Page 17 of The Shadowed Oracle
But that was where the thought ended.
As if awakening from a dream, Ingrid’s smile faded, almost forgetting herself and what she was there for. She casually checked her phone, played idly with her hair, then stood and walked far away from the family like she’d been instructed to do.
“If anyone shows up,” the mechanical FBI agent who’d interviewed her had said. “Take a few moments before moving. If he’s watching, we don’t want him to think you’re protecting anyone.”
He and the San Bruno detectives had taken days to finally cave in and accept her offer. Two more bodies had been found—both men, both posed the same way, both covered in more of those strange markings—and they were back to square one. Seeing as her gift bag and book yielded no DNA results, they were desperate, willing to try anything.
Even Dean relented. When the symbols became more complex, he’d shown Ingrid the pictures in the back office of the restaurant just the day before, hoping they would trigger another unexplainable vision.
“You guys are hopeless, aren’t you?” Ingrid joked.
But Dean was far from laughing. He shuffled through another perplexing combination of emoting—disbelief, anger and disappointment. He wasn’t supposed to be showing her the photos, Ingrid knew that, yet Dean never mentioned any need for secrecy. He only seemed upset with the lack of resultsshe gave him, more concerned with the markings than any reprimands that might come.
She let it go, but she did not forget.
She had more pressing matters to tend to first.
I want to see you, to thank you in person. Meet me at San Bruno City Park, 5 PM, please?
Her text to the killer was a long shot that had only elicited a very vague response: “Wherever you are, I follow.” But Ingrid knew he would be there. Watching.
When she was far enough away from the picnicking family, Ingrid searched for a new spot to sit. A stone bench with a plaque in the center was in the distance, just at the edge of the brush. Texting without looking too long at her screen, she asked permission from Dean before starting.
“You tryingto get kidnapped?” he sent back immediately.
“I’mtrying to catch the guy. And every time I have to use my phone to contact you, the likelihood of that happening drops significantly, I imagine.” She rolled her eyes, even though there was no audience. “We should’ve gotten earpieces. I told you.”
A minute went by.
“Just asked Agent Charisma,” Dean responded. “He says we still can’t get you an earpiece.”
“Why? Texting looks so suspicious.”
“A girl in her early twenties being on her phone does not look suspicious. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I’m twenty-seven, you idiot,” Ingrid typed out, then deleted it, feeling silly.
“Just focus,” was Dean’s next message.
“Got it. Can I sit on the bench now?”
“No! This guy could jump out of the woods and disappear with you in seconds!”
“Then set up one of your guys in there,” Ingrid offered.
But she got no response back.
Another minute passed.
Then another.
Ingrid stood in the middle of the park, feeling awkward and anxious. She was sure this kind of behavior would strike suspicion in the killer’s mind if hewasstill considering meeting with her, but strutted toward the bench anyway, gripping her phone tightly.
Before she made it, her screen lit up.
Dean: “We’ve got two officers in the woods, just behind you now.”
Ingrid tucked her phone away and peered around with just her eyes. The cops were all over, posted at every entrance of the park. Dressed casually, of course, but unable to hide that distinctive energy most officers possessed. Staunch posture. Eyes unblinking.
