“Well, the killer certainly is notresting just because it is late.” Zoe took her notebook out of her pocket andflipped to a blank page. “You can go to the motel if you would like. I willstay here until I have worked through the files.”
There was a pause. “… All of them?”Shelley asked.
Zoe briefly glanced up, then around. Thefiles for Callie and John Dowling, thick with additional information andwitness statements that continued to come in as the local LAPD cops did thefootwork. The newer one, for Naomi Karling—just an initial profile for now, informationabout Naomi herself and nothing else. The crime scene reports would come in astime went by. Then interviews.
The quicker Zoe got started, the furthershe would get before her workload grew. She started down the first page of JohnDowling’s file, his basic personal information. Height, weight, age. She turnedthem over in her head. No connection to twenty-three.
But his birthday—the third of February.
Another one.
Zoe scribbled it down in her notebook, andcarried on reading.
After all, the 23 enigma was anobservable phenomenon. People found out that the number twenty-three wasseemingly everywhere, and after that, confirmation bias meant they saw iteverywhere too. Zoe had fallen prey to it herself enough times, noticing thosetwenty-threes all around her. Twenty-sevens, too, for the 27 Club. There werecertain numbers that stuck around in your head. That must be what was happeningto their killer.
“Seriously. Zoe,” Shelley said, standingright in front of the desk Zoe had chosen and bending down so that she couldnot be ignored. “Listen to me. I’m worried about you. You need some sleep.”
Zoe looked up impatiently. “I am not achild, Shelley. I can get through a single night of working late. Please do notproject your own inabilities onto me. If you are tired, you can go.”
Shelley rolled her eyes. “It’s notchildish to admit that you function better when your brain is well rested. Infact, it’s the more mature approach. Come on. Let’s go.”
Zoe thought about it, for a briefsecond. But it was only a brief second, because that was all it took for her toknow.
There was no way she was going to beable to sleep tonight. No matter where she was or what she was doing, her mindwas going to be on one thing only. She had already counted that there were twentyslats on the blinds at the window in their dingy office, and that there werethree bulbs in the ceiling, which added up to the total she was looking for.Here, at least, she could channel that into looking at the case and finding thenumbers that actually mattered.
In the motel? She would be countingchintz roses and suspicious stains, right until her alarm blared out and shelet it ring twenty-three times before turning it off.
“I will join you later,” she said,turning her eyes resolutely back to the papers in front of her.
“I can’t just leave you here,” Shelleyprotested. “I’ve got the rental car. How are you going to get to the motel? Youdon’t even know where I’ve booked us in.”
Zoe looked up one more time, feigning apatience that she did not feel. “So, please leave the address with the sergeanton duty. When I am ready to leave, I will have them take me there in a patrolcar. It is sensible that one of us gets some rest. You can take over when Ihave followed this trail to the end. If there is not another murder by then, Iwill sleep.”
Shelley opened and closed her mouth acouple of times, and then left, the low hubbub of the corridors and bullpen outsidecoming in for just a moment before the door shut behind her.
The door shut, and Zoe could reallyfocus.
She flipped through page after page offiles and, when they were done, she turned to the victims’ social mediaprofiles and any other information she could dig up on them, insatiable in hersearch for the numbers. They came up time and time again, each of the entriesfilling neatly down the page of her notepad.
Addition of serial number—CE
Tiger strips—JD
Flower petals—NK
Birth date—JD
Weight in pounds, minus 100—NK
Letters in full name, including middle—JD
Age at death—NK
Number of posts to feed in February—CE
Images of tattoos on feed—JD
Zip code of birthplace—CE
House number—JD
Last two digits of credit card—CE
Number of hashtags on last post—NK
Blood spatter droplets on wall at crimescene—NK
Percentage of flesh left on body afterburning—CE
It was when she started to include notesfrom the crime scenes themselves that Zoe had to admit to herself that she hadmaybe gone too far. The killer couldn’t have planned for that. Not soprecisely. Maybe if he had had time to wipe away any extra droplets before hewas disturbed, but he did not have that spare time with Naomi. He would haveburned her, and the blood spatter, if he had.
How long had she been sitting here? Longenough for the crime scene photos from Naomi’s house to come through. Longenough that her back ached. But there was still no clear path here, nothing shecould jump onto. Nothing that told her who the next victim would be.
If it was just about the numbertwenty-three, well, an obsessive could see that number anywhere. Be triggeredby it at any time.
Not only could, but would: they wouldsee it everywhere, uncontrollably. It would be with them at all times. Therehad to be something more that would trigger them.
Which absolutely wasn’t at all what washappening to Zoe, she thought, as she looked over her list again. No, there wassomething here—not just obsession. At least, not just hers.
She was onto something. If she couldonly grasp hold of it and take it to the conclusion, she knew that she wouldfind him. The killer.
But how long was that going to take—andhow long did he need before he killed again?
***
Shelley rolled onto her back again onthe motel’s stone-like mattress, staring up at the ceiling. She wished she wasasleep, but it didn’t seem as though it was going to happen any time soon.
Zoe was right: one of them needed to getsome rest, because Zoe sure wasn’t. And Shelley knew that she would need to befresh and sharp if
