Chapter 16
Brooklyn Sloane
The photograph in Brook's hand spelled it out for her. She held it up once more, studying the dark figure against the harsh white glare flooding through the cabin window. The man’s need for information revealed part of the profile that the initial profiler—and she—had never been certain about.
Death wasn’t the reason the unsub had stopped killing women.
Outside, the storm had exhausted itself into sporadic flurries, but its aftermath had effectively sealed them inside this remote corner of Ohio until the plows could carve through the drifts piled along the narrow access roads.
Brook turned back around, mindful of the mug in her other hand, and leaned against the door of Bit's cramped cabin. Theo and Sylvie sat on Bit's half-heartedly made bed, tablets balanced on their laps, while Bit occupied his swivel chair in front of the cluttered table.
“If we go on the assumption that the intruder is our unsub, he is concerned enough about our presence to risk exposure,” Brook said as she leaned forward to set the photo on the table. There wasn’t much room to maneuver inside the cabin. “That’s to our advantage.”
“I could have done without being the one to figure that out.” Bit swiveled in his chair, the movement causing a minor avalanche of empty ramen cups.
Considering he’d devoured an entire pizza on his own last night, with a few additional garlic knots, Brook wasn’t sure how he had room for a midnight snack.
“Next time someone needs to verify a serial killer is still active, I vote for Theo. He can handle himself in a blizzard.”
“You handled yourself just fine,” Brook affirmed as she made her way around the table toward the fireplace.
“And I don’t believe the unsub is active.
What was most likely proven yesterday was that he didn't stop killing because he was dead or incarcerated—he chose to stop.
And now he's worried we'll disrupt his life. So, we start at the beginning, and see what shakes loose.”
“According to Heather’s parents, friends, and colleagues, she wasn't in a relationship at the time of her death,” Theo said from his position at the end of the bed.
He was facing outward, whereas Sylvie had propped herself up against the metal headboard with a pillow.
“Bit’s brief conversation with Paula Stillman also confirms Heather’s relationship status.
She led a quiet life, with the exception of Thursday evenings. ”
“Not brief enough,” Bit muttered in response to Theo’s comment about Heather’s neighbor.
Bit’s reply caused Theo to smirk before he brought up an interesting find from yesterday.
“Figg Whitlow was seen arguing with Heather.” Theo lifted one leg so he could rest his forearm on his knee, giving Bit a little more room to collect the ramen cups and toss them into the small garbage pail under the table.
“The Wheats weren’t close enough to hear the exchange, but Whitlow’s body language was enough to catch the couple’s attention. ”
“How confident are we that the volunteer program wasn’t the only thing in Heather’s life that she kept under wraps?
” Brook asked, knowing full well just how easy it was to pull the wool over an entire town.
No one wanted to believe their friends and family members lived anything other than a typical life.
“If Heather was afraid no one would approve of her extracurricular activities, maybe she believed the same about Figg Whitlow.”
“You might be onto something,” Sylvie said, glancing up from her tablet.
“When Brook and I met with Heather’s parents, they still spoke about Brett Sorsdal like he was the son-in-law they should’ve had.
It was almost like they were clinging to that version of the past. Maybe Heather understood just how rooted they were in their opinions.
Maybe she was afraid of how they’d react if they found out she was interested in the town’s so-called bad boy.
Parents are quick to judge—and a neck tattoo doesn’t exactly scream trustworthy family man.
I can pay a visit to the tattoo parlor tomorrow. ”
“There were two mothers in the school’s lobby when I was speaking with the Wheats. I can pretty much guarantee that Figg Whitlow has already been informed that we know of his argument with Heather.”
“Theo, you should go with Sylvie tomorrow for those interviews,” Brook advised now that their circumstances had changed. “I want Bit to remain here.”
Brook could sense that they wanted to argue, but the unsub was beginning to panic. Since Figg Whitlow was one of the few men on their list they had yet to interview, it was best to conduct the interview with two team members.
“We can eliminate Tyler Quinn as a suspect,” Brook advised as she enjoyed the warmth of the fire.
“He doesn’t fit the profile, and he was also at the station with his lawyer when the unsub paid Bit a visit.
Sheriff Donovan confirmed they were still processing paperwork involving the hit and run until early evening. ”
“The reentry program Theo checked out yesterday shut down about six years ago,” Bit added as he continued to focus on one of his screens. “Lack of funding from the state, according to the newspaper archives.”
“Heather’s art course was popular, according to the head organizer of the program.” Theo was also staring intently at Bit's screen. “I gave Bit a list of the former inmates who attended that particular class.”
“I've already uploaded background checks on three of the felons,” Bit advised, reaching for the prepackaged bag of powdered donuts that Sylvie had picked up at the convenience store yesterday. He rolled sideways to a spot at the table that he’d cleared to eat messy snacks.
“Two with felonies for auto theft, one for grand theft. Their records reveal a history of manipulation and deceit, but not violence. We are still waiting on two more background checks, and one is still fully pending. The federal system is backlogged, which is slowing things down.”
“What about the program organizer? The person who would have recruited Heather to teach these classes?”
“Dorothy Wilkerson,” Theo supplied after taking a glance at his notebook. “Older, and now completely retired from social work. I spoke to her in person yesterday, and she stated that she can’t quite recall how Heather came to her wanting a position. For what it’s worth, I believe her.”
Theo picked up his water bottle, taking a long sip before tucking it back against his leg.
“And Brett Sorsdal?”
Brook met Sylvie’s gaze as they both considered Theo’s inquiry. Brett's demeanor during their visit had been controlled, though clearly agitated by their presence. His protective stance toward his brother seemed genuine, yet in a way that suggested there might be something else.
