She rolled her eyes at me before turning back to her mirror. “You’re too sensitive.”
“Yeah, that’s what people usually say when the object of their criticism has a problem with it. You haven’t let up about this college stuff for months. Nagging me about it isn’t going to make me give you the answer you want.”
Jess winced as if I’d hit her. The truth was, she was the more sensitive out of the two of us. She didn’t realize I’d figured that out. “I wasn’t nagging you. I was trying to get you to think about it.”
“Which, when repeated over and over again, constitutes nagging.” Giving up on the idea of the evening going anywhere good, I got out of her bed and tugged on my jeans. I didn’t miss that her gaze strayed to my crotch, but instead of turning me on, it pissed me off. “I don’t understand where your head is at these days. We’ve been fooling around for what – two, three months? And it sounds like you have our whole lives mapped out for us, down to the two-point-five kids and the white picket fence.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Her lip curled into a sneer.
“Then why do you care what I do after graduation? Why do you care if I get an MBA or try out for the NBA? What does it matter?”
“Maybe I wanted to know if there was any potential here, okay?” Her voice rose in volume. I hoped her roommate wasn’t home. “Maybe some of us don’t want to waste our time.”
“We’ve been having a great time, and now you’re telling me it doesn’t amount to anything if it doesn’t result in a ring on your finger?” I was incredulous. I’d heard about girls who were desperate to get married, but Jess had never struck me like the type. Besides, she barely knew me. How could she consider the prospect of a future together so soon?
“I don’t think we’re on the same page, Reese.”
“No, we’re definitely not.” Grabbing my phone from her night table, I checked it before turning it off and shoving it in my back pocket. “Look, it’s past midnight. I’m going home to get some rest. We can talk about this on the drive over tomorrow if you want.”
“In front of Kira and Dan? Yeah, that’s a great idea. I’m sure that fits into their idea of a fun weekend.”
Shit. I’d forgotten I was supposed to pick them up too, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “I meant on the drive to get them. Dan lives across the city.”
“Oh, so you’re willing to give our relationship a whole fifteen minutes of discussion? That’s big of you.”
My jaw tightened. I had to get out of there or it was going to get ugly. “Nothing I say is going to make you happy tonight, so I’m going to go, okay? We can talk about it on the way or not talk about it. It’s up to you.”
Jessica snatched a textbook from her dresser and flopped down on the bed, using the book’s cover to block me from view. “I assume you can show yourself out.”
“With pleasure.” I slammed the door behind me.
And that was the charming kickoff to our first and last camping trip.
Since we hadn’t dated long, I didn’t have any proper photos of Jess, just some crappy shots I’d taken with my phone. But anything was better than picturing how I’d last seen her.
Scrolling through the images, I slowed when I got to the ones from the beginning of our relationship, if you could call what we’d had a relationship. She’d been softer then, almost beautiful. She’d been too smart to let me take any nudies, or to send me so much as a risqué selfie, but now I was glad for it. It was ironic that only now, after her death, I was able to feel romantic about her.
I’d taken my favorite photo of her at a folk music festival. She held a straw cowboy hat on her head while looking at me over her shoulder, laughing. The sun lit up her hair and face, turning her into some kind of bohemian-cowgirl goddess.
Someone had killed her. Not only killed her, but tortured her. I knew from experience that Jess could be harsh. She’d made more than her fair share of enemies. It wasn’t unusual for us to bump into someone Jess wanted to avoid whenever we left campus, and there were quite a few on campus too. What if what happened to us hadn’t been random? What if Jess had finally crossed the line with someone crazy enough to want to hurt her?
But that didn’t make sense. Why would someone set on killing Jessica murder Dan and Kira too? If it were a matter of eliminating witnesses, that didn’t explain why I was still alive.
Whoever had slaughtered my friends hadn’t done it out of necessity. There was too much overkill for that. Whoever had murdered them had liked it.
“Who was he, Jess?” I whispered to her smiling face. “Was it someone you knew? What on earth did you do to him?”
The answer was a loud knock on my bedroom door. “Reese, are you awake?”
Dad. I was surprised. Usually Mom was the one who took it upon herself to drag me out of bed. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I think you better get out here now, son. There’s something you have to see.”
I’d fallen asleep in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday – good enough. Smoothing my increasingly shaggy hair, I left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, where I figured my parents would be waiting.
It was empty.
“Dad?” My voice echoed through the kitchen.
“We’re in the great room. Hurry.”
I could hear a bunch of people talking, but I assumed my parents had the TV on. Mom was on her cell, her eyes wide and frightened. When she saw me, she covered the receiver and said, “I’ve already called Mr. Prosper. He’s on his way.”
“Wha—why? What’s going on?”
Dad peered through the curtains, which were drawn for some reason. The television was off, the steady hum of strangers’ voices coming from outside.
“Who’s in the yard?”
“Show him, Eloise. He needs to know.”
