THE HORROR AT MURDEN COVE

A THOMAS AUSTIN CRIME THRILLER

D.D. BLACK

DARKNESS AND LIGHT PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

I.  The Gathering

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

II.  The Storm

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

III.  The Clearing

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

PART 1

THE GATHERING

“We refuse to turn off our computers, turn off our phone, log off Facebook, and just sit in silence, because in those moments we might actually have to face up to who we really are.”

- Jefferson Bethke

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”

- Albert Einstein

“Ah! humanity.”

- Herman Melville

CHAPTER ONE

Murden Cove, Bainbridge Island, Washington

“OH MY GODDESS!” Danielle exclaimed. “What is that smell?”

The foul stench hit her the moment she and her friends spilled out of the house they’d rented for the weekend. She’d heard rumors about the smell at Murden Cove, but this was worse than she’d expected.

Doogie, one of her boyfriends, pulled her in close. “It smells like a wet dog rolled in death and rotten eggs.”

Danielle chuckled. “I was going to say it smells like a port-a-potty, but yeah. Please reassure me I’m not about to step in a pile of excrement.”

They walked arm in arm toward the beach, Danielle’s walking cane tucked under her free arm. Blind since birth, she relied on her senses of smell and hearing more than most, and though the summer night was quiet, the smell was doing more than its share of work.

Doogie said, “You won’t. It’s all smell, no substance. You’d think the rental would have cost less considering the olfactory offense of the low tides.”

“Now I get why the place was still available at the last minute,” Danielle said. “Who would subject themselves to this?”

“Well,” Doogie said. “Us, apparently. At least we can afford it now.”

She couldn't disagree with that. The money had hit her checking account a week ago and she was finally starting to accept the fact that she was going to get to spend it. Until the last few months, she’d never even allowed herself to dream of being rich.

Michael and Priya walked ten or fifteen yards ahead, speaking too quietly for Danielle to make out their words. The evening reminded her of June during their college graduation. Back then, the four of them had been drinking Ranier Beer and reveling in the excitement of starting their adult lives. Now—only five years later—it was Dom Perignon and the freedom that came with financial success. The glass of champagne she’d chugged after dinner was settling in nicely, and the muggy summer air felt as though it was wrapping Danielle in a warm embrace, despite the foul smell.

“The smell is our karmic punishment for how rich we are now,” Michael called, his voice deep and reassuring as always. “God or fate or karma or whatever requires balance. We got a hundred million bucks and a case of Champagne, and to balance it we have to endure aromatic perdition.” He and Priya had slowed their pace and were now only a few feet ahead. Michael was the oldest of the four and had founded the tech company they’d just sold.

Priya let out a frustrated little sigh, the way she always did when Michael made jokes. She was a literal-minded person and could never understand why someone would say something that wasn’t precisely true. “Actually, I read about it online. Murden Cove at low tide becomes a mudflat. Beneath the mud, microorganisms are at work.”

Priya seemed to know just about everything there was to know. While Michael had founded the company and managed the business, Priya had been the brains behind the technology that made their app run.

When no one replied, she continued, “They have likely been performing the same function for millennia. They metabolize deceased organic matter. During the process of converting this matter into energy, they generate hydrogen sulfide gas, which is the source of the putrid aroma. While the emission of this gas may be unpleasant, the bacteria serve a crucial ecological function by decomposing dead organic matter and preventing the accumulation of excess detritus.”

“Like I said,” Michael replied. “Balance.”

Danielle suppressed a laugh, but Doogie and Michael didn’t. Their drunken cackles split the thick quiet of the little island community.

“Thanks, Priya-pedia,” Doogie said, his laughter dying down as he ushered Danielle over a little curb and up onto what felt like grass beneath her feet. Although Doogie had started later than Priya with the company, he was equally skilled and had actually written most of the code for the latest version of the app. Danielle, for her part, managed all the branding and marketing for the product. As they liked to say, “Michael ran the business, Doogie and Priya built the damn thing, and Danielle sold it to the world.” And, despite all the ups and downs, the long nights and hectic days, they’d done it. In a tough economic environment they’d built and sold their company for more money than any of them ever dreamed of having.

