Jo jogged down Danskammer Beach Road, expecting to find it deserted as usual. She knew she wouldn’t encounter the spirits Nessa had seen, but she wanted Mandy and the other girls to know she was there. They would not be forgotten. She hadn’t told Art exactly where she was headed, of course. He would have warned her against it, and he’d have had a good point. Whoever had murdered the girl and dumped her body in the scrub might return for a visit. A woman running along an empty highway in the early morning would make an irresistible target. The killer could be lurking out there right now, waiting for another victim to wander into his trap. Jo hoped so. She fantasized about what she would do to the asshole if she found him—and wondered if she’d grown powerful enough to rip him limb from limb.
A truck sped past with two men in the cab. It swerved to the center of the road to avoid her, but didn’t slow. Another car drove by a minute later, ferrying a group of young women with their windows rolled down. More vehicles followed, one after another, all headed away from town. Jo couldn’t imagine where they all might be going. Even on summer weekends, Danskammer Beach didn’t attract many swimmers or sunbathers. The road was out of the way for anyone not bound for the Pointe.
Then a gleam in the distance caught her eye. As she drew closer, she could make out the hood of a car with the morning sun bouncing off it. The vehicles that had passed her were there, too, parked along both sides of the road. People milled about at the edge of the scrubland. Jo picked up speed, her feet slamming against the pavement. Another body must have been found. She sprinted toward a middle-aged couple standing with their backs to the ocean. She’d almost reached them when she saw the man lift a phone and smile. It was too late to stop. She arrived just as the selfie was snapped. The two of them greeted her with startled expressions.
“What’s going on?” Jo panted.
“They found a body here yesterday,” the woman explained, looking over her husband’s shoulder as he inspected the photo they’d taken.
“Let’s try it one more time,” he said, putting his arm around his wife and holding the phone aloft once again.
“Why are you taking photos?”
“Friend of mine’s an EMT.” The woman kept the smile on her face and her eyes on the camera. “Said it looked like the work of a serial killer. This beach is going to be famous.”
“For God’s sake, stop talking,” her husband ordered.
Jo left them to their photo shoot and wove her way through the others who’d gathered to gawk. A few hearty souls were inspecting the edge of the scrubland, searching for a way into the thicket. None of them spotted the entrance to the path, which now seemed clear as day to Jo.
“You were here yesterday when they found the body.” A young man had sidled up beside her. His clothing appeared slightly disheveled. There were bags under his eyes and the scruff on his chin was quickly turning into a beard. He looked as though he might have slept in his car. “I saw you on the news. You were one of the women who found the body.”
Jo ignored him. It would be safer for the kid if he just went away.
“Jo Levison, am I right?”
She was itching to punch someone, and he’d just become the likeliest target. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Josh Gibbon,” he continued, undaunted. “I host a top-rated true crime podcast. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called They Walk Among Us.”
Jo had heard of it, all right. She’d been a regular listener when the podcast launched. At first it had been a scrappy one-man show. By the time she stopped listening, They Walk Among Us was sponsored by insurance companies, home security systems, and men’s underwear manufacturers. Serial killers and dead girls were a lucrative business.
“I know, I know.” His smile seemed a little too slick. “The name of the podcast’s a bit over the top. But I assure you, we’re a very serious show. We analyze unsolved homicides, looking for similarities. We’ve managed to alert authorities to the existence of five serial killers at work in the northeastern United States. One of our guys was captured two months ago. Have you heard of the Head Hunter? We even gave him his name.”
“Because killers need catchy names?” Jo sneered. “What’s next, collectible cards?”
Josh shook his head. “We’re not trying to glorify serial killers.” He’d had his response ready. “We want to get people to listen so we can bring attention to the crimes.”
“And what were the Head Hunter’s crimes?” Jo asked.
“He murdered ten women—maybe more. He’d pick them up outside of shelters, drug them, dismember them, and leave their heads around Providence, Rhode Island. He was a very bad guy, and thanks to us, he’s off the streets now. I drove out here from Brooklyn this morning because it sounds like there may be a predator at work on the island. If I’m right and you were one of the people who found the body, I’d love to ask you a few questions.” He was already pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“The ten women the Head Hunter butchered. What were their names?”
Josh’s face reddened, but he didn’t hesitate. “You got me. I guess I’m better at giving names than I am at remembering them.”
“But I bet you could tell me where all the heads were found, couldn’t you? You probably have a whole file filled with pictures.”
This time, the answer didn’t just slip off his tongue. “I assure you that all the victims were named on the podcast,” Josh said.
“Then maybe you should go back and listen to it.” Jo could feel her arms throbbing with energy. “I need to finish my run.”
She sped past the gawkers, eager to leave them all in her dust. Fueled by fury, she could have kept going forever, but the gate to Culling Pointe appeared before her, its tall metal slats reaching up toward the sky. While there was nothing but sand and scrub on Jo’s side of the fence, the drive that stretched out in front of her was lushly landscaped. The Pointe’s beachfront mansions remained hidden from view. It occurred to Jo that she’d never actually seen them up close. There were plenty of pictures to be found online, and anyone with a boat could admire them from offshore. But Culling Pointe’s gate had never once opened to let Jo through. The chop of a helicopter drew her eyes to the sky. She watched the craft descend from the clouds and fly alongside her, its landing skids almost skimming the waves. Then it passed over the Pointe and vanished out of sight.
Watching Jo run toward the gate were two uniformed men in an air-conditioned guardhouse. As she got closer, one of them stepped outside to meet her at the gate. It seemed unnecessary. She wasn’t able to burst through iron. Yet.
But he didn’t try to shoo her away. Instead, he reached through the gate’s slats and handed her a bottle of water.
“You run all the way from town?” he asked as she opened the bottle and gulped down its contents.