Chapter 17
Harper woke to gray morning light and the sound of rain pattering against the cabin windows. Silas was already up. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, the smell of coffee drifting into the bedroom.
She lay there for a moment, listening to the rain and trying to convince herself to get out of bed and face another day of hunting a killer who stayed consistently ahead of them.
Six women dead. A suspect list that included fellow officers.
A fiber evidence breakthrough that pointed toward law enforcement but didn’t narrow it down enough to be useful.
They were missing something. Some crucial piece that would make everything click into place.
Harper forced herself up, showered, dressed. By the time she emerged, Silas had breakfast ready—scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh coffee. The domestic routine was becoming familiar, comforting in a way that both warmed and terrified her.
“Morning,” he said, handing her a plate. “You were restless last night. Bad dreams?”
“Just thinking.” Harper sat at the small kitchen table, remembering how she’d tossed and turned all night. “About the case. About what we’re missing.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Silas joined her with his own plate. “Holloway said Sutton’s full service record would be ready this morning. And we should have more security footage analyzed from Amanda’s route.”
They ate quickly, both eager to get to the station despite the early hour. The rain had settled into a steady drizzle by the time they pulled into the parking lot at seven-thirty a.m.
Inside, the station was already buzzing with activity. Morris and Holt were at their desks, surrounded by coffee cups and case files. Sanchez had three monitors going at his tech station. And Captain Holloway was in his office, door open, looking like he’d been there all night.
“Conference room in ten,” Holloway called out when he saw them. “Got updates on multiple fronts.”
Harper and Silas grabbed coffee and settled into the conference room. When everyone had gathered inside and the door was closed, Holloway pulled up several documents on the main screen.
“First, Oliver Webb,” Holloway began. “We’ve been surveilling him for four days now. In that time, he’s done nothing but exist. No contact with potential victims, no suspicious behavior beyond being a transient who follows women occasionally.”
“That’s still suspicious,” Harper said.
“It is. But it’s not murder.” Holloway pulled up Webb’s timeline. “More importantly, we got access to his phone records through a warrant. On the nights that Jennifer Cross and Rachel Kim were killed, Webb’s phone pinged cell towers in completely different parts of the city. He has alibis.”
Harper felt frustration spike. “He could have left his phone somewhere to establish an alibi.”
“Could have. But we also pulled traffic camera footage.” Holloway showed them images. “Webb’s van was caught on camera during the estimated times of death for both Jennifer and Rachel—miles away from the crime scenes. Unless he has a twin or can teleport, he’s not our guy.”
The disappointment was crushing. Webb had seemed like such a strong suspect—the right age, right build, suspicious behavior, financial irregularities coinciding with murder dates. But if he had solid alibis for two of the murders, he couldn’t be the killer.
“So we’re back to square one,” Harper said.
“Not exactly. We’ve eliminated a major suspect, which means we can focus our resources elsewhere.
” Holloway switched to another document.
“Specifically, on the law enforcement angle. I spent last night reviewing service records for every officer who fits our basic parameters. Found something interesting about Officer Dale Sutton.”
Harper’s pulse quickened, but she tried to keep a calm demeanor. “What?”
“Sutton transferred to Blackridge PD three years ago from a small department in eastern Oregon—Baker City. I called their chief this morning. We had an…interesting conversation.” Holloway referred to his notes.
“Sutton was a decent officer there, no major issues. But the chief mentioned something off the record—there were rumors. Complaints from female officers about Sutton being too intense, too focused on them. Nothing that rose to the level of formal complaints, but enough that it created an uncomfortable work environment.”
“Stalking behavior,” Silas guessed.
Holloway arched his dark brows. “Potentially. The chief said when a position opened up in Blackridge, he quietly encouraged Sutton to apply. A way to move him along without having to deal with a formal investigation.”
“So Sutton has a pattern of inappropriate fixation on women,” Harper said. “That fits our profile.”
“It gets better,” Holloway continued. “I pulled Sutton’s duty assignments for the past two weeks.
He was on patrol in areas where victims were last seen on multiple occasions.
Not just Amanda Crawford. He was also patrolling near the gym where Amy Thorne worked out the night before she died.