A few steps forward and the grass changed to what felt like road again, maybe a concrete patio. Doogie stopped, laying out the land to Danielle as he always did when they reached a new setting. “Picnic table with a bench here. It’s stone. Looks dewy but not wet.”

“Got it,” she said. Three years younger than her, Doogie was always matter of fact about helping her navigate when they were together. That’s how he was about everything. To him, her blindness had never been a handicap, just a slight difference that could be navigated. Like Michael and Priya, Doogie expected a lot out of her, and she’d delivered, mastering social media marketing and branding despite never once seeing the outcome of her work.

Danielle reached out and felt the cool stone bench, then sat, leaning her walking cane on the spot next to her. The stench had only grown worse as they walked toward the water—it could hardly be called a ‘beach’ given that the shore was mud and not sand—but somehow it didn’t bother her.

She was with her three best friends, celebrating wealth, accomplishment, and the open road of possibilities before them. Nothing could ruin this night.

She heard a loud pop, then giggling. Michael had opened the second bottle of champagne.

She felt a little plastic cup touch her hand. “Half a glass,” Doogie said.

“To us!” Michael shouted. “And to leaving our damn phones back at the house.”

It was a running joke among the four that they couldn’t be without their phones for a single second. For five years they’d been tethered to them twenty-four hours a day, fixing every bug in the code, replying to every message, following every lead. They’d scrounged and saved, shared an apartment, and sunk all of their money into the business, and now they were finally reaping the rewards.

“To us!” they all said in unison.

"Can you believe it, Dani?" Priya asked, sitting next to her on the bench. "We did it! We're riiiiiiich!" She screamed the last word, her voice uncharacteristically wild.

"We worked hard for this,” Danielle replied. "But it's not just about the money. It's about the freedom to do what we want and be who we want to be. To go where we want to go.”

Priya didn’t reply, but Danielle knew she understood. Priya knew more details of Danielle’s past than the others, knew Danielle had never left Washington State, and knew there was nothing she wanted more than the freedom to travel.

Doogie sat on the bench on the other side of her and pulled Danielle close. “What are you gonna do with your share, Michael?”

Michael’s booming voice filled the night. “Priya and I are done with tech. We're thinking about starting a non-profit theater company. Fifty million between the two of us. We never have to work again.”

"That's great, guys," Danielle said, taking a sip of the champagne. "What about you, Doogie? What are your plans?"

A car whooshed by on the road, which jolted Danielle. She knew that the road running along the cove was small and curvy, and the car had sounded like it was going too fast. She sipped her champagne to calm herself down.

“Yeah, Doogie?” Priya asked. “What will you do with the money? We all know you’re the genius here.”

Doogie hesitated for a moment before answering. "Well, I’ve got my AI company already in the works. I’m gonna turn my twenty-five million into five-hundred million.” Danielle felt his hand on her knee. “And I was hoping to spend at least a few hundred grand getting married.”

Danielle’s shoulders tensed.

She felt Doogie’s breath on her face. “I love you, Dani, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

“Whoa!” Michael said. “That’s…”

“Romantic.” Priya finished his thought. “Oooohhh,” Priya said. “I’m gonna cry.”

To Danielle, a marriage proposal was anything but romantic. She and Doogie had been friends since college, where he had started at the ripe old age of 15 when she was a 19-year-old sophomore. By the time they graduated—Doogie finishing his degree in three years—he was eighteen and she was twenty-two, and their friendship had developed into something more.

“So,” Doogie said. “What do you think?”

Danielle loved Doogie, but she’d promised herself never to be exclusive with anyone. Never again, anyway. Her parents had been in a horribly codependent relationship. They hated each other, fought constantly but never broke up, even after things turned violent. She’d vowed never to need another human as much as her parents needed each other. That was one reason she’d decided to be polyamorous. The other reason was her own forced marriage when she was only sixteen. Before the escape.

