Page 16 of The Murder Between Us
He’d had a thousand questions he wanted to ask Noah, a thousand variations onWhat did I do wrongandHow did I scare you awayandWhy didn’t you call. Now that Noah was in front of him, an arm’s length away, every one of those questions vanished, sucked out of the universe.
An odd kind of anger filled the spaces where they had been. It was formless, shapeless, and it oozed through him like tar.I didn’t know you were FBI, he wanted to say. He eyed the gun on Noah’s hip, identical to his own. Neither of them had been armed that night.
I didn’t know you were FBI, either, he imagined Noah saying in return. Neither of them had brought up their personal lives. What they did, where they lived. If they had families. He hated himself for it, but Cole tried to see Noah’s left hand, get eyes on his ring finger. Was there a wedding band there today that hadn’t been there on Wednesday night? Was that why Noah was so fucking terrified? Was that why he’d been so adamant he couldn’t be out at home? In Des Moines, Iowa? In the FBI?
Cole filled his coffee cup and set the pot back on the burner, spinning it so the handle was at a perfect ninety degrees. “I’ll be working in the conference room,” he said. He spoke to the wall, not to Noah. “I’m going to read through the case file, then start talking to the members of the task force. Who has the most experience? Who has been on the task force the longest?” He was expecting it to be one of the sheriffs, one of the locals. It was usually a local, someone who had jurisdiction and command control but needed the heft of the FBI to support the on-the-ground investigation.
Silence. Nails scratched against the laminate countertop. “Me,” Noah choked out. “I’ve worked the case the longest. I’m the only one left from the original investigation.”
New plan, then. He’d talk to everyone else first. Cole nodded, running his tongue over his teeth. “We’ll talk later.” He pivoted and strode to the doorway. Noah didn’t move.
He wanted to come up with something to say. Something cutting. Something scathing. Something witty or wonderful. Something that would hurt like he’d been hurting, and something that would remind Noah of Wednesday night, of what they’d shared.
He kept his mouth shut but let his gaze linger on Noah before heading back to the conference room.
6
The pizza Jacobbrought back was delicious. He and Jacob demolished the entire box in under twenty minutes while Cole asked him questions about the case. Jacob had only been in the Des Moines office for three years. He was too new to have been around for the first six killings. But he’d started working with Noah as soon as Bart and Jessie were found, and he’d spent the whole weekend reviewing the case, getting up to speed on the history and the particulars.
Six victims, all young women, all college age, all accomplished in their own individual ways. Each had been featured in the local news. Each was classically beautiful with midwestern charm. They were a mix of blonde and brunette, blue eyes and brown and hazel. Each had been viciously strangled in a secluded location. Corners of college campuses. Apartments when the women were alone. In their car after working late at a restaurant.
The killer was a predator, a stalker, someone who hunted his targets and lay in wait. He was patient. He was careful. He left no forensic trace, other than the bodies of his victims.
The last three murders happened suddenly, a triple event in a single night. Stacy Shepherd’s murder broke the pattern the killer had established. Prior to her death, the killer had been as reliable as a clock, hunting his victims every four months. Cole could imagine the buildup inside of the killer: the hunger, the need, the simmering rage beginning to boil until his blood lust seized control of his fantasies and he had to act. What had made Stacy Shepherd unique that night? Why had he broken his own pattern?
And why kill Kyle and Shelly the same night?
And then why disappear for six years.
Until now.
Jessie Olson was exactly his type. She fit the victim profile to a T. And there were no forensics left behind. No trace evidence. No DNA. A ghost’s fingerprints were all over her and all over her father.
Noah appeared while he was poring through the case file, hovering like a gargoyle in the doorway as Cole started quizzing Jacob on the Olson murders. Jacob waved Noah in, pushing out a chair for him. “Noah will know more than I do about the Olsons. He was the fed on the scene. We couldn’t get involved until the task force was back up, but the sheriffs, they all requested Noah by name. He’s the expert on the case.” Jacob shrugged and threw Noah a lopsided grin. “I’m filling him in on everything I can, boss.”
“I appreciate that,” Noah said, his voice careful. Jacob’s brow furrowed. Noah wouldn’t look at Cole. He stared at his notepad. He didn’t have a pen. “You want to know about the Olson murders?”
Cole flipped through the Olson report. His eyes caught on the time of death, the time of discovery. “When did you get to the scene?”
Noah’s lips thinned. “About one thirty. Thursday afternoon.”
Well, there was one question answered. Noah wasn’t even in Vegas Thursday night when they were supposed to meet. Of course, that didn’t explain why he hadn’t called or texted.Hey, I’ve been called back to the office, can’t meet you tonight… Maybe we could keep in touch? Maybe—
Cole shook his head. “Was this the first time he’s been interrupted during one of his attacks?”
Noah and Jacob shared a look. Cole’s gaze bounced between them. He raised his eyebrows.
Noah pulled another case file out from under his notepad and passed it to Cole. “We’re not certain about this one. Kimberly Foster, a sophomore at Faith Baptist Bible College north of Des Moines, south of ISU. She was captain of the undefeated volleyball team last season. She was featured in several local newspapers. Young, pretty, accomplished. She was strangled to death in her bedroom.”
“Sounds like a fit to our killer’s profile so far. What makes you uncertain?”
“She had a stalker. She was filing a restraining order against him. He was a student at Faith, and he’d gotten aggressive with her in the past. The dean of the school tried to downplay it. Said boys will be boys about chasing pretty girls. That it was harmless.” Noah shook his head, disgust clear on his face. “She was being stalked and threatened. The school did nothing.”
“You think it’s the stalker. What’s his alibi? Where was he the night she died?”
“He claims he was in his apartment. He lives alone, and no one can verify if he really was there or not. Cell phone records have him in his apartment all night, but it’s easy to ditch a cell phone if you need to. We checked his Netflix records, his cell phone records, his ISP data. If he was at home, he was doing nothing all evening. We don’t have any activity on his ISP router until almost four in the morning, when he started playing video games. And Kimberly was killed sometime between eleven p.m. and two a.m.”
“Physical evidence?”
