Page 65 of Blood Moon

“It could have been an accident of which he was unaware, as he claims.”

“Or, some other dude did it.” He frowned with concentration and started pacing again. “May fifteenth, right? College exams were done, the boardwalk and Pleasure Pier on Galveston were crowded with people ready to kick off summer. Whoever he is, he would have blended in. He spotted Larissa in a bar. She was getting soused on tequila and high on weed.”

“Making out with Dobbs.”

“A problem for our guy. Definitely. But he’s got until what? What was the time frame of the eclipse that night?”

She checked her notes. “In Central time zone, coast of Texas, nine-twenty-eight to eleven-elevenP.M.”

“Okay. Unrushed and unnoticed, he could have stalked her all day. Then… then… Shit. How would he have gotten her off that boat?”

“He could’ve been on the boat with them.”

“A threesome? Dobbs would’ve said so. And how would the culprit have gotten back to shore?”

“Of course,” she said, looking chagrined. “What was I thinking?”

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Don’t beat yourself up. My brain is fried, too.”

“Want to take a break?”

“No time,” he said with a stubborn shake of his head. “I’ve walked a mile here, but I’m back to where I started. Is his choice random? Or does he stalk them and know where they’re likely to be on the night he takes them?” He looked at his computer, which had gone to sleep. “Pull up their pictures again, please.”

Earlier he had composed the equivalent of a bulletin board, filling his screen with close-up photos of the four young women, two on top, two on bottom. “Give them a good look, Beth, and tell me what they have in common.”

She studied them individually, then leaned back and looked at them collectively. “John, I don’t see anything.”

“That’s right.”

She turned around to him.

“Whatever it is that draws him isn’t a physical trait. Not long blond hair, or blue eyes, or a particular body type.”

“So he does pick at random.”

“Or they have a common trait that isn’t visible.”

“Like what?”

He chuffed. “Well, let’s see.” He began ticking off on his fingers. “Good singing voices, strict religious affiliations, or atheism. Same birthday. Cheerleading. All were mean girls, all made the honor roll.”

“You’re saying that it could be anything.”

“Anything.” He stared into the monitor, the cold light highlighting his eyes and, behind them, his stark desperation to gain insight.

“Those other detectives have compared notes on their victims’ characteristics but haven’t connected one pair of dots. They believe that these women had the rotten luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that the only thing they have in common is that they were abducted on the night of a blood moon.”

He turned away, but had taken only a few steps when he stopped, then came back around abruptly. He said softly, “That’s it, Beth.”

“What?”

Speaking rapidly, he said, “Nowadays, there’s a lot of interest in the occult, fantasy, wizardry, all that. Especially among young people. E-games, Halloween costumes. Hell, the whole Goth thing. Maybe it’s thevictimswho are fixated on the blood moon, not the perp.”

Beth experienced a tingle of optimism. “I think you could be on to something.”

“I think so, too.” He socked his fist into his palm. “Let’s say our perp is a religious zealot who thinks that all things mystical or supernatural are evil and that anyone who buys into it is—”

“A disciple of Satan.”