“His woodworking skills indicate patience, precision, and artistic sensibility,” Brook replied, carefully weighing each word. “He maintains a workshop that shows meticulous organization. There's a perfectionism there that aligns with aspects of our unsub's behavior. We can’t rule him out.”
“According to Brett Sorsdal’s background check, he has no criminal history,” Sylvie interjected, scrolling through information on her tablet. “Not even a parking ticket. But…”
Sylvie leaned forward, causing the pillow behind her to slip down against the metal headboard. She’d obviously discovered something of interest.
“Brook, remember when Brett mentioned checking Zeke out of the care home for a week or two every other month or so?” Sylvie asked, pulling Brook’s attention back to the matter at hand. “It started eleven years ago.”
Bit began to cough, as if he’d inhaled the white powder from the donuts into his lungs.
Brook realized almost immediately that he’d gotten the information regarding Zeke Sorsdal’s care in a way that blurred the lines.
Considering this was a private client and not a federal investigation, she’d ignore the chain of evidence.
“Before that, Brett would visit his brother every Sunday,” Sylvie added while scrolling through the information on the screen of her tablet. “I can’t find any reason for the change in routine.”
“Did this begin before or after Heather’s death?” Brook asked as she grabbed her mug and took the few steps to the end of the table.
Not wanting to have to walk back and forth between cabins in the cold, she’d carried the Keurig machine with her this morning. More out of habit than needing additional caffeine, she slipped in a new pod, then placed her mug in the tray and pressed the start button.
“After.”
The implication settled over the room as the Keurig machine began to filter water through the coffee pod. Brook twisted the outer band of her worry ring, mulling over what could have prompted such a change besides Heather’s death.
“I need to speak with Zeke.”
“Brett made it pretty clear he didn't want us involving his brother,” Sylvie warned as she reached behind her to reposition the pillow. “You're going to get resistance.”
“I’ll drive over there tomorrow while the two of you interview Whitlow and Brewer,” Brook said, catching the way Sylvie and Theo exchanged concerned glances. “Don’t worry. I’ll contact the sheriff’s office and have a deputy meet me out there.”
“Speaking of Desmond Brewer, what’s this about him showing up at the diner during your breakfast with Heather’s friends?”
“Yeah, it was odd,” Sylvie replied to Theo’s inquiry. She lifted her knees so she could rest her tablet against her legs. “I have no doubt that he was trying to overhear our conversation. I think—”
The generator outside hiccupped briefly, causing the side lamp to flicker before stabilizing. Such momentary power fluctuations had become routine, and Bit’s frustration level had lessened over the past few days. She figured he’d still rather be anywhere than Harrowick.
“Incoming video call,” Bit announced, spinning his chair to face the primary monitor. He pressed a key and then flashed a grin. Brook retrieved her fresh mug of coffee before making her way around the table, mindful of Theo’s shoes. “What’s up, Gumshoe?”
“I can’t see you, Bit. I can see my own face, but how do I…”
Bit launched into an elaborate explanation about how Arden needed to tap anywhere on the phone’s screen except his own face.
Arden’s frustrated attempts to follow the instructions weren’t anything the team hadn’t witnessed before, and Brook took her time maneuvering in between the table and bed.
She came to a standstill behind Bit while ensuring she wasn’t in Theo’s line of sight.
Arden was currently jabbing at the screen like he was trying to poke a stubborn balloon into submission.
“Not your face, Gumshoe! Any other place on the screen.”
“I don’t think this is working. Bit?” The screen currently displayed only his forehead and eyes, magnified to the extreme, as he continued to hold the phone too close to his face. “Maybe you should call me back. I’ll just end the video and—”
The image on screen suddenly jostled and tilted wildly before settling into a more conventional framing of Arden's face. His salt and pepper hair was slightly disheveled, and a smile gradually appeared underneath his mustache at the realization that the video connection had finally resolved itself.
“There you are,” Arden stated in satisfaction.
He cleared his throat a few times when he spotted her standing to the right of Bit.
She’d pulled Arden aside before the team had departed D.C.
He had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to his relationship with Elizabeth Elliott.
She’d made sure he understood her position on his private life, and she’d also imparted her opinion that Graham had simply been taken by surprise.
All he wanted was for his mother to be happy.
“Per your request, I’ve been going through the death certificates issued before and after the murders.
You all mentioned that something instigated the murders, as well as ended them.
So, to be on the safe side, I pulled records from the year Heather was murdered to the twelve months following Lila Hartman’s case.
Low and behold, I believe I found something that I think can help you. ”
“What did you find, Gumshoe?”
“A marriage license application.” Arden held up a piece of paper as if they could read the small words printed on the front. “Filed approximately seven months before Heather's murder.”
“Heather was going to marry someone?” Sylvie asked before scooting to the edge of the bed. “Was it Figg Whitlow?”
“No,” Arden replied, his brow furrowing until the rough salt and pepper strands of his eyebrows practically knitted together. “Not Heather. I’m talking about Desmond Brewer.”
“What about Desmond Brewer?” Brook had learned long ago that patience was needed with Arden.
He was an old-school private investigator.
His mind connected the dots, and he assumed everyone else could do the same with limited information.
“Nothing in Desmond’s background check indicates he is married. ”
“Oh, he’s not,” Arden replied, waving the piece of paper in victory. “You see, the application was filed by Mr. Brewer, but the actual license was never picked up. The marriage never took place.”
“And who was the intended spouse, Arden?”
By this time, everyone was fixated on the screen. Arden pulled the phone close, causing everyone to instinctively pull back in unison.
“That's where it gets interesting,” Arden replied as they got up close and personal with his forehead. “The woman was Rachel Sharpe. Lindsay Sharpe’s younger sister. And that’s not all. You see, Rachel left Harrowick abruptly eleven years ago. Three weeks before Heather Moore was killed.”