“Absolutely not.”
“This is a murder investigation, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Exactly. And none of the people we helped hurt Catherine. I can vouch for each and every one of them. Instead of wasting your time chasing and harassing men who are doing their best to leave their past behind them, why don’t you find the man who actually did this?”
Zoe cleared her throat. “How exactly can you vouch for them?”
Patrick frowned. “I know these people very well. I’ve spent hours talking to them, praying with them. These people are doing their best to change.”
“Change how?”
“They’ve embraced God. They want to be better people. They—”
“Any of them ever convicted of sexual assault?” Zoe asked.
Patrick blinked in surprise. “If any of them were, they’ve paid their dues to society. They’ve confessed and begged forgiveness. They—”
“Catherine Lamb was raped before she was killed,” Zoe said. “Whoever killed her has done it before. If you have rapists in your congregation, we need to know. They may have confessed and apologized and all that, but repeat sexual offenders don’t change.”
“Everyone can change,” Patrick said.
“They can develop fear of getting caught.” Zoe shrugged. “But they’ll still want to rape.”
Patrick folded his arms. “I’m done talking about this.”
“Mr. Carpenter,” Tatum said. “It’s a common misconception that the police’s job is just finding the guilty person.”
Patrick glanced at Tatum. “Well, isn’t it?”
“Of course. But they also need to make sure he’s found guilty in court,” Tatum said. “You tell us you vouch for each and every man in your church. Let’s say I believe you. But when we catch the guy and get him in front of a judge and jury, what do you think will be the first thing his lawyer will say?”
Patrick remained silent.
Tatum answered his own question after a second had passed. “He’ll say, ‘My client isn’t guilty, and I know who is. It’s one of those ex-cons that Catherine Lamb worked with. The police didn’t even bother talking to them. They just went straight after my client.’”
“He would build his whole case around it,” O’Donnell added. “And the killer would walk.”
Patrick hesitated, then said, “I will talk to Pastor Lamb. We will decide together what I can divulge.”
O’Donnell nodded. “Fine.” It was a start.
“One more thing.” Zoe handed Patrick her phone. “Do you know this man?”
He stared at the phone, and his eyes widened slightly. O’Donnell glanced at the screen. It was a picture of a man, his arm over a woman’s shoulder. O’Donnell could easily see a resemblance between the woman in the photo and Zoe.
“Do you know this man, Mr. Carpenter?” O’Donnell asked when he didn’t reply. She already knew he did; it had been obvious the moment he’d laid his eyes on the image.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s Daniel Moore.”
O’Donnell could almost feel the sudden jolt of energy that sparked among the three of them.
“Is he a member of your congregation?” Tatum asked.
“He was,” Patrick said. “He left a few months ago.”
“Do you have a phone number? Any way you can reach him? We would really like to talk to him.”
“No. He never gave me his number.”
“Was there anyone in the congregation he was close to? Any friends?”
“I don’t know. What’s this about?”
“Daniel Moore’s real name is Rod Glover.” Zoe took her phone from Patrick’s hand. “He’s wanted for the rape and murder of five women. Did he confess and beg forgiveness, Mr. Carpenter? Did he embrace God?”
“You’re wrong. Daniel is a good man—”
“No, he isn’t. He’s a sadistic killer. But he’s a very good liar.”
CHAPTER 12
Zoe was hardly aware of her surroundings. The world around her shimmered, hazy and insubstantial, people’s voices muffled.
Her brain felt on fire. Thoughts, ideas, and theories sparked through her mind at breakneck speed. Her focus was on the mental blizzard in her head, and she ignored Tatum and Detective O’Donnell completely, even when they talked to her. After a while she distractedly noticed that the three of them were walking, with her following Tatum, more out of reflex than anything else.
Rod Glover, she was now convinced, was here. In Chicago. He was one of the two men who had murdered Catherine Lamb. He was the murderer she had earlier nicknamed alpha.
It could be just a huge coincidence, but Zoe disregarded that option. The MO and the signature already pointed to him. The fact that he had definitely known the victim clinched it.
As she stared out the car window, vaguely wondering where they were driving, a bitter taste filled her mouth. Her heart beat wildly. Was it fear? Or excitement? Maybe a bit of both. She’d been searching for the Maynard serial killer for so long, and now she’d come face to face with his handiwork. She could catch him. Andrea would be safe, and he would stop killing.
The car engine died, and Tatum got out. Zoe stayed in the car, staring at the windshield, consumed by thoughts. After a few seconds, a sharp knock broke her concentration. Tatum, rapping on the window, looking exasperated. She opened the door and tried to get out, only to be yanked in. Oh, right, seat belt. She unbuckled it, got out, and followed Tatum into somewhere named . . . the Jackalope?
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Oh, you’re back,” Tatum said. “This is the Jackalope café. I told you we were going here. Twice.”
“Why are we here?” Zoe followed Tatum inside. The Jackalope’s interior was an explosion of bright colors, pop art paintings covering the walls from side to side. A few mounted heads of rabbits with deer antlers hung on the walls—probably the mythological jackalope.
“O’Donnell said it’s a nice place, close to the police station, where we could talk, remember? We asked if you had any objections, and you stared at us with drool running down your chin.”
“There was no drool.”
“I literally told you to wipe it.”
“You’re just making that up.”
O’Donnell sat at one of the tables, waiting for them. Tatum went over to the barista and asked for a cup of coffee.
“What do you want?” he asked Zoe.
“I don’t know,” Zoe said impatiently. “Sure, coffee sounds good.”
Tatum paid the barista, and they sat down next to O’Donnell.
“Okay,” O’Donnell said. “So your guy Rod Glover definitely knew Catherine Lamb. It’s likely that he was one of the murderers.”
“It’s more than likely—it’s a certainty,” Zoe said. “He knew her. He must have developed an obsession about her, or maybe the obsession was from the other guy, and Glover reacted to it. I need to think it through, the other guy knew her as well, I think he did—no, he definitely did, because of the necklace, Glover wouldn’t have cared about it, and he actually collected jewelry as trophies, I’ve seen it at least once, so he wouldn’t have left it there, the other guy, unsub beta, he did that, and—”