conceded. “Glover never showed any interest in publicity before, but his circumstances changed significantly.”
Agent Valentine sighed audibly from his seat. “You’re obviously missing the point.”
Tatum glanced at the man. During their time in the Chicago field office, he’d gotten to know Valentine a bit. He was a nice enough guy, with a good sense of humor. But Valentine’s patronizing manner toward Zoe set him on edge. “Which is?”
“There’s a religious aspect to these murders. First murder, they place the necklace of a cross on the victim’s neck, right on the marks of the noose that killed her. In the second murder, they draw a pentagram and then pose the victim like a sacrifice to the devil, a knife in her stomach. I bet that’s why he called to brag about it. Maybe he thinks he’s the next prophet or something.”
“Rod Glover isn’t a religious fanatic,” Zoe said. “He couldn’t care less about it.”
“Maybe. People change when they face death. Like you said, his time is running out.”
“That’s absurd. It doesn’t align with his profile at all.”
“The man has brain cancer. Who knows what’s going on in his head right now? He might be completely deranged. Besides, it might be his partner’s idea. The guy’s already drinking blood. You think devil worship is beyond him? Hell, maybe that’s what the blood drinking is all about.”
“Fine,” Zoe said curtly. “Your suggestion is noted. Thank you.”
Valentine shrugged, returning to his work.
“Here’s something else that’s bothering me.” Zoe pointed at a pair of photographs. One was from the Lamb crime scene—the markings of bloody footprints pacing around the body. The other was from the recent scene—indentations of footprints in the mud circling a part of the pentagram. “We assumed he was out of control in the first scene, which was why he was pacing around the body over and over again. But he seems to be doing the same thing here.”
“Here they’ve been drawing the pentagram, posing the body,” Tatum pointed out. “They’d have to walk around it repeatedly.”
“But it almost seems to be in a sort of pattern. See? Three paces, and he stops, turns to face the body. Then he steps sideways twice, and then here . . . three paces, and he turns to face the body. In the other scene it’s similar. I checked with O’Donnell. In both cases it’s the unsub’s footsteps, not Glover’s. It looks like some sort of obsessive ritual that follows the murder. Something that might not be related to the blood.”
“What does it tell us?”
She shook her head. “Nothing yet. But we need to look for other patterns. Perhaps this man has a set of obsessive-compulsive rituals he does. If that’s the case, it would be visible when talking to him.”
“She went with Ellis to look for that crack addict and get another look at both crime scenes.”
“We should go and have a look at the parking lot too,” Zoe said.
“Tomorrow morning?” Tatum suggested hopefully.
“I want to see it tonight, when it’s dark. That’s how they saw it.”
Tatum sighed. “Of course you do. Let me finish up, and we’ll go there together.”
CHAPTER 32
Zoe stepped into her motel room, letting the door click shut behind her. After visiting the train station’s parking lot, she’d meant to go back with Tatum to the police station and keep working. But a chill had crawled up her spine. She had to take a break. So she’d asked Tatum to drop her off at the motel.
The dark presence of Henrietta Fishburne’s death festered in her mind. She could feel it like a physical presence, straining against her skull. She had to let it out.
She took off her shoes and socks and slipped under the bedcover, letting its weight settle over her, a secure cocoon. She forced her body to relax. The day had taken a toll, especially after the little sleep of the past week, and lying down was a relief.
Shutting her eyes, she thought of the parking lot. Henrietta’s car was gone when they got there, but it was easy to imagine it, surrounded by empty parking spaces in the dark. Henrietta’s heart must have pounded in her ears, even before anything happened. Just crossing that parking lot in the dark, alone.
High heels tapping on the pavement, a brisk pace. It was cold. Zoe’s own breathing quickened, and despite the blanket on top of her, she shivered.
She reached the car, was already about to unlock it. A