Face of Death

As they passed the state police moving in the opposite direction to take up questioning of Ivan Bradshaw, Zoe could not fail to notice their scowls. They were clearly unhappy with the direction that the night had taken, and their frustration appeared to be directed solidly at the two agents.

“We just made a mistake,” Shelley said, charitably including herself in the blame as she strode along to keep up with Zoe. “We will get him. We still know his pattern. We just missed something this time. Next time, we won’t.”

Zoe wished she could share Shelley’s conviction. The truth was, she had messed up, and she wasn’t sure how. And if she made another mistake, it wasn’t just her job that was on the line—but an innocent stranger’s life.

She picked up her cell again, making one last call to the state troopers. Something had been clicking away in her mind, and now it made itself known. An urgency that came with the realization that they did not have their man after all.

“Hello? I need you to send a patrol back to the fair right away. The man we arrested is not the killer. There is a chance he came late, and we missed him.”

“A chance?” The chief sounded skeptical, even through the phone.

“This is an urgent order,” Zoe told him, wishing he would just do as she said. “Lives are on the line. Get a patrol back there now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

He drove without really looking, watching his rearview mirror for flashing lights and keeping the window wound down to listen for sirens. The cold air pouring in through the window like waves was the only thing keeping his head grounded in the present moment. The reality of it was a slap in the face, constantly bringing him back to himself enough to stop him from crashing the car.

Without it, he might have been lost. Just as lost as he felt the pattern was, now that he had no chance to complete it.

What was he going to do?

He had failed—he was going to fail. The night was not over, but the cops had known where to find him. They knew where he was going to strike next. It was all over. How was he going to complete the pattern now?

Putting on his turn signal, he pulled over on the side of the road, resting for a moment with his forehead on the steering wheel. Could it really be all over now, so late in the game, so close to finishing it all?

He sat up straighter, realizing something. They had made an arrest, hadn’t they? He had seen the FBI woman point her gun and shoot, and the troopers swarming in to arrest that other man and take him away. In his rearview mirror as he pulled out, he had seen them manhandling him, their mouths open in shouts.

If they had made an arrest, maybe they thought they had him. That the suspect for all of the murderers was in custody, and everyone was safe.

And if they thought that everyone was safe, then they would not bother to guard the fair any longer.

With this new thought running in his mind, he started the car again and pulled it in a U-turn back toward the fair. Maybe there was still a chance. In spite of everything, maybe he could still turn this night around.

If he could make it work, then he owed it to the pattern to see it through.

Despite the excitement growing in his blood, fizzing through his veins at a renewed sense of hope, he kept the car steady and smooth. He respected the speed limit, staying just under it all the way, even though there was no longer any sign of law enforcement on the road. He would stay calm, play it cool. Approach them with caution, not rush in without thought.

When he reached the area where the cars had waited in a group as he left the fair—the group that he assumed had been made up of police officers in unmarked cars—there was no one in sight. He slowed down, pulling in on the grass next to the road and switching off his engine. If he was caught here, if someone came to question him, he could just say that he was feeling unwell. That he had pulled over to catch his breath and settle his stomach.

But no one approached, and as the minutes ticked by, he began to feel more confident that no one was watching at all.

He got out of the car, staying close to it in the shadows, even bending over and placing his hands on his knees as another vehicle flashed by in a gleam of headlights on the road. Playing the part. And when still no one came to challenge him, he made up his mind.

It was not too far from the fair, here. He could easily walk to the parking lot and slip through it on foot, right up to the gates. It was closed, past time to allow new visitors, but he could sneak over the fence and see what he could see. Maybe there was still a way to make this work.

He stuck close to the trees, hiding himself in the shadows, glad of his decision to dress in dark colors. This way, he could avoid being seen for as long as possible. If there was anyone still waiting in the parking lot, he could slip away, back to his car and away from detection.