“Why didn’t we hear about this back then?” Brian asked with a frown. “We know of two other victims. Shannon Benford and Wendy Logue. Both from Ohio.”
“The local authorities ruled Lila’s case a burglary gone wrong at the time, but her parents never believed that explanation. This picture was discovered in a discarded mailbox of a now-defunct local newspaper in their hometown.”
“And it’s your opinion that this girl was strangled to death by the Photograph Killer?”
“We try to avoid such monikers professionally, Mr. Moore. They tend to sensationalize and sometimes glorify theperpetrators.” Brook intentionally left the photograph on the coffee table. “I’ve taken time to review the Bureau’s case files, and you are right about the previous victims. Your daughter here in Harrowick, followed by Shannon Benford in Millfield, and Wendy Logue in Creston.”
“So, why are you and your team here in Harrowick?” Brian didn’t even bother to cross his legs. He sat in the recliner in such a way that spoke to his reluctance to their conversation. “Why not in one of those other towns? It's been eleven years. The FBI gave up. The sheriff gave up. We’ve finally settled into what life we can, and now you’re fixing to dredge it all up.”
Brook met his gaze steadily, truly understanding his stance. She was about to either get the Moores’ support or cause difficulty for the team for the next two weeks or so.
“Because, as a profiler, I believe the key to understanding this killer lies with the first victim. With Heather. The first murder is almost always the most personal, the most revealing." Brook paused, giving the Moores time to brace themselves for the rest of the discussion. “Something about Heather drew his attention. Understanding what that was might help us identify him.”
Neither Brian nor Jillian spoke at first. Instead, her gaze drifted to a large portrait of Heather above the fireplace before refocusing on Lily’s picture. She was comparing the two, leaving Brian slightly more agitated by the implication.
“You think someone here in Harrowick killed our daughter,” Brian stated flatly. It wasn't a question. “You’re wrong. We’ve known these people our entire lives. They were a part of Heather’s childhood just as much as blood relatives. Harrowick was her home, and it’s why she moved back here after college.”
“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Moore.” Brook continued, gently correcting his assumption in a very subtle manner. “I do believe someone who was familiar with Harrowick killed yourdaughter. That someone might not have been a current resident, but rather someone familiar with the town, its rhythms, its people. Someone who knew enough about Heather to target her specifically.”
Brook understood all too well the pain of confronting hard truths about those closest to her. Still, it would go a long way with the other residents if the team had the Moores’ support.
“We need your help to understand who Heather was and who was in her life. There is a chance that she made some offhand comment about being followed or feeling uncomfortable in someone’s presence.” Brook rested her elbows on her knees, allowing her to clasp her fingers together to give the appearance of advocating their approval. “Even the slightest mention of turning down an offer for dinner or maybe someone complimenting her outfit could point us toward an avenue not yet taken.”
Brian and Jillian once again exchanged glances, as if afraid to be the one to give permission for them to invade their daily lives. Theo cleared his throat, garnering their attention.
“Sometimes the passage of time actually helps," Theo shared as he palmed the small yellow pencil that he usually stored in the spiral of the notebook. “People who were afraid to speak before might now be willing. Relationships change. Loyalties shift. And most importantly, this investigation might bring closure not just for you, but for three other families who lost their daughters.”
It was Jillian who nodded almost imperceptibly toward her husband. She had given him her blessing to go back in time. To revisit their worst nightmare.
“Heather loved creating things since she was tiny,” Brian said, his voice softening for the first time. “Always had paint under her fingernails, even as a little thing. Her first-grade teacher called us in one time because she'd drawn all over her math worksheets.”
The recollection brought a ghost of a smile to his wife’s face. She blinked several times before inhaling deeply.
“Heather always said she was making the numbers 'less boring’. She was headstrong that way.” Brian shared a sad smile with his wife now that the memories were being brought back into the light. “Heather saw beauty where others didn't. That's why she was such a wonderful teacher. She loved those children like they were her own.”
“She would even spend her own money on supplies when the school budget ran short,” Jillian pitched in as she reached for a tissue in the box on the side table. “She was always bringing home their artwork to show us. She saved everything they made for her.”
Theo had begun scribbling notes on his pad to enter into their software later today. Brook, on the other hand, absorbed their stories. The moments and memories came tumbling out, each one polished to shine their daughter in the most gracious light.
Brook listened as the parents took turns, each anecdote a gentle nudge toward pride, painting their child in colors that glowed with kindness and generosity, as if every word were meant to catch and amplify whatever grace the girl possessed.
“Did she get along well with the other teachers?” Brook asked at the appropriate time. She made a mental note to discuss the students’ artwork and request that they be able to look through the drawings and paintings. “Faculty? Administration?”
“Mostly,” Jillian replied as she balled the tissue into her hand. “There was some friction between her and the gym teacher, but I think it had something to do with his drinking habits.”
“Are you talking about that Quinn fellow?” Brian waved a dismissive hand. “His brother had gotten into that car accident when they were in high school, remember? Paralyzed from thewaist down. Tyler became his brother’s caretaker after their mother died. I told Heather at the time that he just needed to let some of his anger out. Still teaches, even though they shut down our schools here due to the low class size. Ended up merging with Crescent Ridge.”
“Who would you say was closest to Heather outside of the two of you?” Brook asked, filing away Mr. Quinn’s name. “Did she keep in touch with friends from high school? College?”
“Childhood friends, mostly. Lindsay Sharpe and Stephanie Maddox.” Jillian sniffled as she gestured toward a photo of three young women sitting around a fire pit. “Thick as thieves, those three. Lindsay and Steph still stop in from time to time to check in on us.”
“Was Heather dating anyone?”
“No,” Jillian replied without hesitation. “I had always hoped that Heather would start dating Brett Sorsdal, but she said there was no spark.”
“Brett?”
“We were friends with his parents,” Jillian said, expanding on the man’s background. “He inherited his love of woodworking from his grandfather, God rest his soul. Brett made our dining room table and chairs. Very talented man, but like I said, he and Heather were just friends.”