“Let's not rush into anything,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let's enjoy this moment and see where the future takes us."

"You're right, Dani.” She could hear the slight disappointment in his voice, but Doogie was the eternal optimist. And he had reason to be. Now only twenty-three years old, he was a rising star in the tech world. Perhaps the next Bill Gates or Steve Jobs. “Let's just enjoy the night and our success.”

Doogie had agreed to their arrangement, to her other romances, but the more Danielle lived the polyamorous lifestyle, the more she learned that real-world emotions were always more complicated than simple “agreements.”

For the next half hour they talked and drank, drank and talked. When the champagne ran out, Dani discovered that Michael had brought a few Ranier beers, “For old times’ sake.”

She sipped one slowly, listening to the soft wind through the trees and feeling the muggy air on her skin. Before they’d taken the ferry over from Seattle, she’d checked the weather. A storm had been predicted, and she could feel it on the way.

“I need to powder my nose,” Danielle said, standing and grabbing her walking cane.

Doogie stood and led her back over the little patch of grass. “Port-a-potty,” he said, stopping. “One of the big, accessible ones. They are doing some construction on the next lot and have one out front. You want me to wait?”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I got it.”

“Okay. On your left is the water, on your right is the road. Behind the port-a-potty is the lot, then forest, I think. Or at least a patch of trees.”

“I got it, Doogie. It’s only like fifty feet back to the table.”

Inside the port-a-potty, the smell was no worse than it had been outside. Danielle hovered over the toilet seat, trying not to touch her flesh to anything attached to the unit. Her cane steadied her tipsy body, but her woozy mind wondered whether she’d handled Doogie’s proposal kindly. He’d been hinting at it for weeks and she’d tried to warn him away from it, but…

She heard a loud pop, and, for a moment, thought it might be another bottle of champagne. But this was louder.

Two more pops split the night in quick succession. The sounds reminded her of her ex-husband’s pistol, firing at beer cans behind their house. Definitely gunshots.

Panic flashed through her brain. Her feet turned to lead. She tried to call out, but her voice was stuck in her throat. She reached for her cellphone, remembering that it wasn’t there the instant her hand hit the pocket of her jeans.

She was terrified, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Slowly, she inched toward the door. Her leg bumped something and she dropped her cane, which rattled loudly against the hard plastic wall.

Then the screams began. Doogie. She listened through the crack in the door. His screams grew louder. She thought she could hear the low baritone of a man’s voice, but it definitely wasn’t Michael or Doogie. And she couldn’t make out any words.

A ripping sound, like a bag tearing or maybe duct tape. The screams ended.

She dropped to her knees, grasping desperately for her cane. Her head spun. She found it, but didn’t stand. What was she going to do? Run out and fight off the attacker?

“Doog-” she tried to call his name, but it came out quieter than a whisper.

What was happening?

Now another noise came. An electric hum, a grinding dissonance. Like a construction site.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please, no…”

Then, despite everything, despite escaping from the cult in which she’d been raised, despite rejecting everything about the vicious, grandiose teachings she’d run away from, she found herself returning to the prayers she’d been made to utter as a child. The prayers she’d repeated ceaselessly, afraid of another beating if she got them wrong.

“I beg for your divine intervention, Jesus. I confess my sins and ask for your mercy, knowing I am unworthy of your love. I trust in your boundless grace and commitment to your children. Deliver me from this darkness that surrounds me. I am a sheep, wandering astray without your guidance.”

The grating, sawing sound grew louder. She heard high electric whines and sickening wet thwacks, like a power saw cutting through flesh. The thud of a hammer driving nails into bone. She was terrified, frozen in place, unable to move.

She covered her ears, but still the awful sounds filled her consciousness.

