A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(92)

“If you could have been detached, it would have,” Tatum said. “But you weren’t. This is your childhood, Zoe. The killer nearly got you too. He keeps sending you these envelopes, messing with your mind, scaring you—”

“I’m not scared.”

“Aren’t you? Stalked by this guy for years? What do you really feel when you get an envelope from him? Can you really say it doesn’t drag you back all those years?”

She was silent.

“And when these same envelopes came up during our investigation, how did you feel? Were you Zoe the forensic psychologist or Zoe the fourteen-year-old high school student?”

“I was—” She started to answer, then stopped. Thinking back to that moment. Taking the envelopes from the reporter. Feeling the dread sinking in her gut.

Tatum looked at her, his eyes sad and warm, and she wanted to slap him for his understanding. She wanted him to mock her and berate her and tell her she had been wrong. She turned away.

“Damn it,” she muttered, her voice choked.

“In case I wasn’t clear,” Tatum said, “I think you profiled Glover brilliantly all those years ago. And I believe you were brilliant in this case as well. You just made a small mistake.”

“Small?” Zoe almost snorted.

“Do you want to give it another try? With what we know now? And without Rod Glover interfering?” Tatum asked. “I mean . . . I know you’re resting, but—”

“Come on,” Zoe said, standing up. She went to her office room and turned around. She watched Tatum’s eyes shift around as he entered the office and took in the new decor.

“Holy crap,” he muttered.

Zoe approached the wall and snapped off one of the taped articles. “Help me take these down,” she said, removing another one. “I want to clear my mind for this.”





CHAPTER 65

Zoe’s home office made Tatum feel like he was walking around inside the psychologist’s brain, and it was a mess. He helped her remove all the items related to the Maynard serial killer and to the 2008 Chicago killings. Now they were left with five dead women, three of them embalmed. Zoe began reorganizing the images according to a pattern she somehow deemed helpful, while Tatum went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He made the pot extra strong, knowing this was going to be a long night.

He returned with the pot and two mugs and poured each of them some coffee. He handed one of the steaming mugs to Zoe, who thanked him distractedly, staring at the whiteboard. Tatum followed her eyes and cataloged the five faces on it. He had personally seen the bodies of two of the victims—Krista Barker, who had been left on the beach, and Lily Ramos, whom they had managed to contact before she died. Seeing their pictures alongside the three other women tugged at Tatum’s emotions. This killer roamed Chicago freely, killing at whim, neither the FBI nor the police managing to stop him. He turned to Zoe, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he sighed.

“Okay, listen,” he said. “This won’t work like that.”

“What won’t work?” Zoe asked, glancing at him.

“You’re locked in your own head. You never try and talk it out.”

“Yes, I do. I talk to you all the time.”

“Only when you know what you want to say,” Tatum pointed out. “Then, you’re more than happy to lecture me and tell me about your amazing conclusions. But if you’re unsure, you just keep working by yourself.”

She opened her mouth, her eyes narrowing, then closed it. Tatum folded his arms and waited.

“Fine,” she finally spat. “What do you want?”

“Well, you say what you’re thinking about, then I contribute my own thoughts on the matter. Maybe I have a different idea. Then, instead of shooting me down, try going along with what I say, even if it’s dumb. I call it brainstorming.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know what brainstorming is.”

Tatum grinned.

“All right, you start,” Zoe challenged him.

“You’ve been spending the past few days assuming the killer was Glover, but I think we both agree now that it’s likely there is another killer out there, right?”

“Yes.”

“I think we should start by looking at our existing possible suspects, narrow the pool down. Maybe one of them meets the narrow profile you created.”

“I don’t think that’s the way to—”

Tatum raised an eyebrow. “Don’t shoot it down yet,” he said. “Roll with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Zoe grumbled. “So we’re looking at people who knew Susan Warner, right? We have an ex-boyfriend, a handicapped uncle, some friends from college . . .” A thought occurred to her. “It could, for example, be Daniella’s boyfriend, right? What was his name? Ryan.”

Tatum smiled, enjoying the new spark in her eye. “There you go. Does he fit the profile?”

“He’s the right age; he has a van. She mentioned that he disappears without telling her where, which might mean he has another place to stay . . . he works as an auto mechanic, which displays a lot of the characteristics we’re looking for. He was in Susan’s apartment. He is a very likely suspect.” She was clearly getting excited.