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May felt terrified that their brave attempt at rescue might somehow end in disaster, and that she would be the deputy who had failed the community. She had to save this girl, to do what she could to put a stop to this evil.
She had to be the best cop that she could be.
Driving along the zigzagging track, heading ever deeper into the woods, May glanced at the map and saw she was nearly there. The cabin was on the other side of this steep ridge, which would then veer sharply downhill toward the hidden shores of a peninsula of the lake.
May slowed to a crawl as she crested the ridge, nursing the car down the rutted, washed out road. She could see the cabin ahead. It was a small, humble building, set in surroundings that were utterly alone.
She scrambled out of the car, feeling intensely nervous as she stared at the small cabin ahead. Was Chanel hidden here? Or was she being held captive at the farmhouse that Owen was speeding toward?
May felt like a mess of emotions as she walked to the humble cabin, with her shoes slipping and sliding along the uneven, stony track. She stepped with care, picking her way while going as fast as she could. She didn’t want to lose her footing and tumble down the hillside.
She steeled herself for what she might find, knowing she would have to be ready for whatever came her way.
She had one advantage, of course. She was a police officer and she had a gun. But having a gun came with strict rules and responsibilities. If you shot it, you were accountable. You could not threaten innocent citizens without good cause.
Here was the cabin. Her breath was rasping, ragged in her throat, as she reached it.
It was much prettier than she’d imagined the hideaway of a survivalist to be.
It was nicely finished, with a front porch and a front lawn lined with flowerbeds. May could even see a porch swing on the wooden boards. There were solar panels on the sunny side of the roof.
She could see a small garden with vegetables growing. The grass was neatly mowed, and the flowerbeds were weeded. Someone was proud of this home and had taken care in keeping it well.
And there was that someone, outside. May’s heart sped up as she saw him.
The man was kneeling, digging in the garden, and he looked up in surprise when he saw her.
“Hello!” he said, rocking back on his heels as he stared at her. He was a slim man, average height. He was wearing faded jeans and an old T-shirt, and May saw he was holding a small trowel.
Nothing about him rang alarm bells with her, and he looked to be every inch a normal citizen.
“I’m Deputy Moore,” she introduced herself.
“I’m Mr. Jackson. Is everything okay? Why are you here?”
He had a friendly smile, despite the anxious note she could hear in his words, May thought. When he smiled, and his face softened, she found herself smiling back. He definitely didn’t look like a madman or a killer, or someone who would have kept a grudge for years before exploding in a series of murders. He just looked to be a garden-loving man who had built himself a hideaway.
Or was he? May reminded herself sharply that she could take nothing for granted.
“May I ask a few questions?” she asked, trying to sound calm and matter-of-fact, and not give away how nervous she felt.
“Of course. But what’s this about?”
“We’ve been researching the recent cases where Chestnut Hill High students have been murdered and abducted. We’re seeking information. I read a news report that your daughter committed suicide years ago,” May said. “I was wondering if there were any links to the current tragedies, or if you could help us with any facts.”
She wasn’t going to accuse him of the crimes. But she was watching him carefully as she spoke. He was definitely remaining calm, and didn’t seem worried by her words.
“I don’t go into town much. I’m so sorry to hear about that.” His eyes were pale blue. In his slightly lined face, they exuded sympathy. His voice was gentle. “I know it’s terrible. I know it’s devastating. I will never recover from my own loss. But I don’t know of anyone who would do that.”
“Would you mind if I came in and asked you a few questions?” May asked, hoping that this would allow her to see the interior of this small cabin.
“Not at all,” Mr. Jackson said.
He led the way into the cabin.
It was small, neat, and tidy. May couldn’t see anywhere that anyone might be concealed. The main room was a small kitchen–living room. Off it was a bathroom and a bedroom. The doors to both were open. It seemed like a calm place. Until you noticed the handgun on the shelf and the hunting rifle by the door.
But this man was a survivalist. He would have guns, and guns had not been used in the murders.
