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“Yeah.”
“If you’re right, and if all three cases are connected, we’re talking about a serial killer. If you’re right about your suspect—the guy in the cabin—we have to figure out a way to connect him to my cases.”
“I’ll send you what we’ve got on him,” Josie said. “Maybe you can try to put him near one of your scenes in the hours before or after the crimes. You send me your crime scene photos. Maps of the two areas, as well. I’ll look everything over and see if anything stands out.”
“You got it, Quinn.” Heather took out her phone and checked the time. “I better get moving. Have to show this photo to some truckers. I’ve got a whole bunch of other stops to hit after this one. I’ll get that stuff to you today or tomorrow. I’ll do my best to keep the Woodsman piece of it out of the press, but I can’t make any promises.”
“I know,” said Josie. She stood up and glanced at the crowd of people near the coffee, gauging whether or not it was worth her effort to get a cup for the road.
“Quinn,” Heather said. “You know, if you’re right about all this, that means Kayleigh Patchett is already dead. You just haven’t found her body.”
The breakfast sandwich sat like a grease-soaked brick in her stomach. “Yeah, I know. Two go in, only one comes out.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Now they say my name everywhere. A reporter has uncovered me. He’s seen me for what I am. Now, when parents talk to their children, they’ll no longer have the luxury of being secretly dismissive. Their reassurances will be empty. They’ll lose sleep. They’ll talk with other parents about how to approach the subject of me. They’ll decide the safest thing is to keep their children out of the woods for now.
But they can’t keep them all away.
TWENTY-FIVE
Josie dodged the press as she entered the stationhouse through the back. As was their habit when the police department caught a big case, they were camped out in the municipal lot, hoping to get a comment from the officers going in and out for their shifts. Josie pushed her way through the throng of reporters, calling out “no comment” like a broken record. Dallas Jones was not in attendance, but half of the other reporters’ questions had to do with the Woodsman.
Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. In the second-floor great room, Noah and Gretchen sat at their desks, typing at their keyboards. They both looked haggard even as they greeted Josie with smiles. Chief Chitwood stood in front of a freestanding corkboard that Josie had never seen before. On one side of it was an aerial map someone had pieced together of the area between the Patchetts’ home and Thomas’s cabin. On the other side of it was a tentative timeline of events.
“Quinn,” said the Chief. “You’re late. You were supposed to be here at eight.”
Josie drew up beside the Chief. “I was meeting with Detective Heather Loughlin from the state police. I think we’ve got a situation on our hands.”
Noah and Gretchen stopped typing and looked over. The Chief folded his arms over his thin chest and gazed down at her, a scowl on his face. “You could have done that by phone and saved us all some time. You don’t think Kayleigh Patchett’s abduction counts as a ‘situation’?”
“Okay then, we’ve got an aggravating factor to add to our already existing situation,” she said.
“No one likes a smartass,” the Chief snapped.
“Now that’s just not true,” Josie said.
Gretchen’s chair squeaked as she rocked back in it. “Don’t wind him up. Just tell us what Heather said.”
Josie recapped the conversation she’d had with Heather Loughlin, watching as their faces grew more distressed with each word. When she finished, the Chief swiped a hand over his balding head. He let out a groan. “This stupid Woodsman. You’ve got to be kidding me. This is not a real thing.”
Noah said, “Whether or not the killer thinks of himself as the Woodsman, the legend is very real. Clearly, because kids are going out looking for him.”
“You’re going to have to say something,” said Gretchen. “To the press.”
“I’m not feeding into this horseshit,” the Chief insisted. “The story is irrelevant. It has no bearing on our investigation. We’re looking for a man. A real man.”
“Then say that,” Josie told him. “Or work with Amber to come up with something close to it. They’re not going to stop asking questions about it, and it’s only a matter of time before the press connects Heather’s cases to Kayleigh’s and it will be a feeding frenzy.”
“Quinn is right,” Gretchen agreed. “This is just the sort of thing that people will eat up. It will be viral on social media in no time. Next thing you know, we’ve got national news coverage. We don’t need that kind of noise while we’re trying to find Kayleigh Patchett.”
The Chief was uncharacteristically quiet. After a moment, he said, “Fine. I’ll talk with Amber when she gets here. We’ll hold a press conference. But you three—well, not you, Palmer, because I want you to go home and sleep—Fraley and Quinn, you have to stay on this. We need to work every lead, every angle.”
“Let’s start here.” Josie turned and studied the map. Based on the handwriting marking the Patchett home, the approximate location where Savannah had been found, the location of the blood and trap evidence, and Thomas’s cabin, it appeared the Chief had made it himself. Josie traced the path from the Patchett home to where the blood had been found to Thomas’s cabin. “Have we accurately determined how many miles this is?”
The Chief said, “Kayleigh was three miles from home when she was taken. That’s really far, at least for her eight-year-old sister. Why did she take Savannah out so far?”
Noah said, “Both sisters are pretty athletic. Could be that three miles didn’t seem far for them.”
