Chapter 28
Brooklyn Sloane
The church hall hummed with whispered conversations that seemed to swirl around Brook and the team, all of whom maintained their positions in the back of the room. No one appeared outwardly hostile, yet the tension in the air was palpable.
Were they beginning to accept that they had a killer hiding in plain sight?
“I overheard the mayor’s running fifteen minutes behind,” Bit said as he adjusted the strap of his laptop messenger bag to rest more securely on his shoulder. “I figure we have another hour before he opens the floor to us.”
Brook had requested that the mayor ensure talks for the automobile assembly plant take place first. She didn’t want to distract from their concern for the town’s survival.
While only about seventy residents had made an appearance so far, there were enough chairs for at least fifty more.
Ultimately, the town’s mayor and the city council decided whether to allow the auto assembly plant to move forward with their build, but the mayor had requested this meeting to hear out any objections.
Wooden folding chairs, their surfaces worn from years of use, had been carefully arranged in neat rows. They all faced a single podium adorned with a microphone, though there was a table off to the side for those on the city council.
Long tables lined the side walls, covered with carafes of coffee and cups for anyone who wanted a warm drink. There were also bottles of water and cans of soda available. Colorful pastries were arranged neatly on delicate paper doilies for those desiring a snack.
“Second row, right side,” Theo murmured beside her.
Brook nodded an acknowledgment. She had noticed Brett Sorsdal, as well.
He’d entered maybe five minutes prior, not wasting time as he took a seat on the opposite side of the room.
His shoulders were set in a defensive posture as he scanned the others with the wariness of someone who preferred isolation.
He must have taken his brother back to the care facility since Zeke wasn’t present.
Her gaze drifted toward the far wall, where Brian and Jillian Moore stood in conversation with the Wheats. Jillian's hands moved in short, precise gestures as she spoke, while Brian stood slightly behind his wife, his gaze drifting to Brook’s every so often.
“Do me a favor this evening,” Brook requested of Theo. “Keep a close eye on Mr. Moore this evening. We don’t know what memories will be triggered by the profile, and I don’t want a situation on our hands.”
“Understood.”
“Third row, left side.” Theo’s voice was low enough that only Brook could hear him. “Carol Hensley and Clyde Weaver.”
Brook shifted her attention to the pair.
Carol sat primly in her chair, her back barely touching the wooden support, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Beside her, Clyde slouched, his work boots crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest. Neither spoke to the other, yet there was a familiarity to their shared silence that suggested years of mutual tolerance rather than friendship.
Near the refreshment table, Lindsay Sharpe and Stephanie Maddox stood close together, their conversation clearly intense despite their attempts at casual posturing.
Lindsay's lips barely moved as she spoke, her eyes fixed on Stephanie's face with uncomfortable intensity.
Stephanie kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers constantly adjusting her watch strap.
“Was there anything of note in the background check of Lindsay’s husband?” Brook inquired, noting that Sylvie was making her way over to the two women. “Is he even in attendance?”
“As you know, Sylvie and I spoke briefly with him when we questioned Lindsay about her sister,” Theo replied as he folded his arms across his chest. “His background check was clean. Nothing stood out.”
By this time, Sylvie was near the beverage table. She busied herself by filling up two paper cups with coffee while speaking quietly with Lindsay and Stephanie. In less than two minutes, she returned and handed off the hot drinks to Brook and Theo.
“Turns out that Rachel called Desmond after she spoke with Theo on the phone,” Sylvie revealed, peering over her shoulder in the man’s direction. “Lindsay was sharing with Steph that Rachel is coming into town next week to have dinner with him. Let’s just say that big sis isn’t too happy about it.”
Desmond Brewer stood alone near the front of the room. Unlike the others who kept glancing in the team’s direction, Desmond’s sole focus seemed to be on Lindsay. He sipped his drink slowly, seemingly not bothered when the woman shot a glare in his direction.
The sudden swing of the entrance door broke the established rhythm of the room. A gust of frigid air swept in, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes that melted almost instantly in the warmth of the hall.
Figg Whitlow stood in the doorway.
A light layer of snow clung to his black beanie, and the shoulders of his leather jacket glistened with moisture. He paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room until it collided with Brook's across the distance.
His expression hardened, and she figured word had reached him about her intentions this evening. The profile she'd drafted connected the killer's fixation with his mother, and she planned to reveal that detail with the residents of Harrowick this evening.
