“It’s sweat.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Morgan agreed.

The front door opened directly into a large great room. The kitchen was sized to accommodate large groups, with a generous center island and a table that seated eight. In the adjoining living area, a giant U-shaped sectional couch faced a wood-burning fireplace. The floors were wide-planked golden pine, and the walls were rough-hewn logs. Huge windows in both rooms faced the lake.

With Morgan at his left flank, Lance gave the house a thorough look-through to ensure they were alone. There were three bedrooms and two full baths on the first floor. A staircase in the back hall led to two additional bedrooms separated by a full bath. The upstairs bedrooms each held two sets of bunk beds. He crouched to check under beds and opened the closets. Morgan went into the Jack-and-Jill bath. Lance heard a door being opened and the scraping sound of a shower curtain being pushed aside.

She emerged a minute later and jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the bathroom. “The bath is stocked with rubber duckies and No More Tangles. Upstairs looks like kids’ space.”

“Agreed. Let’s go back downstairs.” Lance walked through the downstairs bedrooms, looking for anything that could belong to Brian—like a computer—but he found nothing personal. Towels and sheets were stacked in the linen closets. The bathrooms had plenty of soap and toothpaste.

“Maybe they rent out the cabin.” Morgan led the way back to the front rooms. She went to the window in the living area and scanned the front yard. Seemingly satisfied that no one was coming, she wandered around the living room, opening drawers.

Lance poked through some envelopes and papers stacked on the counter. “These bills are addressed to Robert Springer, Brian’s brother.”

“Lance,” Morgan called softly.

She stood in an empty spot in front of the TV. Her body was too still, her eyes cast down at the floor.

When Lance had first walked through the cabin, he’d been focused on looking for people. He’d glanced over the couch long enough to see that no one was hiding there. But now he registered details. The coffee table had been moved aside.

“What is it?” As he walked closer, he could see a wooden chair on its side in the middle of the space.

“Dark stains on the floor.”

Lance crossed the floor to stand next to her. “Where?”

She pointed.

Lance squatted to examine the spots more closely. He pulled his penlight from his pocket and shone it on the floor. The stains were dark red on the honey-colored pine.

“Blood,” Morgan said.

“That would be my guess.” Though he couldn’t be sure without a rapid stain ID kit.

“It looks like someone wiped up the liquid but didn’t bother trying to clean the floor.” Lance crouched. There were at least three stains on the wood. The police would likely find more with a spray of luminol and a black light. Lengths of rope were scattered around the chair, as if someone had been bound.

He stood. “Someone was tied to the chair.”

“And tortured in some way,” Morgan said. After a short pause, she added, “Paul was shot in the belly. Maybe that was torture as well.”

“Maybe.” Lance pictured the body in the morgue. “That teenage boy who was pulled from the lake was beaten before he was killed.”

Morgan crossed her arms. “The killer wanted information. He’s looking for something.”

“Or someone.” Lance stared at the bloodstains. “I don’t like the odds of this victim still being alive.”

“Paul was shot in the head. The boy in the morgue was shot in the head. If our killer is consistent, whoever was tortured here would have met the same fate.” Morgan’s head turned toward the kitchen window and its view of the lake. “He’s already dumped one body in the water.”

Lance photographed the bloodstain, then walked the rest of the room and found several more spots. Marks on the floor caught his attention. Faint scrapes formed two parallel lines. Heel marks. He followed them to the back door in the kitchen, snapping pictures all the way. “Someone dragged a body through the kitchen. I’m going outside to see if I can find tracks. See if you can find any more blood inside.”

Morgan opened her tote bag and produced a flashlight. She shone it on the floor and began moving the beam in a grid pattern across the room.

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.