Cooper shuddered at the what-ifs reverberating around his weary brain.
What if Angeline hadn’t followed him back to his hotel when he left her at the restaurant, what if they hadn’t engaged in...almost-sex? Hell, he was hard as a railroad spike and a breath away from Hallelujah! when she asked if he'd gone back to teaching.
His obsession with tracking Voorhees, the Dutchman, stood as a bone of contention between them five years ago. Apparently, it still was, and with good reason given tonight’s events. The cryptic clues and horrific murder were Voorhees’ trademarks.
Cooper leaned forward in his chair at the utilitarian table in the sparsely-furnished room apparently reserved for grilling persons of interest. “I’d like to make my phone call now.”
A jacketless Zeller, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, shuffled a handful of papers and stacked them in his open briefcase. He stood, grabbed the black telephone at the far end of the table, and slid it across to Cooper.
What if Angeline had walked in on her intruder? What if she’d tried to stop him from taking her child? Would she have been butchered like Rose Cassell?