Page 75 of Whispers in the Night

Harper looked again. The transient they’d lost track of two days ago. The one who’d disappeared right when they were closing in.

“Where the hell has he been?” Harper whispered.

“I don’t know, but we need to move carefully. If we spook him and he runs, we might lose our only shot.”

They watched as Webb followed the woman to the checkout, staying two customers behind her. The woman paid, gatheredher bags, headed for the exit. Webb paid quickly—cash for a pack of gum he didn’t need—and followed her out.

“Team Two, subject is mobile,” Silas radioed quietly. “Following female victim profile. We need a tail on both of them.”

Harper and Silas exited through a different door, circling around to where their car was parked. They could see Webb in the parking lot, maintaining his distance from the woman but clearly tracking her movement.

The woman got into a small sedan, started the engine. Webb walked to a beat-up van parked three rows away.

“That’s it,” Harper said. “That’s got to be him. Van for transport, following potential victims at night—”

Webb’s van pulled out of the parking lot, following the woman’s sedan at a careful distance.

“We’ve got mobile units in position,” Holloway’s voice came through the radio. “Following both vehicles. Do not engage unless she’s in immediate danger.”

Harper and Silas followed from farther back, part of a loose net of unmarked vehicles tracking Webb. The woman drove through empty streets, heading toward the Riverside Apartments. Webb stayed four car lengths back, keeping her in sight.

When the woman pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, Webb drove past, continuing down the street. The mobile units split—some following Webb, while some stayed with the woman to ensure she made it safely inside.

“She’s in her apartment, door locked,” came the report five minutes later. “Safe and unaware she was being followed.”

“Where’s Webb?” Harper asked.

“He parked three blocks away and appears to be settling in for the night in his van.”

Harper and Silas drove to the location, parking where they could observe Webb’s van without being obvious. Through binoculars, Harper could see him in the driver’s seat, reclined, possibly sleeping.

“So what is he?” Silas asked. “Serial killer casing his next victim? Or just a creepy guy with boundary issues?”

“That’s what we need to find out.” Harper lowered the binoculars. “Captain Holloway, what do you want to do?”

“Maintain surveillance. Let’s see what he does when he wakes up. If he goes back to that apartment complex, if he approaches the woman, we move in. Until then, we watch.”

They settled in for a long night of surveillance. Harper and Silas took turns on watch, two hours each, while the other tried to rest. It was tedious work, but necessary. If Webb was their guy, he wasn’t getting away this time.

As dawn broke and the city started waking up, Webb finally stirred. He sat up, rubbed his face, and started his van. Then he drove not back to the apartment complex, but to a fast-food restaurant. Ordered breakfast. Sat in the parking lot eating and scrolling through his phone.

“This is either the world’s most patient serial killer,” Silas said, “or just a guy living in his van who happened to notice a pretty woman at the grocery store.”

Harper’s phone rang. Sanchez.

“I’ve been running deeper background on Oliver Webb,” Sanchez said. “Found something interesting. He’s got a sister in Portland. She filed a restraining order against him eight months ago for stalking behavior.”

Harper’s pulse quickened. “Stalking how?”

“Following her, showing up at her work uninvited, sending excessive texts and calls. The judge granted the order. That’s about the time Webb lost his last regular job and started the transient lifestyle.”

“So he has a pattern of following women.”

“Appears so. Also pulled his financial records—what little there is. He withdrew five hundred dollars cash the day before Melissa Wagoner was killed. Another five hundred the day before Amy Thorne. Same pattern before each murder.”

“That’s not coincidental.” Harper looked at the van where Webb was finishing his breakfast. “That’s him. That’s our guy.”

“We still need evidence,” Silas cautioned. “Following women and withdrawing cash isn’t enough for an arrest on murder charges.”