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As they kept exploring, Jake noticed something else odd—some of the piles of trash were strangely organized, as if they had been placed there intentionally. He knelt down in front of what looked like a pile of receipts—some fresher than others.
Jake picked up the one at the top.
What he read made his stomach fall to the floor.
A receipt from an exotic pet store…
With the purchase of a Sydney funnel web spider.
“Red,” Jake said, his mouth dry.
Fiona came over, looking over his shoulder. “Oh my god…”
Jake put the receipt in his pocket, standing upright, more determined than ever. “Let’s search the rest of the house. He’s not home, which means he could be going for someone else. Maybe there’s a clue as to who he’s going to hunt.”
He started to leave the kitchen, but Fiona grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she said, pointing to a door in the corner of the room. “What’s in there?”
Jake and Fiona cautiously made their way toward the door. Jake slowly opened it and peered inside. He could feel Fiona’s presence behind him as he carefully stepped into what seemed to be the top of an old basement. They slowly descended the rickety stairs.
The basement was damp and musty, and there were cobwebs everywhere. The room was dark, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves, stacked with large reels of recording tape and old audio equipment. Jake and Fiona exchanged looks as they took in their surroundings. It was clear that whoever lived here had been doing some kind of secret recordings—but what kind?
Jake stepped closer to examine the equipment more closely. He noticed a small microphone wired into one of the machines and saw there were two other microphones nearby. He looked around the room again and noticed a series of wires running across the floor, connected to each piece of equipment. It seemed like someone had been recording something—or someone—on a regular basis down here. There were large mics with tiny buttons and dials, as well as a shining black box with an array of wires coming from it. But the most peculiar thing was an old-fashioned-looking typewriter sitting on a desk in the corner of the room.
On the floor next to it, greeting cards.
His heart raced faster than ever. This really was it.
The house of the killer.
“Damn, Red, this is bad,” he said, panicking. “We need to find out who he’s after.”
Fiona scurried into the pile of greeting cards, and Jake watched her. He got down and began looking in them too. Most were blank, but some of them had variations on them: “Happy Buzzday” reminded him of the card found at the senator’s house…
“What’s this, a reject?” Jake asked Fiona.
She checked it out, then nodded. “Maybe he tests out different puns. If we can find one that’s different from the senator and Trish, then maybe that will tell us who he’s going after next.”
Jake nodded in agreement and continued to sift through the pile of greeting cards. His eyes scanned each one, looking for any variation that might give them a clue. As he went through them, he noticed one without a cover, just a plain white card. He pulled it out and read it.
“So great to see you outside again,” he said, reading it out loud.
Fiona’s brows pinched as she thought it over. “That doesn’t relate to the senator or Trish,” she said.
“No,” Jake said, “this could be someone new. But what does it mean?”
Fiona paused for a moment before answering. “It could mean the killer is targeting someone who is agoraphobic,” she said. “Someone who hasn’t been outside in a long time.” Jake nodded, his mind racing. It made sense—the killer was preying on people with weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and someone who was afraid of leaving their home would be an easy target. They had to find this person quickly, before it was too late.
“I need to call Dr. Balog,” Fiona said, standing and taking out her phone. Jake watched as Fiona called him, and when he picked up, she said, “Dr. Balog, it’s Fiona Red—I don’t have time to explain, but did you have any patients with agoraphobia?…Okay… You did?”
Fiona’s expression went completely serious.
Jake held his breath, waiting for her to share the news.
She hung up, looking at him, and said, “Her name is Deanna Walsh.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Fiona couldn’t catch a breath.
