Chapter 24

A missing person’s call isn’t something Harlow gets a lot of. He’s only assisted in missing person’s cases when his load was light. Today, this isn’t the case with a serial murderer on a rampage, but this missing person’s case shares a commonality with his own.

Detective Harlow arrives at the scene where forensics is already sweeping the area. He slips on a pair of polypropylene shoe covers and latex-free gloves. The apartment is in a state of mild disarray; a broken vase here, an overturned plant there - blood on the couch that might amount to brief a nosebleed.

“Detective Sysco,” Harlow greets the lead investigator for missing persons as she snaps photos of the scene with her iPhone.

She’s an attractive woman Harlow has longed to work with again in this capacity. They would be working closely on this missing person because of the shared link to his case. He watches her turn to meet his gaze, her blonde hair pulled tight into a high ponytail, moving over her left shoulder as if in slow motion. Her turquoise eyes burn into his for a moment before long lashes blink away their enchanting spell, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Detective,” she replies, voice carrying over the melee of activity in the apartment. “It’s good to see you again, though I’m sorry it’s always under these circumstances.” She hands him the bagged note.

Harlow nods, briefly wondering whether she might like to meet outside of work someday. His forefinger touches Sysco’s as he receives the baggie. They experience a static shock between them. Sysco smiles, pulling her hand back suddenly. Harlow notices how her lips part somewhat, and the tight skin between her eyebrows furrows ever so slightly.

As Harlow reviews the note, he recalls the others. They seem identical, but that would have to be confirmed by forensics. The same cryptic message. Maybe this time, the killer screwed up, he thinks.

“I appreciate the call, Detective,” Harlow hands the note off to one of the forensics. “Let me know the minute you know,” he tells the officer, who nods and rushes away with the evidence. Harlow turns back to Sysco.

“This doesn’t exactly align with your serial killer’s MO,” she states, narrowing her eyes at her phone’s screen and snapping another picture.

“Two outta three, some would take those odds,” Harlow jokes. Sysco looks up at him, unimpressed. Harlow clears his throat. “But you’re right; this is out of character for our killer. This could be the break we’ve been hoping for.”

“I hope for her sake it is.” Sysco squats down to identify a dust bunny.

“That the victim is a woman this time is also uncharacteristic. So far, it’s been men.” Harlow moves past the attractive detective toward a photograph on a buffet. He picks it up, studying the face set upon a field of sunflowers. “This is her? This is our victim?”

Sysco looks up and nods. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

In a mousey kind of way, Harlow considers and then recognizes the woman. He snaps up his phone and reviews his messages. “Clare Hastings,” he announces.

“That’s right, we sent you her information,” Detective Sysco stands.

“She was brought into the station, concerning the last victim, with her boyfriend -” Harlow stops himself.

“Boyfriend, eh?” Sysco watches Harlow, but he’s looking right through her now.

“Call in for backup to secure the Bookaneer in Cornerstone Village on East Warren Avenue between Outer Dr. East and Cadieux,” Harlow pushes past her. He apologizes. “This guy’s admitted to being in the locality of the last murder, and that was confirmed on video surveillance. We haven’t enough to bring him in, but this changes things.”

Sysco lifts her phone to her ear and makes the call.

Harlow liked this Peter for the murders. His military background, his PTSD – or so he claimed – his quiet life nestled within the innocent façade of a bookstore. This is his guy. He speeds to meet the police presence at the shop, anxious to question Peter further on the whereabouts of Clair Hastings.

 

At the Bookaneer, Peter is startled to receive several police officers into his small shop. They begin shouting at him, guns drawn, ordering him to lay down on his belly, hands behind his head. He obeys, heart-pounding, anxiety peaking.

He is handcuffed and hauled to his feet as two terrified patrons are escorted out of the bookstore. They look back at him in dismay. He shakes his head, “t-this is a mistake.”

“Is it?” It’s that Detective Harlow who questioned him about the other night. Oh, God, had he done something? He didn’t think so… Harlow directs the officers to place him in one of the high-backed chairs and seats himself in the other.

“I’m sorry we had to take such a strong position here, Mr. Banks, but we’ve discovered something very upsetting.” He motions for the officer situated behind Peter to remove his cuffs.

Peter rubs at his hands and rolls his shoulders. He has never been detained before. It’s more unpleasant than he’d imagined. What have they discovered? Anxiety over the whole episode has him feeling dizzy; his hands experience the encroaching pins and needles. Concentrate on your breathing, Peter, he tells himself.

“Your friend Clare,” Harlow surprises Peter with the mention of Clare. “Where is she?”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’s currently missing,” the detective says bluntly. This forces Peter to straighten up in his chair.

“Missing? Who says she’s missing?”

“Her mother, in fact. She’s tried to reach her daughter for the past 30 hours, and when she couldn’t, she called us. We sent a uniformed officer to her penthouse, and he found the door ajar and, well, you know what he found.” Harlow’s eyes burn into Peters.

“I know – what do you mean, I know?” Peter is beyond confused and now horrified over what they’d found.

“How about you just tell me where she is?”

“I – I don’t know where she is.” That’s the truth. Clare had skipped out on their date the night before, and he hasn’t been able to get a hold of her since. He explains this to the detective. “We’d made a date to meet up at ‘Quoth the Raven,’ that new spot downtown. She never showed. That was, uh, seven last night. I waited, I texted; you can ask anyone that was there. I sat at a table for over two hours.”

“So, you were at this restaurant from 7 until 9? That can be corroborated?” Harlow asks, and Peter nods. “Where were you the rest of the day?”

“Here,” Peter says, his mind wandering to dark scenarios. “I closed up at six and got on the bus about 6:15. Arrived at about 6:50. I came straight home on the bus. I guess about 9:45, I made it home.”

Harlow’s eyes narrow at Peter, and he leans back, taking a long breath Peter can hear. It’s unsettling. “And you stayed here last night once you returned? No late-night strolls?”

Peter nods. “She never returned any of my texts. I even called her twice.”

“Did that not alarm you?”

“We’ve been a bit off since the robbery,” Peter hates to admit it, but he feels Clare had brushed him off.

“So, your relationship is on the rocks,” the statement seems leading.

“It hadn’t been what it was before the armed robbery,” Peter admits. “We were going to meet last night to discuss it.”

“This was Clare’s idea?”

“That’s right,” Peter is becoming worried for Clare’s safety. “Are you going to find her?”

“Do you know where she is?” Harlow asks again. Peter just shakes his head. “We’re going to keep you at the station if that’s alright with you.”

“A–am I under arrest?”

Harlow looks around the shop and turns to Peter, “No, but I’d rather keep you close than have you become a victim yourself.”

“Victim? Is that what you think Clare is? A victim?”

“She’s missing, and we have reason to believe she’s in danger. You could also be in danger,” Harlow is changing tactics on Peter, he notices. He wants to keep him close, not safe. But whatever he can do to help.

“I’ll close up and get my things,” Peter announces, and Harlow nods to the officer to follow.