He’d probably had no idea just how much those words meant to me now.
Oscar was in his office—I saw him through the open door—but he seemed preoccupied with something. Instead of talking to him, I went straight to my desk.
I’d hardly been able to sleep all night, so I’d spent most of my time researching the Beltway Killer. I’d put together a timeline. Organized a dossier of the victims. I’d even put together my own criminal profile. Granted, I had no education on how to do so. I purely went off gut instincts.
As soon as Michael got into the office, I’d share what I had put together and get everyone’s feedback on it.
Michael dragged himself into the office a few minutes after I arrived. I couldn’t help but notice he looked tired. Maybe even a little anxious, based on his gaze. It was usually steady; today it wasn’t.
He waved at Oscar before walking into the office and staring at me for a minute. Something unspoken lingered in his gaze.
“Elliot.” His voice sounded crisp.
I knew there was more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. We couldn’t risk Oscar overhearing anything personal. That meant I would need to wait.
“How are you?” I asked. But what I really wanted to know was how things had gone with Roxy. I wanted details. Information. A promise that everything would be okay.
God was the only one who could promise me that, though. And His answer might not include anything this side of heaven.
“We should probably talk—” he started.
Before he could finish, Oscar bellowed from his office, “I want to see the two of you in here. Now.”
It looked like our conversation would have to wait until later. But the ominous tone to Michael’s voice set me on edge. What had happened last night? Whatever it was, it had Michael apprehensive.
I grabbed the folder I’d put together and followed Michael into Oscar’s office.
I paused just inside the doorway and observed my boss. Oscar didn’t look like he had gotten much sleep either, with his rumpled clothing and the circles beneath his eyes. I wasn’t sure what he’d been doing, but it appeared we were all worried about Velma.
It was nice to know that Oscar had a heart.
“Any updates?” Michael stepped closer to Oscar’s desk.
Oscar frowned and rolled a pen between his fingers.
“Not that I’ve heard. I checked in with a contact at the police station this morning, but he was tight-lipped.” Oscar put his pen down and sighed. “This case really has me stumped. There’s nothing to point to who this killer may be or where Velma is.”
I cleared my throat, my lungs deflating. However, I had to remember the work I’d done last night. “I’m no expert, but I have a few ideas.”
Michael and Oscar both stared at me.
I opened my folder. “I did some research on the psychology of a killer. I know I’m an amateur, but I put together a profile.”
I handed both Michael and Oscar paper packets and gave them a moment to study what I’d compiled. I held my breath, waiting for their reactions.
Finally, they both looked up and nodded.
“Impressive,” Oscar muttered.
I relaxed slightly. “Thank you.”
“So you think this killer is someone on the younger side—” Michael started.
“Younger being late twenties, thirties, maybe even forties,” I said. “There’s really not enough information to go on yet. But that’s the information that was on the flyer the police put out. Someone must have thought they saw this man at some point if the police are using those details.”
“I believe that information came from a supposed witness who saw the third victim before she disappeared,” Oscar said. “But the details were all hazy and uncertain.”
“What else?” Michael continued, his gaze on me instead of the dossier.
“There were no drag marks on the victims,” I explained. “That probably means they were carried to the places where they were found. That would require some strength.”
“So he was organized and meticulous,” Oscar said.
“Exactly.” I liked it when people saw things as I did. “And he hasn’t been caught yet, so he must be relatively smart and have the ability to focus on details.”
“True.” Michael nodded slowly.
“He has the inability to form deep relationships,” I continued. “In my estimation, at least.”
Oscar twisted his thick head. “Where did you get that fact from?”
“No one he knows has come forward with information on him,” I said. “He’s probably private. Maybe he was even rejected, and, because of that, he’s looking for affirmation outside his social circle. Maybe that’s why he keeps his victims for so long. They fill some kind of need in him.”
When I finished, I noticed Michael and Oscar still staring at me with a halfway bewildered look in their gazes.
I cringed. Had I overstepped? Was I totally off base?
I waited for their reaction, the seconds dragging on. I had no choice but to sit there with my chin up.
“Good job, Elliot.” Oscar nodded, something close to admiration in his gaze.
I sucked in a breath. Had he just given me affirmation? I could hardly believe it.
Oscar wasn’t that type.
“Thank you,” I finally said, nearly choking on the words.
“I agree,” Michael said. “You did some good work, Elliot.”
“I also put together dossiers on the victims and complied all the old news articles I could find on the killings. I thought it might help to have everything spelled out and in front of us.” I handed them those papers also.
“Impressive,” Oscar muttered, glancing at them.
As Oscar’s phone buzzed, he looked down and grunted.
A second later, he turned on the TV in the corner of his office. “That was a friend of mine. There’s something on the news right now about Velma.”
I held my breath as I waited to hear whatever was being reported.
I was so entranced while watching the news feature on the Beltway Killer that I hardly heard someone step into the office. When I felt a shadow behind me, I nearly jumped out of my chair.
Hunter.
My heart crashed in my chest.
I quickly stood and met him in the doorway. “Hunter. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
His gaze looked haunted as he observed me. “I was hoping to ask you a few more questions about Velma.”
“Of course,” I murmured. “Whatever we can do to help find her.”
Hunter briefly nodded at Oscar and Michael before following me into the reception area. Even out here, we heard the TV playing. Heard the report on the news.
The feature had mostly been a depressing update. The reporter informed viewers that the Beltway Killer had supposedly taken another victim. Velma’s picture had flashed on the screen.
Seeing her photo on TV made my stomach squeeze with grief.
We had to find her.
“Do you want to talk to everybody or just me?” I asked.
Hunter took my arm and led me farther away from Oscar’s office. “Just you. To start with, at least.”
“Of course.” I pointed to my office, and we both went in and sat down.