“Be my shepherd and lead me to the green pastures of your love and grace,” she whispered, the prayers returning after years unuttered. “Protect me from the evils of this world, keep me safe from temptation, and guide me on the path of righteousness. Give me strength to resist temptation and turn away from sin.”

Suddenly, the sounds stopped. She removed her hands from her ears and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“I pray for your wisdom and guidance, so I may always follow in your footsteps and do your will. Provide for me and protect me, that I may always trust in your goodness and love.”

As she prayed, she listened. She heard a clang, like metal on metal, then soft shuffling. Perhaps footsteps over damp grass.

“Bring your kingdom to earth and use me as an instrument of righteousness, bringing your love and grace to a desperate world. In the precious name of Jesus—and of his true heir on earth, Mark Dreggs—amen.”

Trembling, she went silent.

The footsteps grew closer. And closer. Heavy steps across grass.

Then they stopped. She could feel a slight breeze through what she assumed was a vent on the side of the port-a-potty. Now she also heard breaths. Slow, steady.

She covered her ears. Tried to numb her senses. Another sound seeped into her consciousness. What was it? A radio? A person humming? She felt longing, homecoming, a kind of warm sadness that only came from certain songs. She pressed her hands tighter over her ears to block it out. Everything was black. No sight, and now no sound.

She had no idea how long she lay there, shaking and trembling with fear. It felt like hours, but it was likely only minutes. She was too scared to move, too scared to even try to escape.

The blows she expected never came. She was not dragged out by her hair. She was not killed.

Finally, she took her hands from her ears.

She heard only crickets. Slowly, she moved to the door and listened.

Silence.

He was gone.

He hadn’t known she was there.

Then a thought struck her that was somehow more terrifying than everything that had come before. Maybe he had known she was there.

After all, the steps had been right outside the port-a-potty. And that tune, that old familiar tune. Had she actually heard it, or had she imagined it? As she staggered out to the road, slowly, carefully finding her way with her walking cane, she couldn’t escape a thought as horrifying as the screams of her friends.

Maybe she’d been left alive for a reason.

CHAPTER TWO

“SORRY THE FISHING TRIP WAS A BUST,” Austin said as he got out of his truck.

“No biggie,” David said, inspecting the facade of the bed and breakfast. “At least we can still enjoy our delightful accommodations.” He turned to Austin, a child-like, devious look on his face.

“Don’t do the thing,” Austin begged. “Please.” David Min Jun, or DMJ as Austin called him, had been visiting from New York for forty-eight hours and had already done two commercial monologues about the trip. When they’d worked together in the NYPD, he’d done one or two a week. Austin could sense another one coming.

“The five-bedroom craftsman style home is a quintessential summer retreat,” David began, his voice somewhere between a news anchor and the cheesy salesman from an infomercial.

Austin leaned on the hood of his truck, taking in the quaint, three-story house. Even on this gray, overcast day, its bright white paint and pleasant green trim made it look like something out of a travel magazine. He decided to let David run with it.

“Filled with unique artwork and period details at every turn, as you step through the front door, you're greeted by the warm and inviting atmosphere of the main living area, where a cozy fireplace and comfortable couches beckon you to sit and relax. The aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the air, adding to the homey feel of this charming abode of weary fishermen.”

Austin laughed, heading for the stairs. “Charming abode of weary fishermen? Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“English major,” David said matter-of-factly.

“Always said you were the best BS’er in the NYPD.”

David opened the front door. “And I always took that as a compliment.”

“What I never got,” Austin said, “was why you ended up being a cop. Why not a teacher, or writer, or something?”

David stopped at the bottom of the old wooden staircase that led up to the bedrooms. “I wanted to be a writer, but I figured I better do some living first, in the real world, so I'd have something to write about.”

Austin was about to head upstairs when a familiar voice came from behind him. “You boys are back early.” It was Mavis Marjorie Mapleton, the owner of the bed and breakfast.

Austin frowned. “Storm coming in, they said. ‘Unsafe conditions.’” He and David had been on the charter boat at six in the morning, planning for a full day on the Sound and, they hoped, plenty of salmon on their lines. Now, two hours later, they were back, with no word on when or if the trip might happen.

