Matt scowled and dragged a hand down his face. “Hard to say. The press doesn’t seem to know many details, but somehow they got the victims’ names and the locations where the bodies were dumped.”
“Ah, hell,” Rafe muttered.
That was putting it mildly. Sean had known Matt Griffin most of his life, and the sheriff’s expression made one thing clear—when he found the leak, there would be consequences. Loose information could taint witness testimony, compromise evidence, and hand a defense attorney exactly what they needed to poke holes in a future prosecution.
Sean leaned forward and folded his hands on the conference table. The smell of stale coffee and old paper hung in the air while the muffled buzz of reporters drifted through the windows.
“I agree,” Matt said. “Let’s get this moving. Brad?”
The detective opened a thick case file and flipped through several pages before beginning. “Two months ago, Becky Travis, twenty-two, left a friend’s party after drinking almost half a bottle of vodka by herself. She apparently did a disappearing act without saying goodbye and started walking home. It was only three blocks, but she never made it. Two days later, sanitation workers found her in an alley in Kitty Hawk. Naked, ligature strangulation, ‘sinner’ carved into her torso, and a penny on her forehead. No witnesses. Surveillance footage from nearby businesses was limited and didn’t show anything useful.”
Sean studied the crime scene photo Brad slid across the table. Even after seeing Daphne Jones, the image still made his stomach turn.
Another photo, of a different woman, was added to the first before Brad continued. “Three weeks ago, Shannon Emerson, twenty-four, was at a bachelorette party at The Toy Box in Elizabeth City. They host a male revue starting at nine. The audience is reservations-only for that, then they open to the general public around ten-thirty.” He glanced around the table. “Her friends never saw her leave. Everyone was drunk enough that they didn’t realize she was gone until around one. She was supposed to drive two of the women home, and her car was still in the parking lot.”
“Any surveillance video?” Rafe asked.
Brad shook his head. “Inside footage is black-and-white and grainy. We spotted her several times, but once the crowd thickened, it became impossible to track her. Exterior cameras had been down for weeks, and management never got around to fixing them.”
Sean exchanged a look with Brian. Convenient.
“Her body was found near the tree line by Manteo High’s soccer field. Groundskeeping spotted her before students arrived, so we got lucky and secured the area fast.” Brad tapped the file. “Same condition as Becky—penny on the forehead, sinner carved into her torso, and strangled. No clothing was recovered at either scene, though photos from both parties show they were dressed for a night out. We cleared ex-boyfriends, checked family, friends, and coworkers. No stalkers. No threats. And nothing connecting the victims.”
Sean picked up from there, sliding Daphne’s file closer as every eye in the room shifted his way.
“The latest victim is Daphne Jones, thirty-two. Same general pattern.” He flipped open the folder, added her photo to the others, and then scanned his notes, though most of the details were already burned into his memory. “She was out drinking with friends Saturday night and dressed to the nines, according to her roommate. No known enemies. No reports of anyone bothering her. Her last serious relationship ended about a year ago when the guy relocated to California for work. No indication of bad blood.
“She was discovered after midnight, Monday morning. The penny and the carving were the same, but this time, after strangling her, he did CPR on her, reviving her several times, only to do it again.”
“Damn,” Brad muttered. “He’s evolving.”
“Yup. That’s what the coroner said too. So far, it looks like he’s targeting blonde party girls. Women who’ve been drinking, separated from their friends, and vulnerable enough to disappear without drawing attention. It’s possible these women were chosen at random. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Sean paused, his gaze dropping to the map spread across the table.
“What bothers me are the dump sites. Becky and Shannon were left where they’d be found fast. Public enough to guarantee discovery.” He tapped the wooded section marked near Red Maple Park. “Daphne was different. If those dogs hadn’t caught the scent, she might’ve stayed out there another day or two before anyone found her. That could mean something... or it could mean nothing.”
The sheriff shifted in his chair. The leather creaked beneath him.
“We still haven’t tracked down Stuart Crowell. Patrol’s looking.” Matt pinned Sean with a tired stare. “What’re the chances he’s our guy?”
He leaned back and lifted one widespread hand before letting it drop again. “Not great. He doesn’t fit the profile I’d expect for a serial offender, but we can’t ignore the print. We have to clear him.” He thought back to Cunningham’s call late the afternoon before, the lab tech’s voice crackling through his cell while Sean had been driving home. “The other pennies only had partial smudges. Nothing usable. And the lab didn’t find evidence they’d been chemically cleaned.”
Which left them exactly where they’d been yesterday—chasing fragments and theories while the man they were hunting was still out there.
“So, where do we go from here?” Rafe asked.
Brad leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. The file folders spread before him looked like a paper battlefield. As task force lead, the next moves were his to call. Under most circumstances, an FBI or SBI agent would take point, but Sean had no issue deferring to Brad Lynch. The detective knew Dare County, knew the players, and had already been buried in this case for weeks.
“We’ve got the surveillance footage from Visions. I’ll review it with our video specialist. Every camera angle is in a separate file, so it’ll take most of the day.”
Sean slid the photo of Daphne toward him. “Her roommate gave me this. It was taken at the restaurant before they went to the club. Should make it easier to pick her out.”
Brad gave a quick nod and tucked it into the file.
“Sean, can you patch into the FBI database and see if there’ve been similar homicides in other states? It’ll save time over putting in a formal request.”
“Consider it done. My laptop’s in the car.”
