Behind Figg, Principal Watkins appeared, removing his gloves as he entered. He placed a hand briefly on Figg's shoulder, the gesture appearing both collegial and cautionary, before moving past him into the room. Both men then moved toward empty seats at the end of an aisle.
“Things are about to get interesting,” Theo leaned closer to Brook, his voice barely audible above the renewed conversations. The mayor had just entered through a side door, accompanied by Sheriff Donovan. “I’ll make my way over to the other side of the room near the Moores.”
“Ms. Sloane,” Sheriff Donavan greeted, holding out his arm. She shook his hand, already sensing his disapproval. “Are you certain this is the right approach?”
“I agree that under normal circumstances, my profiles are generally meant solely as a tool for law enforcement,” Brook said, confident in her decision. “This case is different.”
Brook had chosen to provide details of her profile to the residents of Harrowick to shake loose information they might not even realize they possessed. To make them perceive their neighbors, friends, and family members through a different lens.
The unsub may very well be in this room.
What reaction would her profile elicit from him?
“I don’t see how,” Sheriff Donovan muttered, his objection evident. “These folks have been neighbors for years. They aren’t going to take kindly to you announcing that Loretta Whitlow was the subject of some killer’s sick fantasy.”
The mayor made his way to the podium. Once standing in front of the microphone, he cleared his throat. The feedback caused several people to wince before he called the meeting to order.
“That's precisely the point, Sheriff.” Brook observed Theo leaning a shoulder against the wood-paneled wall. “Four women are dead because everyone is so convinced they know their neighbors that they can't see what's right in front of them.”
“Well, I've put Deputy Benz near the south exit. Officer Ridley will remain by the front entrance. If anyone reacts problematically to your profile, we're prepared. If all goes well, though, we won’t stop the locals from heading home after everything is wrapped up. The roads are already slick.”
The mayor's voice droned on about infrastructure improvements and tax incentives, but her thoughts had already shifted to her approaching address. She mentally reviewed the profile she'd constructed, focusing on the core elements—someone with local knowledge, someone who blended in, someone who was trusted, and...
Something struck her with such clarity that she nearly missed Donovan's parting comment about standing by if she needed anything during her speech.
Someone who belonged in the neighborhood.
Someone who wouldn't raise suspicions by being there.
“Bit.” Brook turned to find him scrolling through his phone. “When you spoke with Paula Stillman, you mentioned she focuses on anything or anyone unusual. But did she ever mention noticing someone familiar in Heather's neighborhood in the weeks leading up to the murder? Not a stranger, but not a resident of that particular neighborhood. Someone who wouldn't have seemed out of place.”
“No, she never mentioned anyone like that.” Bit slid his phone into his messenger bag. “Just the usual ‘I notice everything that happens on my street’ talk.”
Brook continued to stare at Bit expectantly until comprehension dawned across his features. When he tilted his head back with a muffled groan, she figured he understood his next assignment.
“You want me to go and ask her, don't you?” The resignation in his voice was palpable. He then began to search the room. “You’d think she’d be here.”
“Paula Stillman has already made a connection with you,” Brook pointed out. “You've established a rapport with her. It would help to have an answer this evening, and seeing as this town hall meeting doesn’t affect her and the roads are already becoming slick, she’s probably in front of her television with a hot cup of tea.”
“You could always bring her a bag of Twizzlers,” Sylvie murmured with a smile. “Word on the street is that she loves them.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fixodent and denture cream,” Bit muttered, unable to mask his discomfort.
“Sylvie will go with you.” Brook noticed the immediate relief that washed over him. “Keep in constant contact with Theo or me.”
“We’ll swing by the convenience store,” Sylvie said as she reached for her coat in the pile they’d made on a chair. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and zipped the front before collecting Bit’s jacket from the mound. “Here. Bundle up, buttercup.”
As Sylvie and Bit slipped through the side door, Brook turned her attention back to the room. The crowd had grown restless, shifting in their seats as the mayor continued to detail the benefits of the proposed assembly plant. Soon it would be her turn to address them, to present a profile that would allow her to observe their reactions.
Most of those they interviewed over the past week were in this room. Some no longer lived in Harrowick, but those in attendance had long memories. Someone had murdered four women and had lived among these people for years, hiding behind the comfortable assumption that neighbors always knew neighbors.
Brook was about to shatter that illusion completely.
29
Brooklyn Sloane
January 2026
