Someone in this town was bound to remember a woman who wore a yellow scarf, even if only ever once or twice. Given that the silk item had seared itself into the mind of the unsub, the accessory held significant meaning to him.
She tugged her gloves higher, ensuring no skin was exposed to the biting cold, then reached into her pocket for her phone.She used a voice command to dial Theo's number and pressed the phone to her ear as she crossed the street.
“Brook,” Theo answered on the second ring. “How did it go with Zeke?”
“Productive,” Brook replied as she approached the bakery. “Zeke confirmed what Desmond told you and Sylvie, but get this—Zeke wasn’t upset with Heather. He was upset because Figg Whitlow was angry with Heather. Apparently, Figg stopped in at the church to have a word with her. Voices were raised, and Zeke doesn’t handle that too well. Brett removed his brother from the situation.”
“That's the second confirmed instance of conflict between them,” Theo noted with satisfaction. “Any details about what they were arguing about?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Brook said, shifting her upper body to avoid a sudden gust of wind. “Brett shut down the conversation pretty quickly, but I don’t think he knows anything that can help us. He also wasn't pleased that we accessed Zeke's records from the care facility.”
“Understandable,” Theo replied, his voice partially obscured by background noise. “We're with Lindsay Sharpe now. Sylvie's handling most of the questioning.”
“Anything useful?”
“Lindsay claims she only withheld information about Rachel to protect her sister from getting dragged into the investigation,” Theo said, his tone indicating skepticism. “Rachel left town three weeks before Heather's murder. Lindsay insists it had nothing to do with Heather—just the fallout from Rachel's broken engagement to Desmond.”
“Is Lindsay being forthcoming now?”
“More so than before,” Theo confirmed. “She's providing Rachel's contact information, at least. Listen, let Sylvie and me finish up here, and then we’ll meet you downtown.”
Brook stepped up on the curb before turning around to glance at where Deputy Benz sat monitoring the front entrance of the tattoo parlor.
“Deputy Benz is still my sidekick. I’ve got the Whitlow interview. Did you see Bit’s latest upload? He added those background checks on the former felons. One of them had a prior charge of domestic battery, which included strangulation of his ex-wife. I’d like him vetted today, if possible.”
“We can do that,” Theo assured her.
“Good.” Brook turned toward the bakery's entrance. “In the meantime, I’m in desperate need of coffee. I'll update you after I speak with Whitlow.”
She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. The initial profile had evolved, and the unsub had integrated back into the community so seamlessly that he was able to leave his sins behind. They were a threat to his very existence.
A wall of warmth hit her as she pushed open the door, the heat almost painful against her cold-numbed face. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with coffee, and she was left wishing she had taken time to eat breakfast. Bit’s bag of powdered donuts sounded good right about now.
The bell above the door had announced her arrival, and she wasn’t surprised by the ripple of abrupt silence that spread across the room. Conversations halted mid-sentence as heads turned, and several curious gazes tracked her movements.
She paused to take off her gloves, giving the locals time to satisfy their initial interest. The bakery was surprisingly full for a weekday morning—elderly men clustered around a corner table with steaming mugs, two women in quilted jackets huddled near the window, a solitary man in coveralls hunched over his phone in a booth. She wasn’t bothered by their attention in the least as she approached the counter.
“Good morning,” Brook greeted the woman, already guessing her name to be Kim based on the description Sylvie had provided. “Two black coffees to go, please.”
Kim nodded once, ringing up the order. She glanced toward the kitchen, but Brook deliberately kept her gaze forward. Sylvie and Theo had already pushed Desmond Brewer enough today. It wouldn’t be advantageous to do so again quite so soon.
The conversations around her resumed, but in hushed tones that suggested she was their primary topic. She kept her expression neutral, refusing to give the onlookers anything more to dissect. She retrieved the credit card from the back pocket of her phone case.
“You're that profiler, aren't you?” Kim asked abruptly, her voice carrying enough to silence the nearest conversations once again. “The one whose brother was that serial killer.”
Considering the media attention Jacob had received last year, she wasn’t surprised to have his name brought up. Still, having her connection to Jacob thrust into the open was like having a scab ripped away without warning. She tapped her credit card on the small machine.
“They say he died in Alaska,” Kim continued as she turned to retrieve two cups. She began to fill each one while switching her attention back and forth between them and Brook, as if she were afraid to miss any reaction. “That true?”
“That's what the FBI believes,” Brook answered, her tone professional despite the personal intrusion.
“Huh.” Kim's assessment carried volumes of skepticism. She carried over the two cups of coffee and set them in front of Brook. “I've watched those shows about profilers. They make it look like some kind of mind-reading trick. Is it really like that?”
Brook considered brushing off the question, taking the coffees, and retrieving the lids from the back station. It wouldbe the sensible choice—maintain professional distance, avoid personal disclosure, keep the focus on the investigation.
Yet Jacob's words continued to echo in her mind.
“You don't get to be the normal one, Brook.”
