Page 59 of Whispers in the Night

Her brows rose above wide eyes. “That’s thousands of records.”

“Then we prioritize. Look for properties that offer privacy—rural locations, industrial areas, places with no close neighbors. And we look for recent rentals by single men in the right age range.”

Harper nodded, making notes. “I’ll have Morris start on it this morning.”

At 4:30 a.m., they headed to the station. The sky was still dark, but Harper could see the first hints of dawn on the horizon. By the time the sun was fully up, the whole city would know there was a serial killer hunting women in Blackridge.

And the killer would know that Harper was hunting him right back.

***

The station was already buzzing with activity when they arrived. Officers coming off night shift, detectives starting their day early, phones ringing constantly. The conference room was full—Captain Holloway, Morris, Holt, Sanchez from the tech team, and several officers Harper didn’t recognize.

“Sinclair, Kane.” Holloway gestured them to seats. “Let’s get started. At eight a.m., we’re holding a joint press conference with FBI involvement. The mayor will speak first, then me, then Agent Sinclair will provide details on the investigation and the profile.”

“What are we releasing to the public?” Harper asked.

“Four confirmed victims, all female, ages 23-29, similar physical appearance. We’re confirming ritualistic elements but not providing specifics about the symbols or messages. We’re asking the public for help identifying anyone suspicious, any unusual activity near the dump sites.” Holloway looked at Harper. “You’ll provide a general profile without giving away tactical details.”

“What about the connection to the other states?” Silas asked.

“We’re holding that back for now. If the media finds out we’re looking at twelve victims across five states, it becomes a national story and we lose control of the narrative.”

Morris raised his hand. “What about victim names? Families have been notified for all four.”

“We release names but not addresses or employment details. We don’t want to make it easy for copycat killers or reporters to harass the families.”

They spent the next hour rehearsing the press conference, anticipating questions, coordinating messaging. Harper hatedevery minute of it. She was a profiler, not a spokesperson. She belonged in the field tracking killers, not standing in front of cameras reading from talking points.

But if this drew the killer out, if it made him make a mistake, it would be worth it.

At 7:30 a.m., Harper stepped into the bathroom to check her appearance. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, face pale. She splashed cold water on her face, tried to look more professional and less like someone who’d been awake for thirty hours straight.

When she emerged, Silas was waiting in the hallway.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

“No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

“That’s my girl.” His smile was tight, and he squeezed her shoulder briefly. “I’ll be right there. If you need a break, just look at me and I’ll create a distraction.”

Harper almost smiled. “What kind of distraction?”

“I’ll improvise. Maybe knock over a podium. Maybe fake a seizure. Keep things interesting.” He winked.

This time Harper did smile, just a little. “Please don’t fake a seizure.”

“Your loss. I do a very convincing seizure.”

The moment of levity helped. Harper felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. She could do this. She’d done it before in Nevada. She could do it again.

At 7:45, they gathered in the lobby. The press conference would be held outside on the station’s front steps—better optics, Holloway said. More official. The media was already setting up—cameras, microphones, reporters checking their notes.

Harper spotted at least five local TV stations, two radio reporters, and what looked like print journalists from the Blackridge Gazette and the Portland Tribune.

“Deep breath,” Silas murmured beside her. “Remember, you’re in control. Not him.”

At precisely eight a.m., Mayor Carolyn Reeves stepped to the podium. She was in her sixties, silver-haired and composed, wearing a navy-blue suit that screamed authority.