Connie was still talking, she realized.
“What’s happening, Clara? Oh, my God, what’s happening? And I was so excited to be on the Fate!”
“Sh, sh, it’s all right,” Clara repeated.
Was it? They’d all been so excited about the Fate.
And now they were all here...fated to be here?
She was suddenly angry; really angry with herself. Nothing was truly predetermined; they were all architects in their own destiny.
This was the fault of a horribly sick, heinous and cruel murderer. And she was going to do whatever it took to help the FBI catch him, even if that included becoming best girlfriends—a bit belatedly—with Amelia Carson.
“It’s all right,” she repeated firmly. “We’re with the FBI. And they have guns. Big ones,” she added, and smiled to herself.
She had no idea of the size of their guns.
*
There was no one in the house Connie had rented, but when Thor stepped out the back door, he studied the lock.
He frowned. It appeared that someone had been trying to jimmy it—which didn’t really make sense, not if Connie Shaw had left it open.
She’d said that she’d heard someone whisper her name.
Had she—or had she been afraid and imagined that she heard the whisper?
The possibilities shot through his head. She hadn’t expected to be so alone, even though she had opted for nature and privacy, so maybe her imagination had run rampant. Maybe the lock had been jimmied long ago—even by the owner, who might have forgotten his keys.
Bull.
Staring at the jimmied door, he pulled out his cell phone and flicked the screen to contacts, finding Theodore McGinty. He called the older man—a close friend of his dad’s, and a stern disciplinarian with all the neighborhood kids when he’d been young.
“Mr. McGinty, this is Thor Erikson.”
“Thor, hey! Ah, hell. It’s not a social call, is it?” McGinty asked. “I thought I was okay—gave the place to a sweet young woman for a week. What, she have a bunch of frat boys in? They cutting up and doing drugs in my house?”
“No, sir, nothing like that.”
He heard McGinty’s groan. “What’s the matter with me?” McGinty asked. “I keep forgetting you’re FBI, boy. This is no minor thing. Lord, I’ve been seeing the news on the murders. Please tell me that...that it’s not as bad as it could be.”
No, it wasn’t as bad as it could be. A killer could have carried out his plan to kill and mutilate a beautiful young woman.
“I wanted to let you know that Miss Shaw isn’t going to be staying here. We’re taking her where she’ll have police protection. We’re watching out for everyone involved with that TV show and Miss Shaw’s cast was being interviewed the day the murders took place. But I also wanted to ask you—have you had any kind of problem with an attempted break-in at any point?”
“Boy, why would anyone break in on an old man who has nothing but great memories?” McGinty asked him in return.
“Looks like someone tried to jimmy your lock.”
McGinty was silent for a minute and then said, “You get that girl out of there, then, Thor. You see that she’s safe. You tell her she’ll get all her money back from me. No, no, sir. No one has tried to break in on me. But, when I’m there, old Oslo is with me, and no one messes with my dog.”
That was true. Old Oslo was a “chusky”—a new designer mix of a chow and a husky. Oslo was huge; he wasn’t to be messed with.
“Do you need me to come there?” McGinty asked.
“No, sir. Thank you. If I do need you, I’ll call.”
“Don’t hesitate,” McGinty told him.
“I won’t,” Thor promised, and hit the end button.
Someone had been out here—someone might have been here even as they had come driving up to the place.
Just the same as at his family’s property, the backyard disappeared into a forest of trees that, especially during summer, seemed to have a life of their own, intruding on the lawn or yard. Thick and heavy—with a million places to disappear.
But how could someone have gotten out here? Where would they have left a car? There was no snow on the ground so a snowmobile or dogsled couldn’t be stashed anywhere. Some people did have wheeled sleds that they used in summer, keeping their dogs fit. But, if there were dogs, they would hear them. He’d sure as hell never heard a silent dog team.
Logical conclusion: someone had been here. Perhaps they had first tried to jimmy the lock. But that had proved to be unnecessary when Connie Shaw had left the door open.
How would they have known that Connie would be here?
It wasn’t privileged information, but it wasn’t advertised online, either.
When a criminal wanted information, they tended to be good at getting it.
Jackson came walking back from the tree line.