Page 37 of Her Last Secret

“No, sorry. I didn’t think to ask.”

“That’s fine. Excellent work, Officer Daniels.”

She ended the call with a small spark of excitement forming in her gut. The theatrical link, the shadow of Sarah Jennings—murdered just days prior—and now Natalie, stepping into the spotlight with an act of staged violence. It fit the pattern perfectly, and she felt certain she’d be on whatever morbid list the killer was keeping.

She went back into the tech closet, but instead of reclaiming her seat, she tapped Jack on the shoulder. He was in the middle of listening to one of the calls, the headphone cans pressed tightly against his ears. He jumped a bit, startled, and then turned to her.

“We’ve got a name,” she said. “An actress who acts out a murder on stage. An actress our killer hasn’t gotten to yet.” Then, looking to the woman who was running the controls, she said, “Can you get us in the criminal database from here?”

“Sure can,” she said, turning her tired eyes to a small laptop that sat on the same desk as the other equipment, pretty much forgotten. She pulled up an application, typed in her credentials and asked: “What’s the name?”

“Natalie King. For right now, I just need her contact information, phone number and address to start with.”

"Just one second…”

They watched as the woman inputted the name and then made a few clicks. Rachel was, of course, familiar with the process and though the woman was clearly adept at the task, it felt like it was taking forever simply because of the weight of the moment.

“Here we go,” the woman said, rolling her chair to the side so they could see the number that had popped up on the screen.

Rachel wasted no time, calling the number right away. Her fingers danced over her phone as she typed the number in. Jack stood at her side, his face etched with concern as they huddled in the corner of the room. She hit the call button, and the line rang in her ear.

"Come on," Rachel murmured under her breath, a plea to the universe as much as to the absent actress.

But the call rang hollowly before diverting to voicemail, the automated voice grating against the tension that hung between them. Jack's eyes met Rachel's—a silent exchange heavy with dread.

"We have the number. How long would it take you to trace the phone?" she asked the woman at the controls. Rachel, of course, knew that she could call the bureau and have the location in about fifteen minutes, if not sooner. But they seemed to be on a roll here, and she didn't want to get out of the groove.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect. Can you run that search?”

The woman smiled and said, “Already doing it.”

“Thank you.”

Rachel and Jack stepped out of the tech closet while they waited. Back out in the hallway, the smell of coffee from elsewhere down the hall pinged her senses. Yes, she was tired and she knew more caffeine would only give her the jitters, but she needed something. Besides that, maybe a nice little jolt of caffeine would help the stubborn headache to go away.

“You look tired, Rachel,” Jack said as he followed behind her.

“I’d imagine so, because I feel tired,” she said with a grin.

“And you’re sure you’re up for all of this? This case…it’s a hell of a test to jump into after almost six weeks off the clock.”

“Yeah, I’m good. I promise. I may not be if you keep worrying about me, though.”

They found the small breakroom where the smell of coffee was emanating from. She poured herself a cup from one of the two pots and did not bother doctoring it up with cream or sugar—even though she usually took it with three sugars. Jack elected to skip a caffeine fix, settling for a bottled water from the fridge.

“You know what I’ve been wondering?” Jack said. “What if this guy thinks he’s putting on his own performance?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the calls to the police after he’s murdered them…they come very soon after. He’s not waiting a day or so. He wants them found right away. Maybe he sees himself as an actor of some kind, putting on a show.”

“Could be,” Rachel said after a sip of her coffee. “But if that’s the case, who would the audience be?”

“Maybe an old drama teacher or an ex-lover. Who knows? Anyway, if we think about it in that cont—”

There was a rapid knocking noise from the doorway of the room. They both turned and saw the woman from the tech closet. Her eyes were slightly widened with anticipation but she still looked tired.

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