Mom handed me a newspaper. I was startled to see my own face on the front.
Real-life horror story, the headline screamed. Survivor or killer?
Police expected to make arrest today in triple-homicide case.
“This is crazy. Detective Greyeyes told me I wasn’t a suspect. How can they print this? And how can they use this photo?”
I recognized it right away. It had been taken at a barbecue that summer. I had a beer in one hand, and my arm was slung around a buddy’s shoulder. I’d cropped it to use as my Facebook profile picture. The bastards had lifted it from my own Facebook page.
“Vultures,” Dad said. He couldn’t stop staring out the window, and now I was pretty sure who was out there. More reporters, determined to get their own scoop of the day. Well, I had a quote for them. It was a short one too. “That’s what they are. A bunch of blood-thirsty vultures.”
Pounding at the back door cut his rant short. Before we could debate whether or not to answer it, a loud male voice slashed through the murmur of the reporters.
“Police. Open up.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kinew appeared as happy to see Maria as she was to see him. His receptionist hadn’t bothered to summon him this time. She’d gestured to the hallway behind her, saying, “You know the way.”
The man was reading, his boots propped on his desk. He didn’t hide his disappointment when he saw her, making a big show of how much effort it took to put his book aside.
“You lied to me.”
“I told you I didn’t want to discuss this in my office, Detective.”
“Tell me, what is it? Some long-running gag, a silly story to tell the outsiders so you can see how far they’ll run with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you don’t change your tone, I’ll have to ask you to leave. This has always been a place of peace, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“If you value your peace, don’t lie to a police officer. That’s the most valuable piece of advice I can give you.�
� She was determined to remain calm, but the insolent disrespect emanating from the man made that impossible. Even now, his attention strayed longingly to his books.
“If it’s too difficult for you to focus here, I’d be happy to take you to my office, Chief. I’m positive you’ll find my décor less of a distraction.”
Kinew raised an eyebrow at her. “Am I under arrest, Detective?”
Maria moved a stack of books to the floor so she could sit down. “No, you’re not under arrest. But I can’t understand why you told me those tall tales. I’m a detective, not a child, and it’s in your best interest that I catch the guy who did this.”
He steepled his fingers together, resting his chin on them as he studied her. “Why do you think it was a man?”
“Men are typically the perpetrators of sex crimes of this nature, not to mention the immense strength it would have taken—”
“You misunderstand me. Perhaps what I should have asked was why you think the one you are seeking is human.”
She snorted. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to start crying curse again. Next you’ll be claiming the boogeyman did it.”
To his credit, Kinew looked confused, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Not a boogeyman, no.”
“I believed you. I did my research, okay? I couldn’t find a single report of a suspicious death at Strong Lake. Hell, I couldn’t find a report of any death at Strong Lake…until now.”
“I never told you there had been deaths at Strong Lake, Detective.”
“But you told me, ‘The killing never stopped.’” She stared at him. Was he going to deny it? Did he think she’d forgotten?
He exhaled loudly. “Once again, you misunderstood me. It is not what happens at the campground that concerns my people, but what happens after.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kinew rolled his chair to a small filing cabinet that crouched in the corner by his desk. She hadn’t noticed it before, since, like every other surface in his office, it was covered with books. “This time I will save you some trouble, Detective.” He retrieved a fat manila folder and handed it to her. “As you will see, I have done your research for you.”
Flipping through it, she found dozens upon dozens of newspaper clippings. Strangers smiled back at her, their faces transcribed into black-and-white dots. Most of them were heartbreakingly young. Teenagers, with maybe a few in their early twenties like McCaffrey and her friends. Several of the stories were about families with young children and Maria thought of Heidi. She closed the folder, put it back on his desk and pushed it toward him.
“These are stories of car accidents.”
He nodded once, the grimace returning to his face. “Some, yes. Some are stories of aneurysms and heart attacks in otherwise healthy people. Then there are home invasions that turned violent and an inexplicable amount of suicides.” Kinew tapped the folder with an index finger. “Those ones are in my notes, as the papers don’t find self-inflicted death newsworthy.”
“You’re telling me all of these people stayed at the campground?”
“Right before they died, yes. Most didn’t make it twenty-four hours.”
In spite of her skepticism, he was getting to her. “How do you know they stayed at Strong Lake?”
Kinew rose from his chair, displaying another pair of obscenely tight jeans. He strode to one of his many bookcases, hauling down at least ten thick, leather-bound ledgers the size of briefcases. “We track it. Everyone who stays at Strong Lake is required to give us their name, address, phone number, and driver’s license. This is then checked against the ID they present when they pay for their campsite.”
Slapping the ledgers down in front of her, he ran his fingers over the leather cover of the top book. “You’re free to take these with you. If you cross reference them with the articles, you will find I am correct about the dates.”
“But why—” She picked up a ledger, and scanned its pages. Hundreds of addresses were crammed into the lines, row upon row of personal history inscribed in blue ink.
