Secrets Never Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “Lance, you do what you need to do. I’m not going anywhere.” Jenny ended the call.

  “Could be Brian Springer’s brother.” Morgan plugged the address into the map app on her phone. “It’s about thirty minutes away.”

  “Let’s go.” Lance stepped on the gas pedal, and the car accelerated.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lance pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and studied the digital map on his phone. His Jeep was a blue dot on the single road that cut through a huge swath of green. “The GPS says we’re here, but I don’t see a house or a driveway.”

  Morgan turned her head to look behind the Jeep. “According to the information your mother sent, the property comprises two hundred acres and includes a stretch of waterfront. How far are we from the lake?”

  Lance zoomed out on the map. The lake appeared as a huge blue area. He touched the screen. “Here.”

  “It’s just on the other side of these woods.” Morgan frowned at the map. “If you own lakefront property, you build your house both with a view of the water and access to the road. Keep crawling along. There must be a driveway or private road that cuts through to the lake.”

  He eased off the brake and let the Jeep roll forward. The trees were thick and green with summer foliage. Lance couldn’t see very far into the woods.

  A quarter of a mile down the road, Morgan tapped his shoulder and pointed to a gap in the trees. “What’s that?”

  Tree branches partially concealed a narrow dirt lane. Lance made the turn. The lane was rutted and muddy, and Lance kept the Jeep’s speed slow. The narrow road ended in a clearing. A log cabin hunkered at the rear of the cleared space. Behind it, the lake stretched out as far as he could see. The day was still, and the overcast sky had turned the water into a mirror.

  He turned the Jeep to face the lane in case they needed to make a quick exit.

  “There’s no vehicle here.” Morgan scanned the clearing. “But I see tire tracks that look fairly recent.”

  “Someone has been here since Tuesday morning’s storm.” Lance took his flashlight and camera from the glove compartment and stuffed them into his cargo pants pockets. His phone took decent pictures, but it didn’t have optical zoom or produce the same quality images as his digital 35mm. “Are you ready?”

  Morgan changed into her boots. “Yes.”

  They stepped out of the Jeep. He could smell the pines and the mossy scent of the lake. Mud sucked at his feet as they crossed the clearing. He surveyed their surroundings. The storm had knocked small branches and leaves on the moss-covered ground in front of the cabin. The lot was heavily wooded, with dense foliage that would provide excellent cover should someone be watching them. A squirrel scurried up a nearby pine tree. Overhead, a hawk glided in a lazy circle.

  They walked up three wooden steps to a rough porch. He stood behind the doorframe. Morgan did the same on the other side. He knocked. No one answered.

  Moving to a window, Morgan cupped her hands over her eyes. “I don’t see anyone inside.”

  Lance knocked again. Hearing nothing but forest sounds, he pulled a small leather case from his pocket and took out two small tools.

  “You’re breaking and entering into a cop’s vacation cabin?” Morgan sighed.

  “It’s his brother’s place, not his.” Lance took a pair of gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. Then he dangled a second pair in front of Morgan’s face. “If Evan’s life weren’t at stake, I wouldn’t do this.”

  Probably.

  “I know.” She took the gloves.

  Morgan had a black-and-white, right-versus-wrong sense of justice. Breaking the law bothered her. Lance’s moral code was slightly more flexible. A simple B and E wouldn’t keep him up at night.

  He tried the knob. “The door is unlocked. So technically, we’ll just be entering.”

  “We’re not even sure this is the right place.” She glanced at the driveway, then waved a gnat away from her face.

  “We’ll know soon.” He pushed the door open and sniffed. “I don’t smell a rotting corpse, but there’s something in the air.”

  Morgan followed him in. “I smell mold, which isn’t unusual for a waterfront property, but there’s something else.” She inhaled deeper, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s unpleasant.”

  Lance sniffed. Under the must, the air smelled faintly like the locker room at the ice rink. Lance was always riding the team to clean their gear, but teenage boys being what they were . . .

  “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.

  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.