Secrets Never Die

Lance went out onto a large deck. The deck was well worn, and at the base of the steps, he found matching drag marks in the mud. He followed them as they sloped to the lake and traveled onto the dock that extended over the water. At the end of the dock, where a loose rope suggested a boat had been tied, was a long dark stain.

Blood.

It stained the bottom of a piling and cleat, as if someone had tried to grab the dock to keep from being dragged onto a boat. Lance looked out over the water. The cabin was on the south shore. From this viewpoint, the water seemed endless. He’d been to Lake George to hike, camp, and a few years ago, to compete in a triathlon. Long and narrow, the lake was over thirty miles long and up to two miles wide. Its maximum depth was two hundred feet. The killer could have tossed the victim overboard anywhere. They didn’t even know if the person was alive or dead. If a body was weighted down and dumped somewhere in the lake, it would be damned hard to find.

As he backtracked to the cabin, he took pictures of the drag trail.

Alarm prickled when he didn’t see Morgan in the kitchen or living room. “Morgan?”

“Here.” Her head appeared above the couch. “I found something.”

“What is it?” Lance walked closer.

Morgan was crouched low, her flashlight pointing under an end table. Her head tilted. Her breath caught, and the color drained from her face. “Oh, my God. It’s a finger.”

Lance hurried closer. Her skin grayed. She rocked back on her heels and covered her mouth. He moved her aside and took her place. The finger lay on its side. “The severed end looks neatly clipped off. He used something sharp.”

Morgan shuddered and got to her feet. “I’m going outside for a minute.”

Lance took pictures of the bloodstains and finger. The flash went off, illuminating another finger next to the leg of the sofa. It looked like a pinkie. He examined the first finger a second time. Slightly longer than the pinkie, it was probably a ring finger. Lance checked under the rest of the furniture, then stood.

He joined Morgan on the porch. She was staring at the woods.

“There was another finger under the couch,” he said.

Still pale, she closed her eyes and swallowed. “We have to call Sheriff Colgate and the local police.”

“We’ll be spending the rest of the evening being drilled by the local cops.” What did it matter? Lance had no idea where to look for Evan. But he wanted to be back in Scarlet Falls in case they found a clue.

“There’s no avoiding that.” Morgan’s arms were folded over her waist. She clutched her phone in her hand. The tips of her fingers trembled.

They’d both seen dead bodies before, but Lance had to admit, body parts freaked him out too. He pictured a man tied to a chair, and someone snipping off his fingers one by one.

“We are missing something big in this case, something that would drive a person to kidnap, torture, and murder someone.”

“Maybe two someones.” Morgan dialed 911 on her phone. “There’s a very good chance that someone was killed here today.”

“But who? Did Brian lose two fingers, or did he remove someone else’s?”

“That’s the big question, right? Is Brian a victim? Or did he kill Paul?” Morgan turned away to speak to the emergency dispatcher.

Lance prayed the fingers didn’t belong to Evan.

He paced the porch. He felt trapped, useless. Their investigation was one dead end after another, and he couldn’t help but feel like Evan’s time was running out. He glanced back at the cabin. The killer was getting desperate.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Evan paddled. Luckily, the current was still strong, and he really only had to steer. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the house he’d broken into as possible.

He’d managed to get himself and his bags of stolen goods out the window and into the canoe. He’d also successfully launched the boat without getting wet. But how did the police know he’d been there?

He must have been seen. He would have to be more careful and stick to the woods. His arm throbbed as he worked the paddle with his good hand. The wound burned now, and he felt hot all over. He ate a few crackers, opened another water bottle, and drank, swallowing down some more ibuprofen. But camouflaging the pain wasn’t enough. He needed antibiotics. Bacteria was holding a rager inside his body.

He wished he could contact his mom. She would know what to do, and she deserved to know he was still alive. She flipped out if he was more than fifteen minutes past curfew.

I’m a nurse. Every time you’re late, I picture you on a gurney covered in blood.

She must be losing it by now.

Guilt compounded his misery. I’m sorry, Mom. He didn’t know how he could have handled the situation differently, but he still felt like he’d fucked up.

