“Leland and his friends have hunting permits good through the fifteenth. Anglers come here, too. Silver salmon run through November.”
“From what I’ve seen, the number of hunters and fishermen goes down in September, along with the tourists,” she said, but she hadn’t been referring to people who’d have a legitimate reason to visit the cabin. She’d been trying to imagine what a dangerous person like a serial killer would have to be thinking in order to be interested in a place like the cabin. What would be the draw?
Privacy. They liked privacy. Thrived on it.
But finding prey came first and because most serial killers—80 percent—were men and those men were often driven by a sexual motive as well as a deep lust for killing, women were far more likely to become victims. Still, it was hard to believe there was a predator targeting hunting cabins. The kind of killers who didn’t leave a trace were careful to strike only when they felt confident of success. Evelyn doubted any of them would view a place where one was more likely to find men with guns than women as a promising location.
“We have fewer visitors once it starts to turn cold, but”—Amarok glanced over at her—“what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re probably dealing with a crime of opportunity.”
“A remote cabin provides an opportunity? Other than a handful of people, none of whom I can place in Alaska, I can’t figure out how anyone even realized she was out here.”
“Which is why I believe we’re looking at someone who lives in the area, someone who came across her when she was alone and vulnerable.”
His frown told her he didn’t want to hear that the kidnapper or killer was local. But the fact that he didn’t argue suggested he’d already come to the same conclusion. “If she was taken in the first place and didn’t go out searching for her brother.”
Evelyn loosened the chest restraint on her seat belt. “She would’ve worn her coat and boots if she went out searching for her brother.”
The stubborn set to his jaw indicated that he didn’t care to hear that, either. “Unless she was on drugs and wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You told me Leland said they weren’t doing drugs. That they didn’t have any.”
“Doesn’t make it true. I haven’t searched their luggage yet. Didn’t have time the other night, and I didn’t want to remove or change anything before I could take a closer look at the scene as a whole.”
“This must be a nightmare for Leland,” she muttered as she imagined how confused and upset Sierra’s brother had to be.
The growl of the engine deepened as Amarok shifted into Low. “Peter and Ted have to be hating life, too. Not only has a member of their party gone missing, but until I clear their luggage, they have almost nothing, other than the clothes on their backs. They paid a lot to experience Alaska—and got this.”
“Even if drugs are at the root of it, that won’t make things any easier on them,” she mused.
“It’ll make things a hell of a lot easier on us,” he grumbled.
Such a simple, straightforward explanation was better than believing they had a murder on their hands. But the vomit in the woodshed bothered her and had from the first. It didn’t seem consistent with someone getting high and wandering off. Recreational drugs typically didn’t induce vomiting. And surely Leland would know, would’ve said something, if his sister had access to stronger opiates, like heroin or Demerol.
They probably had some alcohol at the cabin, however.
She decided to hope for that.
Once they’d parked and she climbed out, the snow went up to her knees. While wading through it, she wished for a few minutes of bright, warm sunlight. It was midday, after all. Even a glimmer would’ve felt nice. But the sky remained stubbornly overcast, and everything looked dark and shadowy despite the hour, making it difficult to spot the kind of small yet important details they needed to see.
She stopped before reaching the steps and tilted her head back to study the small A-frame cabin. “This is pretty rustic.”
Amarok, who’d gone ahead of her to forge a path, was already at the porch, which was more of a deep overhang. “Guys who come here want to see what it’s like to rough it,” he said over his shoulder. “That’s partly why so many choose to hunt or fish the interior, where they face harsher weather and fewer amenities. A lot of the cabins can’t be reached without a bush plane.”
Privacy. As she gazed at the cabin, that word popped into her head again. Provided a psychopath already had a victim, he’d like this remote location. Jasper would like this location.
She supposed it was natural that he’d come to mind at the first hint of trouble. After what she’d been through, she was predisposed to think the worst. She had to ask herself if he could be back. Somehow he’d learned his mother had been somewhat friendly to Amarok, so he’d killed both his parents, immediately cut off that avenue of information. But it had cost him something, too. Now he no longer had their help or their financial support, and no inheritance, either. They’d left everything to charity, since they couldn’t name him, their only son, in their will.
He had to be angry, looking for revenge.
No doubt that was one of the reasons her panic attacks had returned. She knew it was just a matter of time before Jasper reappeared, and the longer it went the more anxious she became.
He was too smart to kidnap someone like Sierra, though—someone whose disappearance would be reported to Amarok.
Unless that was part of the game …
A tremor ran through her despite the warmth of her heavy coat, boots, scarf, gloves and earmuffs. Emotionally, she wasn’t strong enough to face Jasper right now, wasn’t where she’d been even a year ago. She needed to fix that, needed to get ready—and stay ready. But she’d been trying! She couldn’t seem to recover on her own, and since she didn’t feel she could get counseling, she wasn’t sure what to do.
“What are you thinking?” Amarok had opened the door and was standing in the gap, waiting for her.
She chose not to say anything about Jasper, didn’t want to bring up something so unrelated to what the facts currently suggested. “I’m thinking someone could be out to sabotage my efforts at Hanover House by making it look like we’ve got another problem. People will assume this is connected to me and what I’m doing in Alaska, since all the other problems have been, too.”
“Who would go so far as to sabotage you?” he asked. “Fitzpatrick tried to discredit you, but that wasn’t exactly sabotage. He was trying to take over at Hanover House.”
“What about Sandy Ledstetter’s father or brother?” Like Sandy’s mother, both men glared daggers at her if she happened to see them at the Moosehead or elsewhere. She could feel the entire family’s enmity. Again, the nasty notes someone had been leaving on her car came to mind, but Amarok wasn’t aware of those. He didn’t know how she was being treated, either. She was careful not to complain to him about smaller slights or snubs. She didn’t want him feeling he had to stick up for her.
“I’ve known Davie and Junior my whole life, Evelyn. They’d never do anything like that. What makes more sense is that all the publicity surrounding Hanover House has drawn a previously unknown predator to the area.”
She could easily imagine psychopaths being enticed by the challenge and notoriety of killing in the very shadow of the institution meant to arm the innocent against them. She and Amarok, at various points in the past, had discussed the possibility, which was probably why he mentioned it now. “You’d believe that over sabotage?”
He waved her off. “Even that’s a stretch. We haven’t yet established that we have a predator, remember?”
She drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I remember.”
A pile of luggage sat inside the door, just as Amarok had said. Evelyn watched as he checked the handles and tags, searching for fingerprints, which he attempted to lift with white powder, since the bags were black. “This is probably futile,” he admitted.