Still, the woman was small: five foot three,a hundred and five pounds. She wasn’t capable of physical attack, not on thisscale.
If it had been just the first twomurders, Zoe might have been able to entertain it. The element of surprise. ButNaomi Karling had fought back and lost. Their killer had to have enoughstrength for that.
So that left two. Both male, both ingood physical condition. One five foot nine, the other an even six feet. Bothbearing the evidence of gym time in biceps that were corded and bulging.Probably an aesthetic choice on the part of the bar’s owner. Eye candy, so theycalled it.
There had to be something that set themapart—something different than height, because both of them seemed to be withinthe right ballpark. There was much unknown about the attacks. A taller manseemed likely, particularly for John Dowling’s attack—but even a short womanwould have been able to jump, cling onto his shoulder for a split second whiledrawing the knife, then drop back down. Angle did not tell her enough, not thistime, not with the confusion of Naomi Karling’s diagonal slash.
Something about them, then. Somethingpersonal. Zoe watched the man who had served her, observing him as closely asshe could. He turned to face the back wall for a moment, taking down a brightblue liquor bottle, and Zoe saw a tattoo peeking out of the back of his vest.
Did that make him more likely to be thekiller? Or less?
Zoe tried to think how their killerthought, tried to reason it out. If you were attacking people with tattoos, itcould be assumed that you didn’t like them very much. But then again, maybe itwas familiarity with the culture and the significance of tattoos that wouldmake them an obvious target.
There were so many factors. So manythings to think about.
Zoe knew she needed to narrow it down.But how?
Could it be that the bartender she waslooking for wasn’t even on duty—that he worked another shift?
But even as that feeling of potentialdefeat washed over her, the other bartender moved closer and something abouthim caught her eye. A beaded tribal necklace, the kind that had been popularamongst men in the nineties but had seemed to go out of style.
The beads were an alternating pattern oflong red beads and short black ones, all painted wood. He moved even closer,passing right by Zoe in search of something from the other end of the bar,before returning.
On his passage through, she focused. Onhis passage back, she was sure. She double-checked, and again.
There were twenty-three of each type ofbead on the necklace.
That was it, wasn’t it? It had to be.That was the sign that she was looking for.
Of course, their killer would beattracted to a piece of jewelry like that—something that proclaimed theiridentity in a secret way, allowed them to be who they were without anyone elseknowing about it. It was a badge of honor, a trophy. Something from a bygoneera that was no longer fashionable, but worn still for a purpose. The purposeof standing out.
It was him. Zoe was sure now. It had tobe him.
She could make the arrest, right hereand now. She could take him down—go to the side of the bar to block his exit,then move in, holding up her badge. She had a set of handcuffs sealed insidethe pocket of her jacket. She could get them out, caution him and have him incuffs before he had a chance to react or try to run.
She stepped forward, ready to make amove—
And spun around at the touch of a handon her shoulder, make her heart thump faster than the music.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“How did you find me?” Zoe asked.
Shelley quirked a smile at the edges ofher lips and pointed to a free table. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s sit?”
Zoe shook her head. “No. I found him.The killer. I was just about to make an arrest.”
Shelley’s eyes widened in alarm, herhead whipping around from side to side. “Where?”
“Behind the bar.” Zoe tried to keep hervoice down so he wouldn’t overhear.
Shelley frowned slightly, biting herlip. “Just come and talk for a minute, will you? I can help. Let’s go somewherea bit quieter so we can hear each other.”
“Where?”
“Outside. Just for a minute.”
Zoe reluctantly allowed herself to beled out of the bar’s crowded interior, bumping against people across the roomuntil they reached the exit. A blast of cool night air hit her as they steppedoutside, and when the door shut behind them, it was sweet relief. The poundingmusic was finally faint and quiet, replaced by the sound of cars in thedistance swooshing by on damp tarmac. It had rained while she had been inside.
“Over here,” Shelley said, gesturing tothe side of the building. They walked under the watchful gaze of the bouncers,until they were finally in a semi-sheltered alcove, away from prying ears.
“What’s going on?” Shelley asked,turning an intense gaze on Zoe along with her full attention.
Where to begin? There was so much toexplain, she barely knew how to get started. “The bartender is the killer. Ihave to go back and arrest him.”
“How do you know?”
Zoe frowned. There were so many stagesto the process, so many steps that she had taken to get there. “He is wearing anecklace with twenty-three of each bead,” she said.
Shelley opened her mouth and closed itagain before she next spoke. “Do you maybe want to walk me through how you gotthere?”
Zoe sighed. This wasn’t going to be aquick minute. She pulled her jacket back on against the cold, and then hercoat. “I found out that all three of the victims so far came here for a drink,at least once.”
“So far, so expected,” Shelley