Mavis looked concerned. “I’ve heard that, too. They say this could be a bad one, especially for this time of year.” Her tone shifted suddenly, becoming lighter. “We still have hot breakfast and there’s a chess board in the sitting room.”

David eyed her, scratching his chin. “Your parents, they loved alliteration, right?”

Mavis turned, beaming at him as though she’d been waiting for this question her whole life. “Want to know my brother’s name?”

David raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing I’d like more.” He had a way of speaking that was somehow both serious and ironic at the same time. As though he was both genuinely enthusiastic, but also making constant commentary about just how ridiculous everything was.

Mavis did not seem to mind. “Matthew Monroe Mapleton.”

“Any other siblings?” David asked, smiling. He was the opposite of Austin in many respects. Gregarious where Austin was quiet. Humorous where Austin was literal. And somewhere between fearless and reckless in his police work where Austin was more reserved, at least comparatively speaking. He’d also had a drinking problem that he’d kicked temporarily but, Austin feared, was back.

Mavis waved a hand through the air like a gameshow host presenting a fabulous new car. “Mina Meera Mapleton and Myles Midas Mapleton.”

David raised a hand, offering Mavis an awkward high-five. “‘While I nodded, nearly napping…’”

“Ahh,” Mavis said, “You know your Edgar Allen Poe. A big fan of alliteration.”

Austin smiled. “We’ll take some coffee and breakfast,” he said. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

Mavis smoothed her apron and returned to the kitchen while Austin and David sat at a table in the dining room. Small speakers in the corner of the room played an Elvis greatest hits album quietly.

“Should we get the fishing gear out of the truck?” David asked.

“Nah, I’m optimistic,” Austin said. “We’ll be back on the water tomorrow morning.”

“And when’s your place supposed to be done?”

“Four more days. Looks like this is our home for a bit.” A week earlier, Austin had discovered termites munching away at the beams holding his store and apartment together. So, until the exterminators were done, his little business—the Hansville Café, General Store and Bait Shop—was closed. And since his apartment was attached to it, he was living in the B and B.

Which was fine by him. The first month of the summer season had been busy, busy, busy. Having worked twelve-hour days for weeks, Austin was happy for the break. Plus, David had been free to come out for a visit so they’d decided to spend a few days on the water.

“Bainbridge Island in the summer is a place of endless beauty and wonder,” David said out of nowhere, back in his infomercial voice.

“Don’t do it,” Austin groaned.

“As the ferry glides across the waters of Puget Sound, the salty air fills your lungs and the sun beats down on your skin. Approaching the island, the first thing you notice is the lush green forests that seem to go on forever, broken up only by the occasional clearing or meadow. In fact…”

Mavis appeared, silencing him, and set down two mugs of coffee. “Did you know that the Sound, while salty, is roughly twenty percent less salty than the Pacific Ocean?”

Austin shook his head. “I didn’t know that.” He didn’t add that he also didn’t especially care.

“The Sound is roughly eighty-three percent sea water,” she continued.

“That wouldn’t sound as good in the commercial,” David said. He must have noticed the disapproving look on Mavis’s face. “I’m just messing around. It’s actually lovely here, both the ferry ride, your B and B, and the Island. This is just something I do.”

“Sarcasm is his default,” Austin added dryly.

“Hey,” David said. “That’s offensive! It’s sarcasm mixed with literary references and tone deaf singing.”

Mavis laughed. “You two are an odd pair, that’s for sure.”

Probably why we worked so well together, Austin thought.

Mavis sighed, her look turning to concern. “Latest report said it could start soon. High winds, rain. Doubt your fishing trip will be back on tomorrow.”

“I saw you have plenty of poetry in the library,” David said. “Time to catch up on some Yeats.”

Austin recognized the name, but hadn’t read him.

“Oh,” Mavis said, “I much prefer the Bard.”

