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May felt satisfied that she’d checked it out. There was nothing that seemed untoward here. She’d better ask some questions, though, so that she could justify having invited herself inside.
“Do you still have contact with anyone at the school?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I deliberately broke off contact there.”
“Have you been in town the past few days?” she asked.
“I haven’t. I don’t often go. I don’t need to. I’m very self-sufficient here. I prefer not to be around people. Perhaps you can see why. I’ve always been a loner.”
“I guess I do see why,” she said.
This man lived alone. She couldn’t confirm his claims that he’d been here the past few days, but nor could she prove they were false.
She noticed a laptop set up on the table, though. So he definitely was connected with the outside world. With the internet at his fingertips, he could easily have researched who the students were that he wanted to target, and gone into town and followed them.
A hammer and a saw in a box below the table brought to mind making those wooden rafts. But that again was standard equipment for someone in a log cabin, living off the grid.
On the mantelpiece above the fireplace, there were about fifteen framed photos. All of Penelope. May stared at the faded prints.
Penelope in her lacrosse shoes, captured in full run. She was a short girl, a little over five foot. Small and petite for her age compared to the others.
Penelope in a blue shirt, smiling at the camera in a school sports team photograph.
With a squeeze of her heart, May realized exactly how much this daughter had meant to her father.
She needed to look past his softly spoken front, and she needed to recognize the man beneath. This man could be the killer. He could have Chanel hidden somewhere right now. But the photos alone were not enough reason to pull her gun and start threatening him. He could simply deny everything.
Chanel was not in this cabin. Where did he have her, and how could she find out?
She didn’t have enough evidence to go on. Just a very strong feeling she needed to discover more. Direct questioning would get her nowhere. If she arrested this man and took him in, he might not talk. And that meant they might never find Chanel, because who knew where in these vast woods she was hidden?
May decided she needed to resort to the investigator’s version of sleight of hand.
She needed to allow him to make the next move. She needed to pretend everything was normal, and that this man was not a suspect. She had to turn and leave. Pretend to go. And then she had to see what happened, and if Mr. Jackson headed out to find and kill his third victim.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Thank you so much for your time,” May said. Her stomach was churning as she turned and walked out of the cabin, hoping that her bluff would work, and that her hunch was correct. She headed up the hill, back to her car. She was feeling tense inside as she climbed in and started it up. She turned around and drove it along the steep track. But she only went far enough to be out of earshot. Then she looked for a place to hide the car.
May hoped she was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the sound of the engine amid these muffling trees. She veered off the track and drove as far into the trees as she could. She killed the engine and climbed out.
And then she climbed back down the track, returning to the house.
May walked as quietly as she could, feeling breathless with anxiety, still racked with doubt over whether coming back for a final check was the right thing to do, or just a dangerous waste of time.
But she had to see what was happening. She had to see if there was a chance she could find and save Chanel.
She knew there was a chance she could be wrong. He could well be a perfectly innocent man. This could all be a wild goose chase. But her gut instincts were screaming for her to return, and it might just be because she was onto something.
There was the house, looking as peaceful as it had before. The front door was partway open. May crept toward it. Was he in there?
The house was empty. She looked more closely. Everything was the way it had been. The doors were open, and she could see into the bedroom and into the tiny bathroom.
But he was gone.
He’d gone to find her, she was sure of it.
She’d taken too long. She’d lost him. He was already on his way to her. Without wasting a moment, he’d headed out into the woods to go and get her.
