He put on his costume and typed a quick answer. Sure, thanks. Maintain that semblance of control. The costume. The disguise.
Suddenly, he couldn’t see the point. The woman was gone. Daniel was gone. Everything had gone to hell despite his effort to stay in control.
Screaming, he tore his laptop from the few wires it was connected to and bashed it over and over on the desk. Storming out to the kitchen, he grabbed the beer bottle that the tumor had left behind and smashed it on the counter, feeling a blaze of pain in his palm as he cut himself. Dripping blood, he went through the house throwing and kicking chairs, books, discarded takeout boxes. He destroyed Daniel’s computer as well, slamming it against the wall repeatedly until the screen was a spiderweb of cracks, the keyboard keys scattered everywhere.
Breathing hard, he entered the bathroom and touched the woman’s cheek, leaving a red streak of blood on it.
She was still warm. He touched her neck and felt a weak, but steady, pulse.
He let out a shuddering, relieved breath. The rain poured on, great cacophonous torrents of water hitting the house’s shuttered windows.
CHAPTER 66
“Guess what?” Tatum said, walking into the task force room. “I just talked to Barb.”
“Who’s Barb?” Zoe asked tiredly.
“The computer wiz. The one who made the Trojan horse? It turns out that Dracula2 answered in the chat and logged off an hour ago.”
It took Zoe a second to catch on. “Swenson was still here an hour ago.”
“Yup.”
“Could he have logged off with his phone? Or—”
“I was with him an hour ago, Zoe. He didn’t log off with his phone.”
“Then that clinches it. He isn’t Glover’s accomplice. He’s not unsub beta.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
She sighed. “The evidence didn’t make sense any other way. What did Dracula2 say on the chat?”
“He wrote, ‘Sure, thanks.’ He was answering the question I asked him, if he got what he needed from the file.”
“But he didn’t open the file?”
“No. Maybe he figured out that it was a trap.” Tatum shook his head and crossed the room, slumping into an empty chair.
Zoe groaned and leaned back. Looking at the task force room, it was impossible to guess that it was Saturday night. The majority of the investigators were in the room, talking on the phone, updating the whiteboards, tapping on their laptops. O’Donnell wasn’t there, but Zoe could hear her talking outside the room on the phone. She sounded furious.
Martinez slid his chair next to hers. “I just got off the phone with Rhea Deleon’s doctor,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m trying to figure out why she was returning home so late from work. The doctor was one of the people Rhea talked to on the phone that day. Anyway, it turns out Rhea had severe anemia. Do you think the unsub knew that? Perhaps that’s why he targeted her?”
Zoe bit her lip. “The evidence doesn’t look like he targeted her. It looked like a random abduction. But maybe it affected the taste of her blood. And that could change his behavior.”
“That could explain why we haven’t found the body yet.”
That was one of the many questions they were grappling with. Catherine and Henrietta had been found soon after their murders. In Henrietta’s case, Glover had made sure it would happen. But they were getting close to forty-eight hours since Rhea’s disappearance, and there was no sign of her body.
“It’s possible,” Zoe said.
“Maybe they kept her alive.”
“Or maybe the unsub decided as a result to eat her entire body,” Zoe said.
Martinez sighed. “You sure can give everything a positive spin.”
“Cannibalistic behavior among serial killers isn’t rare, and it’s a natural progression from blood drinking.”
O’Donnell strode into the room, fuming. She stomped over to Zoe. “I need a cigarette break.”
“Okay.” Zoe frowned. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I want you to come with me.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I. But I still need a break.”
Zoe shrugged and followed O’Donnell out to the hallway. They crossed it and stepped into a room with a small gray couch, a round table with several magazines, and a potted plant. A large window faced the highway. Headlights twinkled as cars drove past. O’Donnell trudged over to the window and exhaled loudly.
“What is this room?” Zoe asked, looking around her. It almost seemed like a waiting room at a doctor’s office.
“It’s an interview room,” O’Donnell said. “For people we want to make comfortable. Family members, frightened witnesses, that sort of thing. It’s also a good