images, the social media, adding notes to members, sometimes circling one of the names.
The photographer also had a knack for catching small hidden moments. A hissed argument between husband and wife. A man tearing up at church. A child outside picking flowers from a freshly planted flower bed, his mom running toward him, her face twisted in anger. These were invaluable for Zoe.
When she’d left Albert’s home, that’s all they had been. A list of names, with the occasional detail—profession or age. Now, these people started to grow in her mind. Jeremy Finn had started out as a thirty-year-old married man. But after two hours of seeing him over and over in the pictures and checking his social media account, he metamorphosed. His wife appeared in only two pictures with him; in the rest, he appeared talking or standing nearby a much younger, perky congregation member. In one of them, he was touching her shoulder. And on his Facebook profile, half his “friends” were women in underwear—probably bots.
Archie Mann was the man whose eyes in the pictures always seemed distant, even when he was talking to someone. And his hands were always in his pockets.
Kyle Raker kept checking out men, his wife apparently oblivious.
Vincent Greer had sweaty armpits.
They grew in her mind, people she’d never met, each becoming a character in a macabre years-long play that ended in a violent death.
And throughout those pictures, playing their parts, smiling, talking, sometimes aware of the camera, sometimes not, were Rod Glover and Catherine Lamb. In the earlier pictures Glover was missing, and Catherine was an angel-faced teenager, usually standing by her mother’s side. But a bit later, Glover made his first appearance, and both he and Catherine started dominating the pictures as they became the focal point of the church’s community. In the final couple of years, they both appeared more in the photos than either Albert Lamb or Patrick Carpenter. Catherine had taken her mother’s place, so that made sense. But it was a testament to Glover’s charisma that he’d managed to make himself such a crucial part of the church community’s life.
CHAPTER 55
Rhea shivered in the darkness, the bathroom walls spinning. She had a high fever and was weak from hunger, thirst, and loss of blood. It was hard to concentrate. Maybe it wouldn’t be the men who’d kill her after all. Maybe it would be the infection.
She could feel the prickle underneath her leg, her one tiny hope. It had been so easy to shift her leg slightly, hide the scalpel. The one who’d helped her drink had been so frantic, so confused, he hadn’t even noticed the blade had gone missing. Now she had to force herself to wait. She could still hear movement outside the bathroom door. One of the men was still awake. And if they came in while the scalpel was visible . . .
No, she’d wait.
Her shoulders and back ached from the unnatural position she was tied in. And she was cold. So cold.
Was it late enough? She’d been in the darkness for hours, for days. Surely the two men had gone to sleep.
She moved her leg. It was hard to see the small scalpel on the floor. Impossible to reach with her hands, but she could do it with her feet. She kicked off her shoes, then carefully slid off one of her socks. She wiggled her toes, increasing the blood flow into them. Then she tried to grab the scalpel between her big toe and her index toe. It seemed to take ages. The angle was all wrong, the scalpel flat, and she kept trembling. Come on, come on, come on.
Finally, to her amazement, she managed it. The scalpel was held loosely in the air between her toes. Now, all she needed to do was get the scalpel to her hand. Once she did that, she could maybe cut the plastic zip ties. There were only two.
It turned out to be impossible.
She could almost get the scalpel to her hand. If she bent her knee and stretched against the plastic zip ties, her fingers were inches away from it. But it wasn’t enough. And then the scalpel dropped, tumbled to the floor by her waist.
Footsteps. Someone was coming. Panicking, she twisted her body, throwing herself on the scalpel. Her shoulder exploded in pain as she twisted it.
The door opened. It was that guy Daniel. His eyes glimmered in the darkness. Now he’d kill her, when his friend was asleep. She whimpered.