A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(70)

She’d have to tell them about that night. About what she had seen in his home. And she had to make them see she had been right then and that she was right now.

A fear she hadn’t felt for many years crept in. The fear that they wouldn’t listen.

She needed more. And then it occurred to her. If it really was Glover, he had to have known Susan Warner somehow. Perhaps he’d been her neighbor or someone she’d dated. He had to have known she was alone, that no one would barge in as he embalmed her in her home. And if that was the case, maybe Daniella Ortiz knew him.

Daniella seemed subdued somehow when she opened the door. Her happy rainbow outfit gone, she wore a black pair of yoga pants and a pink shirt that said LIVE SLOW, DIE WHENEVER. Her eyes seemed a bit puffy.

“I’m sorry for the late hour,” Zoe said.

“No, please, come in. I’m happy to have a bit of company.”

Zoe entered the apartment. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, just a rough couple of days.” Daniella sniffed. “They happen to everyone, right?”

“Sure.”

“Can I get you any coffee?”

Remembering the condensed caffeine monstrosity from last time, Zoe said, “No, uh . . . maybe tea?”

“Sure.” Daniella stomped to the kitchen. Zoe sat down, looking around her. The pictures bombarded her already-frayed brain, and she shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was still reeling from the implications of the envelopes the reporter had found, and memories from the past kept emerging. People and places she hadn’t thought of in years were swimming in her mind.

“Here,” Daniella said. She handed Zoe a cup of tea. She had one for herself as well. This time she didn’t get a chair for herself, sitting next to Zoe on the couch. Zoe didn’t mind. There was plenty of room for both of them, and she wasn’t there to question Daniella, just to show her a picture.

She sipped from her tea, which turned out to be thick with sugar. Grimacing, she put the teacup on the table and fished the printed image from her pocket.

“Do you recognize this man?” she asked, handing Daniella the page. It was a print of the only picture she had of Rod Glover. She had acquired it when she was fifteen, from the office he had worked at. They had a picture of him from a Thanksgiving party. He looked happy and slightly drunk. Not the face of a killer. But then, most killers didn’t have a particularly violent face.

Daniella took the picture and stared at it for a long time. “No,” she finally said.

“Look carefully. Are you sure you’ve never seen him before? Maybe Susan knew him somehow?”

“If she did, I don’t think she told me. He doesn’t look familiar. I’m sorry.”

Disappointed, Zoe took the printed image from her. “Do you think Ryan might recognize him?”

Daniella shrugged. “He might. He’s not here, though.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He never tells me, and if I ask, I’m nagging, right?”

Zoe nodded in kinship. “Do you have a pen?” she asked.

“Sure.” Daniella went to the kitchen. The kitchen was the place where pens were in the Ortiz household. She returned a moment later, handing the pen to Zoe.

Zoe wrote her phone number on the paper. “Can you show Ryan this picture when he gets back?” she asked. “If he’s seen this man, just give me a call, okay? Or if you recall seeing him.”

Daniella nodded. “Sure,” she said. “We’ll call.”

“Thanks.” Zoe got up. “And, uh . . . I hope you have a nice evening.”

Daniella nodded, staring down. Zoe followed her eyes to the bare floor. There was nothing there. Only loneliness.

It was as if she were dragging heavy chains behind her as she walked up the motel stairs, lifting one foot after the other, each step heavy and tired. During the past years, whenever she would get an envelope, she’d feel as if Glover were reaching out and pulling her back. For him, she was still a fourteen-year-old girl who could be intimidated and terrorized with little to no consequence. Sometimes years would pass between the envelopes. She’d start relaxing her guard. And then another envelope would arrive in the mail. Always with a gray tie inside.

Now it was worse. He was somewhere in this city. He was killing young women. And he was laughing at her, taunting her, so sure she couldn’t find him.

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. That twisted, psycho bastard. She’d find him. She would get him arrested. He would die in prison.

She reached her room, unlocked the door, and stumbled inside. She lay on her bed, too drained to brush her teeth or shower. Too worked up to fall asleep. Stuck in her own looping thoughts.

Finally, she pulled out her phone and called Andrea.

“Zoe?” her sleepy sister said over the phone.

“Hey, Ray-Ray.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight, I think.”

“Okay . . .” A pause. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Zoe said sadly. “Though that’s not such a bad idea.”

“What’s going on, Zoe?”

“I don’t know. I think I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Okay. It sounds better in the morning.”

“Ray-Ray, do you remember Rod Glover?”