It also seemed like the artificial twin of the embalmed dead bodies of Krista Barker and Monique Silva, the killer’s own mannequins.
Suddenly she could picture a much more likely sequence for the killer’s clothing shopping. He’d approach the mannequin, which already resembled his dream woman—a woman who would never argue, never leave, who could be posed. And he’d tell the nearest clerk that he wanted what the mannequin was wearing, in a size that fit the prostitute with him.
Most of the shops had simple, nondescript dolls, hardly looking like a human figure. But the mannequins in this shop had hair; they were colored right; they had beautiful large eyes. Perfect for their killer.
They’d easily fuel his fantasies. Did he have a mannequin like that at home? One he used for practice? Zoe was convinced he did, or used to.
“Zoe.” Tatum touched her arm. “Come on. Maybe we’ll get lucky in the next—”
“Hang on,” Zoe said. She approached the manager, a severe-looking woman who eyed them both with annoyance.
“Excuse me,” Zoe said. “We’re looking for a—”
“Your partner told me. The Strangling Undertaker, right? Look, I don’t remember any weirdos walking around here, and if you want the security footage—”
“Okay,” Zoe said. “I get it. But I have a different question. The man we’re looking for is probably in his early thirties—”
“We have lots of those.”
“And he’d probably be obsessed with your mannequins. He’d always buy what the mannequins were wearing and—”
“Oh, that guy.”
Zoe blinked at the woman. She could feel Tatum tense by her side.
“Sure, he comes by every once in a while. He freaks the girls out. He stands by the mannequins for ten, sometimes twenty minutes, just looking at them. He touched them a few times but stopped once I threatened to call security.”
“Does he come here with women?” Zoe asked.
“I think so. He came in with a girl not long ago. Bought her some clothes.”
“Just what the mannequins were wearing, right?”
The manager shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“When was the last time he came by?” Tatum asked.
“Just yesterday.”
“Did he have a woman with him?” Zoe asked urgently.
“No. He came alone. He was here around three in the afternoon, I think. Just staring at the mannequins, like always.”
“But he didn’t buy anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ma’am, we have to see the security footage,” Tatum said.
“I already told you—”
“That man is the serial killer,” Zoe said. “And he comes here a lot, you said. He might decide to pick up one of your girls next time.”
The manager’s eyes flickered in fear. Yeah, Zoe knew the feeling.
“Once he picks a girl, he won’t let go,” Zoe said, her voice lowering. “He’ll stalk her, get her when she’s alone. He strangles his victims to death using a noose. He violates their bodies once they’re dead. He keeps them as—”
“Okay,” the manager said, her voice croaking. There were tears in her eyes. She was shaking. “Will this help you catch him?”
“It would be invaluable,” Tatum said.
“And you’ll let us know? Once you get him?”
Fear had taken root, Zoe knew. This woman wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. She wouldn’t leave the store alone in the evening. She might quit this job altogether, look for a different one. Zoe searched her conscience and decided there was no reason to feel guilty. The woman had forced her hand.
“We’ll let you know,” she said.
“And . . . what if he comes to the store?”
“Call the police, and try to keep him from leaving,” Zoe said. “You tell the dispatcher to call Lieutenant Samuel Martinez and tell him the Strangling Undertaker is in your shop.”
“O-okay.”
“The security footage?” Tatum asked. His voice was soft.
“Right. Please follow me.”
CHAPTER 67
Tatum sat in front of the console. The clothing store’s security guard had stepped aside, letting him sit in his chair. It was a comfortable chair, and on any other day, Tatum would have felt an urge to swivel in it and see how many full spins he could do with one push. But now his heart beat fast, the thrill of the chase taking over his thoughts.
There were several screens in the console. Five showed the shop’s interior, and one was positioned outside, streaming the people who went in and out of the store. The guard showed him how to display recorded footages and how to switch between the various cameras. It was needlessly complicated, but Tatum slowly got the hang of it.
The store manager stood by him, breathing heavily. Zoe had spooked the woman out of her wits. It had definitely worked, but he was certain they could have managed to persuade her without it. This woman would be looking over her shoulder for months now. Tatum promised himself he’d let her know as soon as they had the Corny Serial Killer behind bars.
He fast-forwarded the video. The time read 7/28, 14:47:32. He fast-forwarded a whole hour, occasionally glancing at the manager.
“See him?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Try this camera.” She pointed at one of the live monitors. “It’s closer to one of the mannequins he likes.”
He switched to the correct feed, inserted the time 7/28, 14:30:00, and began to fast-forward again.
When the time stamp read 15:07:06, the manager said sharply, “There.”
He paused the video. She pointed at a person standing at the corner of the frame. His face could barely be seen.
“Are you sure that’s him?”
“Yes. See how he stands in front of the mannequin? Fast-forward—you’ll see that he doesn’t move.”
Tatum fast-forwarded and saw that the manager was right. The man didn’t shift at all for more than six minutes. Then he stepped away, disappearing from the frame.
“Did you see that?” Tatum told Zoe.
“Yes,” she said in a hushed tone and put a hand on his shoulder. They shared a thrilling moment. They had just seen the invisible killer they had been chasing for two weeks.
“Can we see where he walked to?” Tatum asked the security guy.
“It looks like he just went toward the entrance,” he answered. “There are no cameras beyond that point up to the entrance.”
“He came from the same direction,” Tatum said, rewinding and watching the man appearing and stopping in front of the mannequin.
Zoe cleared her throat. “He walked into the shop, went straight to the mannequin, looked at her for several minutes, then went outside.”
“Okay,” Tatum said. “Let’s check out the footage of the entrance.”
The man had appeared in the footage at the time stamp of 15:06:42. Tatum switched to the entrance and set the time to 15:04:00. He let it play in normal speed.
“There he is,” Zoe said as the man appeared. He was looking at the ground, and they couldn’t see his face clearly. Tatum rewound the footage a bit.
“Look,” he said, breathing hard. “We can see the car.”
The footage showed about a dozen cars from the parking lot. The man shut the door of one and stepped outside. Tatum rewound a bit more, and the monitor displayed the car parking before the man came out.
“It’s hard to read the license plate,” Zoe said.
“I know someone who can get the plate from this footage easily,” Tatum said, grinning. “We got the bastard.”
He fast-forwarded. The man disappeared into the store. Seven minutes later he went out, but instead of going to his car, he turned right and disappeared from view.
“Maybe he needed to buy some milk,” Tatum muttered as he fast-forwarded the video. At 15:32:11, the car drove away. He paused and rewound a bit. They could now see the man returning, and he had a bag in his hand.
“Yeah, he went grocery shopping,” Tatum said. “I guess he ran out of food.”
“That’s not a bag from the supermarket,” the manager said. “It’s from the toy store next door.”
“Toy store?” Tatum frowned. “So . . . what, this guy has a child?”
“I hope so,” Zoe said in a tense voice.
“Hope so? Why?”
“Because if not, he might have decided he needs more than a woman in his life. He might have decided he needs kids.”