“I have thirteen,” Tatum said. “You missed one. Patrick Carpenter isn’t on either of the lists.”
He was right. Patrick’s name wasn’t on the list O’Donnell had gotten from Patrick. And when Zoe had written down all the members with Albert, they’d ignored Patrick, since obviously she already knew who he was. They stared at the lists for a few seconds in silence.
“It could be Patrick. It fits,” O’Donnell finally said. “He knew Catherine well. He lives in the area we marked likely for the killer’s address.”
“She’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks,” O’Donnell said. “She was hospitalized just after we assume the unsub stopped taking his medication.”
“He’s been absent from church, supposedly because of his wife,” Zoe said.
“Does he fit the profile?” O’Donnell asked.
“His age and physical appearance fit,” Zoe said. “He might be obsessive. He would definitely have regrets after killing Catherine and would feel the urge to cover her body.”
“Didn’t his wife tell us something about being pure?” O’Donnell asked. “Just like that weird phrase of pure blood Dracula2 used. Maybe she got the idea from her husband.”
“But is he someone who could be manipulated? A follower?” Tatum asked skeptically. “He seemed quite controlling himself. He has a lot of presence in the congregation. Would he be the kind of partner Glover would want? I don’t think he’d follow instructions that easily.”
Zoe nodded. That was a good point, except . . . “He didn’t actually have a lot of presence in the photos,” she said. “He appeared a few times, but it was Catherine who was the dominant one in all those pictures. Catherine and Glover. Maybe Patrick wasn’t as important in the community as we thought. In fact, it could result in aggression toward Catherine, who was. He could view her as someone who was stealing his place.”
Tatum seemed skeptical. “That doesn’t mean anything. Didn’t you say that Albert didn’t appear a lot in the photographs either? Some people don’t like their pictures taken. And maybe the photographer didn’t like him. Or maybe he spent a lot of time in the church’s back room or something. Those photos don’t actually represent the whole truth.”
That was true, and Zoe had a hard time imagining Glover approaching a religious counselor, trying to manipulate him into killing someone. Glover would want an accomplice who didn’t draw attention.
Something Tatum had said niggled at her. She didn’t like the idea of the unsub being Patrick. She wanted to move on. But there was one thing that rang true. That they’d overlooked. Maybe something Patrick had done? Maybe he’d covered for the unsub? Or . . .
She suddenly felt dizzy.
Those photos don’t actually represent the whole truth.
She’d treated the photos as a straightforward representation of what went on in the church life, but that wasn’t actually true, was it? Sure, Catherine Lamb and Rod Glover were clearly more dominant in the pictures than any other person, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were dominant in the church’s community.
What it could mean was that they were dominant in the photographer’s perception.
In her years of working with murder files, Zoe had begun treating photographs as if they represented the entire case. Police photographers were professionals who didn’t make actual choices. They documented everything. But this photographer wasn’t a police photographer at all.
And there was something else.
“The photographer wasn’t on my list either,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “He was in every single shot, but he was the one taking them. Albert and I never even discussed him.”
“Does he fit?” O’Donnell asked.
Did he?
Like a glove.
“He’s Caucasian, of average height. The photos he took demonstrate his interest both in Catherine and in Glover. He’s definitely a follower. Tatum and I saw him following a client’s instructions to the letter. And he gave us the pictures without a lot of argument. But he also folded when Swenson demanded that he delete his pictures. He does what everyone tells him. Glover would have easily noticed that. He’s been in the church for years. Judging by the photos, he was close to Catherine. He’s . . .” She was about to say he might be obsessive, but then she realized it didn’t matter. She’d been reading the evidence wrong.
“Oh god,” she groaned. “The pacing in circles. It’s not an obsessive ritual. He took pictures!”
Those footprints. Three steps, turning to face the victim. Then again and again. She thought of