The canoe slid through the water. Gnats buzzed around his face, and he waved them away. Though the current was strong, there were no big rocks or piles of debris in this stretch. The water seemed to be deeper here. Woods thickened on both sides. The seclusion was comforting, but he wished something around him looked familiar.

Would the police know he’d been in the house? If they did, they’d come after him. He needed to get off the river. But how could he find a place to hide if he didn’t even know where he was?

The sound of rushing water floated across the forest. Evan lifted his paddle and listened. The rush grew to a roar. He used the paddle to guide the canoe to the bank. Grabbing a low-hanging branch to steady the boat, he tried to get his bearings.

The roar seemed louder than the rapids he’d encountered the day before. There was only one body of water that made that much noise. He must be near Scarlet Falls, which meant he’d traveled the whole Deer River because that’s where it ended. The falls spilled into big rocky pools and eventually ran into Scarlet Lake.

He worked the canoe closer to the riverbank. If he were truly at the falls, he wouldn’t be able to go farther by canoe, not unless he was willing to drag the boat over land for a significant distance. Even if he were willing, he wasn’t able.

He and Rylee sometimes hung out at the Scarlet Falls lookout. It was close to the beach on Scarlet Lake where all the kids went. Could he get help there? The only people he could trust were Jake and Rylee. Jake was his best friend, and Rylee . . . they’d never even kissed. So she wasn’t exactly his girlfriend, but he wanted her to be. All that mattered was that he knew he could trust her.

What if the police knew he’d left the house by boat? They’d follow him downriver. They’d end up here. They’d bring dogs. They’d find him.

He had to hide the boat, so they couldn’t be sure where he’d left the river. He released the branch and let the canoe drift farther. The roar of water grew louder. A few minutes later, Evan could see the jagged boulders that marked the end of the Deer River. The water was deeper here. Engorged from recent rain, the river poured over the edge.

He couldn’t risk getting any closer. He snagged another branch and worked the canoe to the rocky riverbank. He removed his bags of supplies and set them on the shore. Then he climbed out of the canoe. He hated to part with the boat, but he absolutely had to prevent anyone from finding it.

He began tossing rocks into its hull. Large, small, it didn’t matter; they added up. Exhaustion weighed on him as much as the rocks weighed down the canoe. It seemed to take forever. But he shouldn’t have worried. It was all a matter of physics and water displacement. Eventually, the canoe floated lower. Water rose up its sides and began to pour over the edges. As soon as the water filled the canoe, it sank. Evan watched it disappear.

Grabbing his supplies in one hand, he stumbled along the riverbank, sticking to the rocks to avoid leaving tracks. The old-man sneakers he’d stolen had decent traction, but Evan’s body was weakening. Sinking the canoe had sapped his strength. His head spun, and his thigh muscles felt soft and rubbery.

The sun was starting to dip toward the trees as the day faded toward evening. On the horizon, dark clouds approached. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but the thought of spending the night outside in the rain made his eyes fill. His stomach clenched with hunger pangs. He sat down on a rock and fished into the nylon bag for a can of peaches and the can opener. He ate every section of sweet fruit with his fingers, then drank the juice from the can, making sure to get every last drop. Fluid was precious, and his supplies were running low already.

He rinsed the can in the river. If he could find a safe, concealed place to start a fire, he could filter water through a T-shirt and boil it in the can the way Paul had showed him. It might not taste great, but it would be safe to drink.

Opening one of the stolen water bottles, he washed down the peaches. His mouth and throat were still dry. The ibuprofen was taking the edge off his fever, but between the heat, the humidity, and his elevated body temperature, he could not stay hydrated. He ran his tongue over his lips. They felt chapped and dry.

He picked up his bags again, hoisted them over his good shoulder, and started walking. The rocky trail was rough. Normally, he and Rylee hung out at the overlook on the other side of the ravine from the falls. He had no idea how to get down on this side. The trail twisted and became steep. He rounded a bend. The trail opened and gave him a view of the waterfall from the opposite side. He was at the top of the ravine.