Page 88 of Whispers in the Night

The day crawled, and at noon, Holt knocked on their door before poking his head inside. “Got something on Sutton’s background. You’re going to want to see this.”

They followed him to the conference room where he’d pulled up records on the main screen.

“Before Baker City, Sutton worked for a private security firm in Portland,” Holt said, keeping his voice low. “Guess when he was there?”

Harper felt her pulse quicken. “Three years ago. When Sarah Williams and Christina Park were killed.”

“Exactly. And look at this.” Holt pulled up more records. “Before Portland, Sutton worked security in Seattle. During the time Amanda Walsh and the other Seattle victims were killed.”

Harper’s heart was pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. The timeline was damning. Sutton had been in every city where murders had occurred, working in law enforcement or security roles that would give him access to uniforms and knowledge of police procedures.

“This is it,” she said. “This is our connection. Sutton didn’t just transfer to Blackridge three years ago. He’s been movingaround the Pacific Northwest for years, and everywhere he goes, women matching our victim profile end up dead.”

“We need to verify these dates,” Silas said. “Cross-reference his employment records with the exact dates of murders in each city.”

They spent the next two hours doing exactly that. The results were chilling. In every case, Sutton had been employed in the city during the window when murders occurred. Not just a coincidental overlap. He’d been there for months before and after each killing spree.

“He’s been hunting across state lines for years,” Harper said with horror, studying the map they’d created showing Sutton’s movements. “Portland, Seattle, now Blackridge. Probably other cities too that we haven’t connected yet.”

“And his job in law enforcement gave him the perfect cover,” Silas added. “He knew police procedures, knew how to avoid detection, had legitimate reasons to be in areas where victims were found.”

Harper’s phone buzzed, slicing through the moment. Sanchez.

“I’ve been reviewing evidence logs,” Sanchez said without preamble. “Found something weird. Some of the physical evidence from the Melissa Wagoner scene—specifically, fiber samples we collected—the chain of custody documentation has irregularities.”

“What kind of irregularities?” Harper asked, her gaze flicking around the room to find everyone watching her.

“The evidence was checked out for reanalysis two days after collection. Logged as being examined by the forensics team. But I checked with forensics. They never requested that evidence. Someone accessed it without proper authorization.”

Harper felt ice slide down her spine. “Who checked it out?”

“That’s the thing. The signature on the log is illegible. Could be anyone with access to the evidence room.”

“Which officers have that access?”

“All sworn officers have badge access to the evidence room. But activity is logged electronically. I’m pulling those records now.”

Harper hung up and looked at Silas, who’d been watching her like a hawk. “Someone’s been tampering with evidence. Someone with badge access.”

“Sutton,” Silas said grimly. “He’s been monitoring the investigation from inside. Checking what evidence we have, maybe removing or contaminating samples.”

That’s exactly what she was afraid of. “We need those electronic access logs immediately.”

Ten minutes later, Sanchez had the data. Harper reviewed it, her blood running cold. Multiple evidence room entries by Officer Dale Sutton over the past two weeks. Often during off-hours when few people would be around to notice.

“What was he accessing?” Harper demanded.

Sanchez pulled up more details. “He checked out evidence from multiple scenes. Melissa Wagoner, Amy Thorne, Nicole Merrin. Each time logged as ‘routine inspection’ but never approved by a supervisor.”

“He’s been sabotaging the investigation,” Harper said. “Removing evidence that could tie him to the crimes.”

“Or checking to see what we have on him,” Silas suggested. “Making sure we’re not getting too close.”

Harper felt fury building in her chest. If he was their man—and it was looking like he was—Sutton had been operating with impunity, watching them work the case while systematically undermining their evidence. He’d been right there the whole time—in briefings, on patrols, probably listening to their theories and laughing at their inability to see him.

“We need to move on him now,” Harper said with barely controlled fury. “Before he destroys more evidence or kills again.”

“We still don’t have enough for an arrest,” Holloway said, entering the room. The chilling effect was instant. “Suspicious behavior and evidence tampering are concerning, but they’re not proof of murder.”