But both Mike and Thor knew the landscape—and knew to respect it.
They left the snowmobiles behind the high ledge on the southern side of the island and began the slow descent through the crystal-white cover down to the “beach” below.
There, caverns and glacial ice—carved out in the earth long before the coming of man—stood in what was truly fairy-tale beauty. The ice and snow shimmered in the sun. The water glistened. Sea birds flew overhead and the ever-present Alaskan salmon jumped high now and then, creating magical diamond-like dances on the horizon.
Snow and rock crunched beneath Thor’s feet as he walked along the shoreline. About fifty yards from where their descent ended, the caves began.
They were mammoth, appearing—from the water—like giant back mouths, waiting to consume the unwary into darkness forever. They were treacherous; at high tide, water filled the beds beneath them, except in winter, when they were solidly frozen. At low tide, the water was gone, and inside, they offered a spectacular view of natural formations.
Boats could catch on jagged rock and ice—and the inhabitants might well be left in freezing water, helpless to escape. Thor knew that, when early explorers had first come to the island, they had found the bones of many a lost sailor caught within the snow and ice and rubble.
It was low tide. He looked at Mike; they had several hours to explore.
He turned on his heavy-duty lantern, illuminating the first cave they entered. Mike did the same. Light filled the darkness, but created eerie shadows in the depths of the formation.
“I’ll go left,” Mike said.
“I’ll take the right.”
Thor moved in carefully, raising the light, looking everywhere. Police officers and Coast Guard men and women had searched, but there were nooks and crannies abounding here—it would be easy to miss a clue, especially when you weren’t really sure what you were looking for.
“Beer cans!” Mike called out. “Rusty—they’ve been here awhile.”
“Yeah, I found a broken flashlight. Been here awhile, too, though—all rusted out.”
“Hey, Thor! Come over here,” Mike called.
Thor did so, making his way around a spike of rock that seemed to grow like an oak, straight up from the earth.
“What do you make of this?” Mike asked.
Thor hunkered down while Mike held a light up high.
There were splotchy, circular dots on the ground. The color was a deep crimson, almost brown.
“Blood?” Thor wondered.
He walked carefully to the last bit of trail and looked beyond. There were more of the spikes of rock heading toward the rear of the cave. He moved around them and came to what appeared to be a wall of rock and ice.
But there was a break in it.
He slid around it. A crevice—almost like a closet-sized room—had been naturally created there.
He shone the light.
And he found what he was looking for.
A rough brown blanket lay on the ground.
And on top of it...
“Mike!”
He picked up the spade that had been left there. Once upon a time, it had been an ordinary farming spade. But it had been altered. It had been sharpened and honed until it was...
“Sharp enough to slam down and cut through a woman’s body,” Mike said from behind him.
There was a large butcher’s knife beside the spade.
It, too, had been sharpened and honed.
“Especially if you use both tools,” Mike said quietly. “I’d say these are the weapons or tools that our killer used,” he added softly.
“Yep. Especially when you consider the fact that they’re still covered in blood.”
*
Forensic crews were busy as the afternoon wore on.
By early evening, Thor came by the Mansion; he’d been in touch with Jackson, so Clara knew that he had found something—the weaponized tool that the killer had used to bisect Amelia.
She was sitting on the porch with Jackson when Thor parked his snowmobile and she hurried out to meet him; he looked tired but grim and satisfied. He greeted her with a smile and, as she reached him, set an arm around her shoulders and waved to Jackson. “You okay?”
She nodded. “The crew from Wickedly Weird is staying tonight. They’re showering now. We cleaned and packed a bunch of their props and bloody creations,” she said. “It was a quiet afternoon.” She searched out his eyes. “You found...what...was used?” She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t just say the tool that bisected Amelia. She never knew when Amelia might pop up. And she just didn’t want the young woman hearing her—even if she knew what had happened to her.
He nodded. “I thought something had to be here somewhere. Forensic teams are out again; God knows, maybe we can get a bit of trace evidence somewhere.”
“Okay, but you know that Tate Morley is here—you just need to find him,” she said.
“Yes.”