out his phone and finding the photo of the picnic, Glover’s blurry head in the corner. “Did you take this photo?”
Terrence glanced at it for a second. “Yes,” he said. “I took all the photos on the memorial board.”
“Any idea who Daniel is talking to in this picture?”
“No. I didn’t even notice he was there. This picture is about Catherine.”
“Do you have the rest of the pictures from that picnic?” Tatum asked. “And other activities of the church?”
Terrence shrugged. “Sure. What other activities?”
“There were more pictures on the memorial board,” Tatum said, swiping his screen. “Gardening, sorting clothes, cooking for the homeless . . . anything you have.”
“That would be thousands of images,” Terrence said. “Can you be more specific?”
Tatum and Zoe glanced at each other. Excitement sparkled in Zoe’s eyes. “Anything you have,” he said. “We’ll be happy to have a copy.”
Terrence frowned. Tatum was about to mention that it was crucial to finding Catherine’s killer, when the photographer said, “Sure. It’ll take me a while to get it all sorted. It’s stored on backups in the back room.”
“We can wait,” Zoe said. “Any way we can start looking over some of the pictures while you get us copies of the rest?”
“Sure,” Terrence said, his tone far from thrilled. “I have some other pictures I printed of Catherine that didn’t end up on the memorial board. You can go over those for now.”
He walked over to a plastic drawer stand in the corner of the room and opened the top drawer. It was full of paper envelopes, and he thumbed through them, finally taking one out.
“If you need anything, just holler,” he said, handing the envelope to Zoe. “I’ll be in the back room.”
He left, and Zoe took out a thick stack of photos from the envelope. She started flipping through them, Tatum leaning over to see, their heads nearly touching.
The first time Glover showed up in a photo, both of them stared at it for a long minute, taking in the details. In that picture, they could see the man he was talking to, a burly African American. A few photos later Glover appeared again, this time talking to a pair of women, one of them laughing with her palm over her lips. And then he appeared again. And again.
“Shit,” Zoe muttered.
Tatum shared the sentiment. He’d had a vague hope that the person Glover was talking to at the picnic was his partner, his close friend. It now became clear that Glover didn’t have just one person he was close to in the congregation. He’d slithered into the community, spreading his fake charm, making sure he was known and liked by everyone he’d talked to.
His partner could be anyone in the congregation. Anyone at all.
CHAPTER 24
Zoe’s mind crackled with static. Her body was clenched, as if ready to strike. Somewhere on the street, a car honked twice, and she gritted her teeth, the shrill sound infuriating her.
They’d gone back to their motel, Tatum driving, Zoe glaring out her window. Tatum had tried to talk a few times, but Zoe’s monosyllabic responses had driven him to silence. She’d known that any conversation right then would end badly.
Now, in her room, she paced back and forth on the faded rug. It felt like ants were crawling under her skin, or something was wrong with her fingernails, or her clothes were too tight. She didn’t know if she was too warm or too cold, maybe a bit of both. There was a constant grating noise, like the dragging of something heavy on an asphalt road, and she knew it was her teeth, grinding against each other.
She sat on the bed and forced herself to focus, trying to profile the type of men who’d approach Glover. Men with violent lives who wanted someone to help them get better. And at least one of them made Glover think him. See a potential ally. Someone to corrupt even further. If she concentrated, she could figure out that person’s characteristics, make him much easier to identify.
She grabbed her notebook, a pen. Tapped the pen on the paper a few times, inflicting a series of angry ink dots on the empty page. Pushed the notebook away, turned on her laptop, scrolled through some of the pictures Terrence had given them. Thousands of pictures of events indoors and outdoors, some with just a few participants, some with dozens of people. And Glover was everywhere. He’d morphed the documentation of a wholesome church community into a twisted Where’s