Chapter 8: Eight O'Clock
Rourke arrived at five past eight with a woman I hadn't seen before — younger, dark-haired, carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder.
He introduced her as Detective Yates.
They sat at the kitchen table.
Tyler and I sat across from them.
The pot roast from the night before was still in the dish on the counter.
Nobody mentioned it.
"The number Marcus called from last night," Rourke said, "is registered to a prepaid phone purchased in Ohio fourteen months ago.
That's consistent with his pattern."
"His pattern," I said.
"Marcus Hale is not his legal name," Yates said.
She opened the laptop and turned it to face us.
"His legal name is Daniel Crews.
He has used at least four other names that we know of across three states."
Tyler stared at the screen.
"Four names."
"He targets families through young people he meets at universities.
He builds a relationship — genuine enough to pass inspection — and uses that relationship to gain access.
Information.
Proximity." Yates paused.
"In two of the three cases we've linked to him, the families reported items missing after he visited their homes.
In the third case, it was more serious."
"How serious?" I said.
Rourke and Yates exchanged a look.
"A woman in Ohio," Rourke said.
"Sixty-one years old.
Living alone.
Her son had been dating Daniel Crews — Marcus Hale — for approximately four months.
She was found by a neighbor." He stopped.
"She recovered.
But it took time."
The kitchen was very quiet.
Tyler's hand found the edge of the table.
His knuckles went white.
"He was going to do that here," Tyler said.
It wasn't a question.
"We believe he was in an early stage of that process, yes," Rourke said.
"Your mother's recognition last night likely interrupted a timeline he had already begun."
I thought about the window.
The immediate, unhesitating move to the window.
He had already known the layout.
He had already planned the exit.
He had been in this house in his mind long before he walked through my front door.
"Lily," Tyler said.
"He asked about Lily."
"We're aware," Yates said.
"We've already been in contact with your aunt's local police department.
Lily and her family are being notified this morning."
Tyler pushed back from the table.
He walked to the kitchen window and stood there with his back to us, looking out at the yard.
"Seven months," he said.
"I thought I knew him."
Nobody told him he should have known better.
Nobody said anything at all for a moment, because there was nothing useful to say.
Rourke looked at me.
"Mrs.
Diane, the call he made to you last night — we'll need that recording."
"I have it," I said.
"And Tyler's call?"
"Tyler recorded his too.
He thought to do it himself."
Rourke nodded once, and something in his expression shifted slightly — not surprise exactly, but something close to approval.
"We have a location we're looking at," Yates said.
"We expect to move on it within twenty-four hours.
I want to be honest with you — we may not find him immediately.
He's done this before and he knows how to move."
"But you'll find him," Tyler said, still facing the window.
"Yes," Rourke said.
"We'll find him."
Tyler turned around.
His eyes were dry.
His jaw was set.
"What do we do until then?" he asked.
"You stay here," Rourke said.
"You don't answer calls from numbers you don't recognize.
You don't respond if he contacts you again.
And you call me directly if anything changes." He slid a card across the table.
"My cell is on the back."
Tyler picked it up.
Looked at it.
Set it down next to his coffee mug.
Rourke and Yates stood to leave.
At the kitchen doorway, Rourke paused and looked back at me.
"Four years," he said quietly.
"We've been building this case for four years.
Last night you gave us the first direct contact recording we've had." He held my gaze.
"That matters, Mrs.
Diane.
What you did last night matters."
They left.
The front door closed.
Tyler sat back down.
He picked up his coffee, found it cold, and set it down again.
"Four years," he said.
"He's been doing this for four years."
"Yes."
"And nobody caught him."
"Not yet," I said.
"They will."
Tyler looked at the card on the table.
Then at me.
"Mom," he said.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you right away."
"You believed me when it counted," I said.
Outside, a car started.
We both went still for half a second before we recognized the sound of Rourke's engine pulling away from the curb.
Tyler let out a long breath.
"I'm not going back to school," he said.
"Not yet.
May you like
Not until this is done."
I didn't argue with him.
