“It seems safest.”
That makes Jacob chuckle.
As Dalton and Nicole leave, I call, “Don’t forget to bring Will.”
Dalton glances back. “What?”
“We’ve agreed no one should be out here alone, so when you come back, bring Will. Please. You aren’t the only one who worries.”
After they’re gone, Jacob says, “Thank you. For being with Eric.”
I have to laugh. “That makes it sound like a chore.”
“Or like I’m thanking you for taking care of a grizzly bear?”
“Yes, and not a bad analogy some days. But trust me, being with Eric isn’t a hardship. He didn’t exactly have trouble finding companionship before I came along.”
“I’ve heard.” His cheeks heat. “I mean, when he was younger. There were women. Not like you, just…”
I almost say for sex but remember who I’m speaking to and go with a vaguer, “lovers,” and his cheeks turn still redder. I don’t know how much experience Jacob has with women. I suspect the answer is none, which might also explain part of his discomfort with me.
He looks in the direction Dalton and Nicole left. “Is she okay? She seems like she is. Or like she’s trying to be.”
“Yes, she’s trying very hard to be.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “After that, it’d take a lot to be any kind of okay.”
“It would. She’s trying, though. It’ll help when we find her captor … who is apparently also a killer.”
I tell him about the discovery of the two bodies. For a moment, he just looks at me, like he’s sure he’s misunderstood.
“That’s what would have happened to her, then,” he says quietly. “To Nicole.”
He looks sick as I nod.
“Okay, well, I’ve been thinking about guys out here. That’s why I was close to town, seeing if Eric would come out. I’m not saying any of these guys could have done this, but you need to start from somewhere.”
He lists names. Fortunately, my jacket holds my notepad, which I always carry, like I used to carry a cell phone. I write down what Jacob tells me. I don’t know anyone on his list, but he says his brother will.
We discuss what I have for a physical description, which weeds out six from his twenty. When I say the killer has been here more than five years, that eliminates two more.
“Do you have any gut feelings?” I say. “Anyone who rubs you the wrong way…”
“You mean someone I don’t like?”
“Right.”
“That list is all the guys who live anywhere near here. I only personally deal with a few.” He names them, and I make notes. “I don’t trust others. People out here … A lot of them have problems. Like Brent. You know about Brent, right?”
Brent is our local cave dweller. “Eric says he’s mildly bipolar, which—” I stop myself. “He has mood swings that suggest a mental illness.”
“Yeah. That’s called bipolar?” Jacob tilts his head, looking like Dalton when he processes new information. “Meaning he goes between opposite poles of moods. Yeah, that’s Brent. It doesn’t mean he’s crazy, and I’d say he couldn’t be your guy, but you have to consider him. I know that. You even have to consider me.” His hands go back in his pockets. “And that’s a stupid thing to say. Of course you need to consider me.”
“Nicole cleared you. Your eyes are too light, and your build is too small.”
“Build? You mean height?”
“Weight. Her captor was broader.”
A thoughtful nod. “Okay, then you can strike off a few more names. Guys with light eyes or smaller than me. I’ll leave the ones about my size, just so we don’t overdo it.”
Three more names leave the list.
“So there’s no one in particular you’d suggest we focus on?” I say.
He hesitates, then says, “Ty Cypher and Silas Cox maybe. Cypher’s from Rockton originally. Eric will remember him. He used to be sheriff. He stays pretty deep in the woods. Hates Rockton, so he steers clear. But he gets around. And he’s nuts. Not like mentally ill. Nuts like one of these feral dogs.”
“And Silas Cox?”
“He’s from down south. I used to hunt with him after he arrived, maybe five years back. He seemed okay at first. Just a guy who wanted to live wild. Only one night, we were drinking—he got a bottle of rye from a miner who trades, in season. So we’re drinking, and he started talking about … women. Bad stuff that he…”
“Things he’d done to them? Things he wanted to do?”
“Things he wanted to do, I think. He brought it up like it was just regular conversation, something guys talk about, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I mean, the stuff he talked about…” Jacob’s cheeks redden again. “It didn’t seem like normal … relations. He sounded like … like a guy who might put a woman in a cave.”
“Fantasies about unwilling partners? Holding women against their will?”
Silence. Then he blurts, “Ropes. And stuff.”
I say, as matter-of-factly as possible, “He talked about restraining women for sex. Was it mutual? Partners playing along for fun? Or actual restraint?”
The look on Jacob’s face is sheer horror. “Playing along?”