“People aren’t as likely to trash a place if they know we can track them down,” he said, forgoing the chair to sit on the corner of his desk. One long, denim-clad thigh was close enough to touch. “That’s why Conservation thinks we do it, in any case.”
“But in reality…?” It was disconcerting, having to look up at him. She wished he’d go back behind his desk.
“In reality, we noticed a trend. A trend that troubled us. My people came to me, and I agreed to be their eyes. The result of my watch is in that folder.” He indicated it with a tilt of his head.
“There’s no trend here, Chief. The deaths aren’t even related.” Retrieving the folder from his desk, she thumbed through the articles again, careful not to bend or smudge the old newsprint. “Car accidents, suicides, and here’s one of a girl who died in her sleep. It’s just a coincidence.”
“When does a coincidence become more than a coincidence, Detective? When it happens a dozen times? Twenty times? How about two hundred and fifty times? Is it more than a coincidence then?”
The persistent chill along her spine had returned. She resisted the urge to check behind her. “You’re not serious.”
“Sorry, my mistake. It was actually two hundred and seventy-seven at my last count.” He turned to the final page of the newest-looking ledger. “A family of six died of the chicken pox. Can you imagine dying of the chicken pox in this day and age? And of course, your three makes it an even two hundred and eighty.” His eyes were grave as they met hers. “Since the campground was closed, they didn’t sign in.”
She leaned back in the chair, mind reeling. It was impossible, yet the proof was there. She didn’t need to go through every ledger to know he’d told her the truth. “When did this start happening?”
“We started to pay attention in the early eighties, but I believe it was going on long before then. That campground has always had a reputation. Warnings to stay away from it were passed along by my father’s generation, and his father’s generation before that.”
As she flipped through the clippings, something struck her. There was a general sameness about them, as if she were paging through the records of a single unfortunate family. “These people are all Caucasian. Have there been any—”
“Deaths among my people? No – at least, not yet. But like I’ve said, we’ve always kept our distance.”
Her brain had been trained to detect patterns. She definitely saw one here, but didn’t understand its significance. “What do you think is going on out there, Kinew?”
He walked to the window, where he pulled back the thick Navajo-inspired curtain and stared outside. The day was overcast, as bleak and dreary as Maria felt, and no sun dared to brighten the room. “I think that place is evil. The kind of evil that doesn’t stay put, the kind that will follow you home.” He turned. “You’ve been there. Didn’t you feel it?”
You’re not welcome here. The memory of the whispered warning came into her brain so unexpectedly it was like she’d heard it all over again.
Kinew’s sharp eyes missed nothing. “Something happened to you out there. What was it?”
Now it was her turn to be evasive. “I was investigating the worst homicide of my career. Three young people were brutally murdered. There would be something wrong with me if I hadn’t felt the presence of evil.”
“No, there’s more to it than that. I can tell. What happened, Detective? It’s important you tell me.”
She looked away, feeling foolish. “It was probably my imagination.”
Kinew gave her a wry smile. “I think you can feel confident that I’m not going to mock anything you tell me about that place. I understand your conviction that the dark feelings you experienced stemmed from the murders, but I can tell you evil lived there long before this.”
“I didn’t feel
anything unusual, aside from horror over what had happened to the victims….”
He nodded.
“But while I was there, something strange happened. Someone told me to leave. ‘You’re not welcome here,’ is what he said. His voice was quite distinct. I heard him clearly. However, when I turned around, no one was there.”
Kinew frowned. “Was anyone else with you?”
“Yes, my partner, the coroner, and a few other officers. Why?” She sounded defensive. She’d let her guard down, and now he was going to tell her that her partner had said it, as if she were too stupid not to recognize Jorge’s voice.
But, as usual, Kinew surprised her.
“Did any of them hear it?”
“No, just me. I think that’s why it frightened me so much.” That wasn’t the only thing that was frightening – a strange expression had come over Kinew’s face, one she couldn’t read. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you were very lucky, Detective Greyeyes. Tell me, is your partner a white man?”
“No, he’s Latino.”
He looked relieved. “That’s good. Since you were so kind as to give me some advice, I will give you some. Keep everyone you love away from that campground.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” She gathered the articles into a neat stack before returning them to the manila file. “Is it all right if I borrow these?”
“Of course. You’re the reason I saved them.”
“You saved them for me?”
“Well, someone like you. I knew the police would become interested in our cursed little campground eventually. It was only a matter of time.” Kinew shrugged. “It’s my hope your investigation will help me get the place shut down. It’s not safe.”
He picked up the ledgers, insisting on helping her out to her car. As Kinew held open his office door for her, he gave her a funny look. “That’s an interesting necklace.”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about for a second, but then she remembered the arrowhead hanging around her neck. Her initial attempts to remove it had been unsuccessful. Every time she’d tried, she’d been overwhelmed with nausea.
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