“Out in the woods, I think,” Peter said. “It had been an old summer camp? I’ll send you the address.”
“Wait. Camp Lake Sanguis?” Jude asked, and we locked gazes across the table.
“The murder cabin,” I said, astonished.
“Murder what now?” Ted asked, confused.
“With the nicer cabin in the back. Dave Simpson is staying there.”
“I guess?” Ted shrugged.
“Wait,” I said, snapping my fingers. “I found something in thedirt there.” I remembered I’d sent a picture to Olivia. I scrolled through the phone to show Ted and Jude. “A necklace. That O.” I tapped the screen. “Could it be for Olga?”
“Send me a picture, would you? And I’ll check with Olga’s family.”
Jude glanced at his watch.
“You need to go?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll cancel the meeting.”
“Don’t cancel your meeting.” I glanced up at Ted Anderson. “Ted’s with me. And I’ve got your alarm system. I’ll be fine.”
Jude hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. The cheese lab needs you.”
Ted left shortly after Jude, thank goodness. Tammy called him to grab something she needed for her hot dish at the grocery store. He was apologetic as he left, but I was glad to see him go. I had a lot on my mind, and I needed to think.
I was left alone with my dying cell phone while I rummaged around for a charger at Jude’s place. The man was as neat as a button, but I couldn’t figure out his filing system at all. Utensils in one kitchen drawer and aluminum foil in another? I didn’t understand “organizing” in such a way. I pulled out the drawer near the fridge and found the take-out menus sorted by color. Who kept these anymore? Jude, apparently.
I pulled the drawer out farther and found a roll of duct tape and a brand-new package of zip ties. What on earth did he need those for? He probably zip-tied his garbage bags to make sure they didn’t accidentally open in his trash can.
I shook my head. I opened another drawer and found a plethoraof charging cords, tightly folded, wrapped up in neat coils. I fished one out and plugged it into the wall near the fridge, and hooked up my phone. After just half an hour, the whooping sirens coming in and out of the sheriff’s station were annoying me. I wanted to walk over and see what was happening, but at the same time, I knew that would just make Oscar furious.
I felt restless in Jude’s pristine kitchen, and eventually I decided to take a stroll. I couldn’t think when I was staring at Jude’s pretty kitchen wallpaper, and I just needed to get some air. It was an unusually warm October day, and the sun was so warm, I found myself undoing the buttons of Jude’s flannel shirt and rolling up the sleeves. I stopped at the lakeshore, plopping down on a park bench to watch some kids tossing a Frisbee on the sandy shores of the lake.
I’d missed something. I pulled out my phone and dug into HotSpidey’s social media. Russo was right: He had been busy tagging and commenting on victims’ accounts, though he never left any lemon emojis or skulls, so there was that. Not that the real killer would be that obvious. Still. His family lived in Milwaukee, and he stayed in Chicago. He could take a detour to Lake Sanguis anytime he wanted. Still. If the first murder at the old cabin was connected, then he’d have to have done it at age fifteen, given the age he put on his profile.
I couldn’t imagine that. Hardly seemed like that would make sense. Would it? Then again… I dug far, far back into Spidey’s earliest posts.
Dammit.
He’d come here with his family in high school. They’d vacationed here together that summer. I peered at the picture of them on a speedboat, towing a teenage Mateo behind on water skis.
Also—he did have a brother. Older, by the looks of him.
Opportunity. He had opportunity. But at fifteen?
Then again, didn’t most serial killers start early? Usually with small animals. Maybe Mateo was just ambitious at a young age.
I felt so foolish. Why hadn’t I investigated him before now? I’d been blinded by his abs and that he taught me how to do donuts in parking lots. Not to mention, he was pretty fun to spar with. Of course, sparring with your casual hookup probably should’ve been the first red flag.
It raises the question though: How well do we really know anyone?
There were wives of serial killers who had no idea they were married to monsters. My stomach growled, and I realized I’d completely lost track of time. The sun was beginning to set. Of course, that didn’t mean much this time of year, when it got dark at five.
My phone pinged.
