Page 62 of Whispers in the Night

“That’s what I thought.” Silas grabbed his jacket. “Come on. We’re getting food.”

“Silas—”

“Not a suggestion. You’re useless to this investigation if you collapse from exhaustion and malnutrition.” He looked at Morris. “We’ll be back in thirty minutes. Call if anything urgent comes up.”

They ended up at a diner two blocks from the station—vinyl booths, checkered floors, the smell of grease and coffee. It was nearly empty, the lunch rush over, just a few stragglers finishing late meals.

Silas ordered a burger and fries. Harper ordered a salad, then changed it to a burger when Silas gave her a look.

“You need protein and calories,” he said. “Not rabbit food.”

“Yes, Dad.” She rolled her eyes for good measure.

“Don’t make me regret forcing you to take care of yourself.”

It didn’t take long for the food to arrive, and they ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Harper hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the smell hit her. The burger was greasy and perfect, the fries crispy and salty. She felt some of her energy returning.

“Talk to me,” Silas said. “What are you thinking?”

“That we’re drowning in data but starving for actionable intelligence.” Harper wiped ketchup from her fingers. “We’ve got fifteen victims across six states, hundreds of hours of security footage, thousands of potential suspects. But we’re no closer to identifying him than we were six days ago.”

“That’s not true.” He pointed a fry at her. “We know more about him now than we did before.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s been following you specifically for five years. Like he has resources for extensive travel. Like he knows law enforcement procedures well enough to evade detection across multiple jurisdictions. Like he’s building toward an endgame that involves you directly.” Silas counted off on his fingers. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Not yet. But we’re closing in.” Silas pulled out his phone, showed her notes he’d been compiling. “I’ve been thinking about the geographic pattern. Look at the cities—Nevada, Portland,Seattle, Boise, Sacramento, Spokane. What do they have in common?”

Harper studied the list. “They’re all western states. But that’s because I’ve been working cases in the western region.”

“Right. But look at the specific cities. They’re all mid-sized. Not huge metropolises like LA or San Francisco, but not tiny towns either. Big enough to have anonymity, small enough to not have overwhelming law enforcement presence.”

“You’re suggesting he’s selecting his hunting grounds strategically.”

He was already nodding. “And look at the timing. He goes quiet between locations, sometimes for months. That suggests he’s not just randomly following you. He’s planning ahead, scouting locations, establishing himself before he starts killing.”

Harper felt something click into place. “Which means he knew I’d be in Blackridge before I got here.”

“Or he was already here for another reason and took advantage of the opportunity when you showed up.”

Her phone buzzed. Captain Holloway.

“Sinclair, we’ve got another body. Abandoned building on Fifth and Cascade. Same MO.”

Harper’s appetite vanished. “On our way.”

They left cash on the table and headed for the car, the brief respite over. Another victim. Another woman dead.

Another failure.

***

The abandoned building had once been a warehouse—three stories of crumbling brick and broken windows, scheduled for demolition next month. Now it was a crime scene.

Harper ducked under the yellow tape, Silas beside her. The smell hit her first—blood and decay and something chemical.The building’s interior was dark, lit only by the harsh glare of police spotlights.