Behind Figg, Principal Watkins appeared, removing his gloves as he entered. He placed a hand briefly on Figg's shoulder, the gesture appearing both collegial and cautionary, before moving past him into the room. Both men then moved toward empty seats at the end of an aisle.
“Things are about to get interesting,” Theo leaned closer to Brook, his voice barely audible above the renewed conversations. The mayor had just entered through a side door, accompanied by Sheriff Donovan. “I’ll make my way over to the other side of the room near the Moores.”
“Ms. Sloane,” Sheriff Donavan greeted, holding out his arm. She shook his hand, already sensing his disapproval. “Are you certain this is the right approach?”
“I agree that under normal circumstances, my profiles are generally meant solely as a tool for law enforcement,” Brook said, confident in her decision. “This case is different.”
Brook had chosen to provide details of her profile to the residents of Harrowick to shake loose information they might not even realize they possessed. To make them perceive their neighbors, friends, and family members through a different lens.
The unsub may very well be in this room.
What reaction would her profile elicit from him?
“I don’t see how,” Sheriff Donovan muttered, his objection evident. “These folks have been neighbors for years. They aren’t going to take kindly to you announcing that Loretta Whitlow was the subject of some killer’s sick fantasy.”
The mayor made his way to the podium. Once standing in front of the microphone, he cleared his throat. The feedback caused several people to wince before he called the meeting to order.
“That's precisely the point, Sheriff.” Brook observed Theo leaning a shoulder against the wood-paneled wall. “Four women are dead because everyone is so convinced they know their neighbors that they can't see what's right in front of them.”
“Well, I've put Deputy Benz near the south exit. Officer Ridley will remain by the front entrance. If anyone reacts problematically to your profile, we're prepared. If all goes well, though, we won’t stop the locals from heading home after everything is wrapped up. The roads are already slick.”
The mayor's voice droned on about infrastructure improvements and tax incentives, but her thoughts had already shifted to her approaching address.
She mentally reviewed the profile she'd constructed, focusing on the core elements—someone with local knowledge, someone who blended in, someone who was trusted, and. ..
Something struck her with such clarity that she nearly missed Donovan's parting comment about standing by if she needed anything during her speech.
Someone who belonged in the neighborhood.
Someone who wouldn't raise suspicions by being there.
“Bit.” Brook turned to find him scrolling through his phone.
“When you spoke with Paula Stillman, you mentioned she focuses on anything or anyone unusual.
But did she ever mention noticing someone familiar in Heather's neighborhood in the weeks leading up to the murder?
Not a stranger, but not a resident of that particular neighborhood.
Someone who wouldn't have seemed out of place.”
“No, she never mentioned anyone like that.” Bit slid his phone into his messenger bag. “Just the usual ‘I notice everything that happens on my street’ talk.”
Brook continued to stare at Bit expectantly until comprehension dawned across his features. When he tilted his head back with a muffled groan, she figured he understood his next assignment.
“You want me to go and ask her, don't you?” The resignation in his voice was palpable. He then began to search the room. “You’d think she’d be here.”
“Paula Stillman has already made a connection with you,” Brook pointed out.
“You've established a rapport with her. It would help to have an answer this evening, and seeing as this town hall meeting doesn’t affect her and the roads are already becoming slick, she’s probably in front of her television with a hot cup of tea. ”
“You could always bring her a bag of Twizzlers,” Sylvie murmured with a smile. “Word on the street is that she loves them.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fixodent and denture cream,” Bit muttered, unable to mask his discomfort.
“Sylvie will go with you.” Brook noticed the immediate relief that washed over him. “Keep in constant contact with Theo or me.”
“We’ll swing by the convenience store,” Sylvie said as she reached for her coat in the pile they’d made on a chair. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and zipped the front before collecting Bit’s jacket from the mound. “Here. Bundle up, buttercup.”
As Sylvie and Bit slipped through the side door, Brook turned her attention back to the room.
The crowd had grown restless, shifting in their seats as the mayor continued to detail the benefits of the proposed assembly plant.
Soon it would be her turn to address them, to present a profile that would allow her to observe their reactions.
Most of those they interviewed over the past week were in this room.
Some no longer lived in Harrowick, but those in attendance had long memories.
Someone had murdered four women and had lived among these people for years, hiding behind the comfortable assumption that neighbors always knew neighbors.
Brook was about to shatter that illusion completely.