And he responded to a noise complaint two blocks from Melissa Wagoner’s apartment the day before her murder. ”
Morris pulled up a map, marking Sutton’s patrol routes and victim locations. The overlap was significant.
“That’s not coincidental,” Harper said, sitting forward and studying the map. “He’s been in proximity to multiple victims shortly before their deaths.”
“But proximity isn’t proof,” Silas cautioned. “He’s a patrol officer. His job is to be in those areas. And we have no physical evidence connecting him to any crime scene.”
“Yet,” Harper pointed out. “What about the fiber evidence? Do we know what Sutton’s uniform schedule is?”
Holloway checked his notes. “He gets new uniforms issued every six months through the department. Last issue was three months ago. The fibers we found at the crime scenes match Blackridge PD uniforms from the same manufacturer and lot.”
“So he has access to uniforms that match the fiber evidence,” Harper said, her mind churning. “Along with being in proximity to victims and having a history of inappropriate fixation on women. That’s enough to warrant deeper investigation.” She looked between the men for agreement.
“Agreed,” Holloway said, and Harper took a breath. “But we need to be smart about this. If Sutton is our guy and he realizes we’re looking at him, he could run. Or worse, accelerate his killing. We need solid evidence before we move.”
“What’s our next step?” Silas asked, his expression grim but determined.
“I want twenty-four-hour surveillance on Sutton. Discreet, nothing that would alert him. Track his movements, see where he goes when he’s off duty.” Holloway looked at Morris. “Can you coordinate that?”
“Yes, sir,” Morris said with a sharp nod. “We’ll use officers from surrounding departments, no one Sutton would recognize.”
“Good.” Holloway’s attention shifted. “Holt, I want you to dig deeper into Sutton’s background. Where he’s lived, who he associates with, any complaints or concerns from his past that might not have made it into official records.”
“On it, Captain.”
“And I want his locker searched,” Harper added. “If he’s keeping trophies from victims, that’s where they’d be.”
“We’d need a warrant for that,” Holloway said. “And to get a warrant, we need probable cause. Right now, we have suspicion and coincidence. That’s not enough.”
Harper wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. They had to build a case carefully, methodically. One misstep could blow the entire investigation.
The meeting broke up with assignments distributed. Harper and Silas returned to their office to review everything they had on Sutton. Service record, duty rosters, any documentation of his time with Blackridge PD.
“Something bothers me,” Silas said as they worked. “If Sutton is our guy, how has he stayed so invisible? We’ve been investigating for two weeks. We’ve reviewed hundreds of hours of security footage, interviewed dozens of witnesses. How has he managed to not appear in any of it?”
“Because he knows how investigations work,” Harper reminded him. “He knows where cameras are, knows how to avoid them. He knows what questions we’ll ask and how to stay off the radar.”
“But he’s left fiber evidence at multiple scenes. That’s sloppy for someone who’s otherwise been so careful.”
Harper inhaled deeply and looked toward the ceiling, considering that. “Maybe he doesn’t know about the fibers. Maybe he thinks his uniforms are safe, that we wouldn’t think to look at law enforcement.”
“Or maybe the fibers are deliberate,” Silas suggested, tapping his pen on the desk rhythmically. “A way to thumb his nose at us. ‘I’m right here, hiding in plain sight, and you still can’t catch me.’”
The thought made Harper’s skin crawl. If Sutton was intentionally leaving evidence to taunt them, it showed a level of arrogance that suggested he thought he was untouchable.
The day crawled, and at noon, Holt knocked on their door before poking his head inside. “Got something on Sutton’s background. You’re going to want to see this.”
They followed him to the conference room where he’d pulled up records on the main screen.
“Before Baker City, Sutton worked for a private security firm in Portland,” Holt said, keeping his voice low. “Guess when he was there?”
Harper felt her pulse quicken. “Three years ago. When Sarah Williams and Christina Park were killed.”
“Exactly. And look at this.” Holt pulled up more records. “Before Portland, Sutton worked security in Seattle. During the time Amanda Walsh and the other Seattle victims were killed.”
Harper’s heart was pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. The timeline was damning. Sutton had been in every city where murders had occurred, working in law enforcement or security roles that would give him access to uniforms and knowledge of police procedures.