sudden movement in the shadows. A hand grabbing her, pulling her. A blazing pain in her neck. A struggle.
Zoe’s fingers tightened, grasping the bedsheet. She thought of the bloodstains on the pavement and envisioned what they meant: Henrietta, consumed by terror, fleeing from her attacker, not even realizing that she was getting farther from safety. Trees looming ahead, the darkness consuming her surroundings as she left the parking lot’s spotlights behind her. Someone grabbing her, hissing threats. The fabric tightening around her throat. Zoe still remembered how that felt, would never forget: Glover behind her, his grunts as he tightened the noose, a desperate need to breathe, clawing at her own neck. His rough fingers touching her skin, prodding, scraping.
She trembled, her memories merging with what Henrietta must have gone through. She’d waded into a stream, only to have her feet plunge deep, tumbling, realizing it wasn’t a stream at all. It was a turbulent river, the current pulling her down.
She gasped, fought her way out of her waking nightmare, pulling herself back with the sensation of the fabric between her fingers. She was in the motel’s bed, gasping for breath. It wasn’t the first time she’d imagined a victim’s last moments. But knowing Glover had been there, the memory of her own encounter with him still vivid, had turned this into something much worse.
She threw the blanket off her. Her body was clammy with sweat, and she still felt the phantom touch of his hands on her skin. She took off her clothes and hurried to the shower, turning the water boiling hot. The water felt sublime, and the tension that gripped her body slowly diminished. Her mind wandered.
Running in the dark, stumbling, someone gripping her, turning her around, Glover’s leering face close to hers.
Zoe stifled a scream, shutting off the water. Her mind drew her back.
She knew from experience that not letting the imaginary sequence run its course would only result in horrific nightmares. She toweled herself, then returned to bed.
Despite the fact that Zoe had been dogging Glover’s murders for twenty years, Henrietta Fishburne’s body was the first victim she’d actually seen lying at the scene of the crime. Seeing that body must have jarred her mind, awakening all the memories and traumas connected to him. His attack on Andrea. The murders of Beth, Jackie, and Clara. Her own encounter with him, just months before. Barricading herself and Andrea in the room as he pounded on the door.
She could rationalize what she was going through, but it did little to help the trembling that took over her body again.
And it couldn’t stop the images of Henrietta, running in the dark, Glover close on her heels.
CHAPTER 33
The door to the situation room opened abruptly. Tatum raised his gaze from his laptop, meeting O’Donnell’s tired eyes as she stepped into the room.
She looked around, taking in the empty seats and discarded coffee cups. “Where is everyone?”
“Koch and his partner are interviewing Henrietta Fishburne’s parents and close friends,” Tatum said. “I dropped Zoe back at the motel after we went to take a look at the parking lot. Agent Valentine is at the forensic lab. Ellis was with you. Some uniformed cops are still doing door to door in the vicinity of the train station.”
She shut her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose tiredly.
“Any luck finding the mysterious witness?” Tatum asked.
“No luck so far. Ellis thinks it’s a guy named Good Boy Tony, but he wasn’t in his usual haunts. We’ll try again tomorrow. Any news here?”
Tatum got up from his chair and walked over to the Fishburne murder board. “Diver team found some of the victim’s clothing and purse.” He pointed at the picture of the muddy items in clear evidence bags. “We have a shirt and a single shoe. The purse had her car keys and phone. The car keys match her silver FIAT, in case we had any doubt. The phone was sent to the lab.”
“They made sure we’d find the body but threw her stuff into the river,” O’Donnell said thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s something incriminating in her phone?”
“It’s possible, but I doubt it. She was a random victim. I think they just did their best to cover their tracks. Waste our time.” Tatum frowned, a glimmer of an idea in his mind. “They’re buying time. Maybe because Glover just knows he’ll die soon? But it seems almost as if it’s more than that. They’re working fast . . .” It was frustrating, feeling that