Mike Omer - In the Darkness

“Is she okay?”

“Andrea’s fine.” Zoe smiled, thinking of the message her sister had sent her an hour ago. Ever since Marvin had temporarily moved himself to the apartment, Andrea had begun sending her endless GIFs of the two grumpy old men from the Muppets. Though she couldn’t be sure, she got the sense that Andrea couldn’t get enough of Marvin’s company.

The barman placed their drinks in front of them. Zoe had asked for Guinness; Joseph had ordered a pint of Shiner.

Zoe took a swig of her beer, licking the froth from her upper lip, enjoying the heavy creamy taste. She was glad Joseph had come. Though Tatum had wanted to get some takeout and keep talking about the case, Zoe needed a break. The bitter taste that followed her after Jensen had ruined their interrogation mingled with exhaustion that followed the constant attempts to guess the killer’s motives. It was overwhelming. She wanted to talk to someone outside the case.

“So how did you spend Friday evening?” she asked.

“Went to see a movie with some friends.” He shrugged. “We had some laughs.”

He told her about a girl who’d sat in the seat in front of him. She’d apparently kept overreacting to the movie scenes to the point where he’d been more invested in her reactions than in the movie itself. Zoe listened with a smile, her mind slipping in and out of focus, thinking of Andrea, of Schrodinger, of Alfred Sheppard. She was almost sure Sheppard wasn’t their guy. If she had to guess, she’d peg Sheppard as a man obsessed with serial killers who reacted to an actual killer hunting in his city. If Lyons received the search warrant, Zoe was willing to bet they’d find endless serial killer paraphernalia in his home.

But she didn’t think he was the killer.

They put surveillance on him for now, just in case. She felt a fresh surge of anger at how effectively Jensen had managed to demolish their efforts.

“What are you thinking about?” Joseph asked her.

She looked around her. Half the tables were empty. The atmosphere seemed subdued. “This place is a lot emptier tonight. Is it always like that on Saturday?”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Any progress there?”

“We have some very good leads. It looks promising.”

“I read an interview you gave to the press,” Joseph said. “You sounded very sure of yourself.”

“We have a lot of experience finding these people, and in this case in particular, we have a bit of an advantage.”

“What advantage?”

“I’d rather not talk about—”

Her phone rang. She sent an apologetic look at Joseph and picked it up. It was Tatum.

“I don’t want to interfere with your date,” he said, giving the word date a strange inflection Zoe couldn’t figure out. “But I got something for you.”

“What?”

“Shelton got a crew driving with a GPR running—”

“GPR?”

“The ground-penetrating radar. They already found one of this guy’s pits.”

She smacked her palm on the bar, eliciting several frowns from people around her. “Where?”

“To the north, about half a mile north of Grape Creek. In one of the Tulia soil areas.”

“North of Grape Creek?” She got up, mouthing be right back to Joseph. “How far from San Angelo?”

“Five and a half miles.”

“Almost at the edge of our search area.” She pushed open the door and walked outside. Despite the night’s darkness, it was dry and hot. She was slowly getting used to the climate and didn’t find it nearly as unbearable as she had the first day she landed. “Do you think we should widen our perimeter?”

“We still have a lot of ground to cover,” Tatum said. “They stopped for the night, and it’s the weekend, so I doubt we’ll be able to get another GPR before Monday. I think we’re good for now.”

“How does it look?”

“Six feet deep, rectangular, covered with two large boards, and about fifteen inches of soil on top of them. It was a few yards away from the road, hidden from sight. About what you’d expect.”

“Did Foster get surveillance on it?”

“He’s working on it now. Jensen’s in a huff, because we already added one surveillance tonight, and it’s the weekend. More overtime, I guess. Anyway, Lyons told me it’ll be fine. They’ll get the surveillance running even if they need to be there themselves.”

“This is fantastic news, Tatum.”

“I know.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You can go back to your dinner now. I’ll let you know if anything else happens.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up the phone, walking back past empty seats until she reached the bar. Their dishes had been served while Joseph was waiting.

“Good news?” Joseph asked.

“Some progress on the case,” she answered. “God, this smells fantastic—I’m starving.”

She sliced a large bite of steak and put it in her mouth, shutting her eyes with pure joy. She chewed and swallowed, then smiled at Joseph. “I’d never tell Andrea this, but the steak here is infinitely better than hers.”

“Welcome to Texas.” Joseph smiled at her. “I have to say I don’t recall ever seeing a woman enjoy food the way you do.”

“Maybe you were dating the wrong sort of women.”

“If I’d dated the right kind, I’d have a ring on my finger by now.”

“You want to get married?”

“Sure.” He gave her a look. “But no need to be alarmed. I’m not going to pop the question.”

She let out a snort. “Well, I’m leaving in two days, so I doubt you would, anyway.”

“Don’t underestimate me. Let me remind you I’ve chased women across the country before.” He burst out laughing. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to stalk you back to your home.”

A moment later he seemed to realize his comment was a bit in poor taste, because he became deadly serious. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

“Don’t worry about it.” Zoe shook her head, smiling.

They ate a bit in silence. The place really was mostly empty. That would hamper the killer as well. She tried to imagine him right now. Was he outside his chosen target’s house, like he had been with Maribel and Nicole, hoping she’d leave home soon? It might take weeks before that happened. Maybe they’d manage to catch him watching his target’s house before he struck again. Or maybe he’d visit one of his pits and stumble into a stakeout.

A sudden bright light snapped her out of her focus. A group of young men and women had clustered their heads together and were now snapping selfies of their night out.

Zoe peered at them, biting her lower lip. What if she’d been wrong? What if the killer wasn’t hiding by the victim’s house, waiting for her to leave?

“Oh, shit,” she muttered.

“What is it?” Joseph asked.

Lyons had said that Maribel Howe had an Instagram account she kept updating. Nicole Medina’s mother had said her daughter was constantly on the phone chatting with her friends. Both victims had a prolific social media life. How had she missed it?

Rummaging in her bag, she took out her phone again. She opened Maribel Howe’s Instagram account. It was full of comments from mournful friends. The account was public. She then searched for Nicole’s account, finding it easily. Public as well.

“I missed something big in my profile,” she said.

Nicole Medina had posted on her Instagram account the night she’d gone out to that party. She’d even tagged her location. Anyone who checked could know she was out with friends. All he’d have to do was drive to her home and wait for her to come back.