.”
Zoe rose off her haunches, addressing Max and the two from the sheriff’s station. “Spread out,” she said. “Check the trees here, and through the fair. We need to know that she is not still here.”
They nodded and moved out, meeting Zoe’s curtness with their own silence. Zoe knew she was not going to stand out today, with her short manner that was often described as anti-social or aloof. There was a need to get a job done. Someone’s life might still hang in the balance.
Shelley squatted next to her, pointing at the body. “What can you see, Z?”
With the others out of earshot, Zoe crouched again, reading the numbers from the scene before her like they were printed on a page. It was strangely refreshing to be able to share what she could see, instead of keeping it inside. “The victim is five foot six, which maintains our profile for the killer. She is also around one hundred and twenty-five pounds, so not too heavy or strong to cause problems for him. He slipped the garrote around her neck from behind, standing over there, and pulled so hard that she dropped almost immediately. The wound on her neck is an inch and a half longer on each side than with previous victims, indicating a greater force causing a deeper cut. He wanted to be sure this time, after the failure with Rubie.”
Zoe got up, circling around to get a better view. “She fell here and did not move after that. You can see this from the blood pool—an almost perfect circle, meaning equal distribution. I would guess that the slight variance on the left side is down to the uneven surface of the lot. It would have taken her around fifteen or sixteen seconds to shed this much blood, which leads me to believe she was either unconscious or in too much shock to move after the attack.”
“The teenager?” Shelley asked.
Zoe shook her head, frowning. “Nothing here that I can read. But there was a reason he wanted to get this kill over and done with, why he would have exerted so much force as to cut her neck open this fast. I think they were together. He needed to finish one and go for the other as soon as possible.”
Shelley nodded, moving the pendant of her necklace up between her lips and speaking around it. “He took her.”
It was not a question. With the facts that Zoe could see, there was no disputing it. Even if the two women had entered the parking lot separately, there was evidence that the killer wanted to move on fast, and the girl was no longer here.
“He came back around after we left last night. This body is less than five hours old. He must be desperate. Maybe he did not want to take a risk on not finding a victim tonight. If he takes a hostage with him, he can be sure that he will be able to carry it out.”
Shelley shuddered, getting back up to her feet. “She must be terrified. If she saw her coworker getting murdered…”
Zoe inclined her head in agreement, though she did not see what bearing it had on the investigation. It would not help them to find her and save her life. “Look at the woman’s arm. There is a slight indentation above the left elbow. Do you see it? She habitually carried something there, likely a handbag. The muscle is also marginally thicker on this side. No bag left here, however.”
“He took it with him to delay the identification process, probably,” Shelley said.
“Buying himself time to get further away. Yes, he definitely took her.” Zoe nodded, turning and looking into the distance for their local help. All three men had their backs to them, searching. The sheriff was almost completely out of sight in the trees.
“Should we call them back?”
“No, the search has to be done. We have to be thorough. Can you hear something?”
They both turned and looked through the woods again, to see the sheriff raising a radio to his face and speaking into it. Afterward, the crackle came again, the same sound that had filtered to them through the trees. Before another moment had passed, he was moving toward them, taking a determined stride between the tall, smooth trunks.
“Got a hit,” he shouted to them, not waiting until he was within hearing distance to pass the message on. “Trooper on patrol last night saw a man come in the parking lot on foot.”
“Why did he not stop him?” Zoe asked, bristling immediately. Had this killer once again slipped out from right underneath their noses? Twice in one night?
“Hold on,” the sheriff said, coming to a stop close by to them and slightly out of breath. “Trooper, repeat again what you just told me.”
“Yes, sir,” it came back over the crackle and hiss of the radio. “I saw a gentleman walking through the parking lot after midnight. I asked him what he was doing and he said he’d lost his wallet. I told him to come ba
ck in the morning and he began to walk back to his car, which was parked a short distance away.”
“Description of the vehicle?”
“A Ford Taurus.”
“Color?” Zoe asked.
There was a pause. “Uhh… It was parked on the side of the road, away from any lights. I’m not sure.”
“Green?”
“Yeah, could be.”
“What about the suspect?” Shelley interrupted.
“Slightly above medium height, maybe five foot ten or eleven, skinny guy. Dark hair, cut pretty close. I would put him mid-twenties.”
“Anything else?” the sheriff asked into the radio. “Anything that might identify him?”
“Not that I can think of, sir. I checked my dash cam. There’s a glimpse of him, but only his body. He was wearing a gray sweater and dark pants. That’s it.”
The sheriff sighed and thanked the man, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’ll put out an APB.”
“It will not work,” Zoe said, chewing her lip and looking out toward the horizon. “He is too smart to get caught now. We would have gotten him last night. He knows we are onto him now. It will be that much harder.”
The sheriff gave her a hard look. “No offense, Agent, but I’ve got to protect the citizens of this county. I can’t keep running after your theories and missing him every time. You pulling the wrong man last night let this woman die.”
He had gone too far. That much was clear. A sheriff didn’t speak to a member of the FBI like that, no matter who had superiority. But by the time Zoe could get past the fact that he wasn’t wrong, he had turned his back on her to issue orders into the radio, getting his men moving.
Shelley reached over and placed a momentary hand on Zoe’s arm, as was becoming her habit. Zoe nodded sharply in response, listening in to the sheriff as he set up a dragnet.
“There’s always a chance, I suppose,” Shelley said, trying to find some comfort. “We should cover all angles.”
“We are still missing something,” Zoe said, knowing it with certainty now. “There was no green Ford Taurus in the parking lot at the fair. We would have seen it.”
Zoe Prime Mystery 01-Face of Death Page 17