“Shakespeare is overrated,” David said, standing as though delivering a closing argument in a trial. “The poetry of Yeats is so complex and layered, with such beautiful language and imagery. He was a master of the craft."

Mavis folded her arms. “Shakespeare was a genius, and his poetry is just as, if not more, complex. Plus, he wrote so much more than Yeats."

Austin sipped his coffee as Mavis pushed David back into his seat and pulled up a chair like she owned the place, which, technically, she did.

“I’ll give you that Yeats is timeless,” she continued, “but Shakespeare… well… 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Name one line Yeats wrote that was that good?”

Austin tuned them out and turned his attention to Suspicious Minds, the Elvis tune playing quietly in the background. The verse was picking up speed, leading into the chorus.

David smiled. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you a better line than ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?’” He leapt up suddenly and belted the chorus along with Elvis. To Austin’s surprise, it didn’t sound half bad.

Mavis looked stunned for a moment, then accepted David’s outstretched hand and began dancing. Austin eyed them. David could always find the good time, no matter the circumstances.

Austin’s phone rang and he excused himself, thankful to have a reason to avoid being drawn into their dance party. He had nothing against poetry, but their debate meant little to him. And he loved Elvis, but had never been much of a dancer.

He answered the call as he reached the sitting room,. “Lucy O’Lemonade. Lucy O’Licorice. What’s up?”

She didn’t even respond to his opening offer of banter. “You sitting down?” Her voice was grave and tired, like she’d been up all night listening to bad news.

“No.”

“Well, you’re going to want to,” she said. “We’ve got a rough one.”

Lucy was the acting lead detective for Kitsap County and a call from her was rarely good news. Though Austin was a licensed private investigator, he’d done nothing to try to attract business. His store kept him more than busy. But he’d done a few consulting gigs for the Kitsap Sheriff’s department and they often called him when they needed a fresh set of eyes.

Austin sat on an old recliner, bracing himself. In his time in the NYPD, he’d dreaded these calls, but he’d also lived for them.

“Triple homicide,” Lucy said. “One of the worst we’ve ever seen. No suspects. You free to look into it with me?” She sighed. “I’ve never wished Rid was around more.”

Rid was Detective Ridley Calvin, who’d been lead Detective until a couple months ago when he’d been placed on unpaid leave for disobeying a directive from the Sheriff.

Austin sighed. “I was supposed to be fishing, but the storm blew us out.”

“It’s supposed to be bad, which is one reason we need to be fast. Crime scene is outdoors. How soon can you make it out to Bainbridge Island from Hansville?”

Austin stood. “I’m on the island right now.”

“Oh, okay. Well, Jimmy and I are on our way out.”

“Hi Austin!” Jimmy called. Austin realized he’d been on speaker phone in Lucy’s car the whole time.

“Hey there, Jimmy.”

Lucy said, “Be at Murden Cove in twenty minutes.”

“Did you say Murder Cove?” Austin asked. “That can’t be a real place.” Bainbridge was only a forty-minute drive from Hansville and he’d been to the island a dozen times, but he didn’t yet know the geography well.

“Murden,” Lucy said impatiently, “with an N. And if you get there before me, watch out for the locals.”

Austin paced, half an ear listening in as David and Mavis finished a duet of Hound Dog. “What do you mean?”

“You know how there’s a friendly—and sometimes unfriendly—rivalry between Bainbridge Island folks and other Kitsap County folks?”

“Uhh, sort of.” Bainbridge was only a short ferry ride to Seattle and was the most affluent area in the county. Austin had heard rumors about the rivalry, but generally ignored any and all drama that didn’t directly concern him.

“Anyway,” Lucy said. “Two Bainbridge officers are securing the scene. Brian and Drew. Apparently, a witness called the police around four this morning. She’s terrified and not saying much.”

“What is she saying?”

“Apparently all she said was ‘Murden Cove.’ I guess they got an address out of her. She and her friends were staying at a fancy rental in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll head over,” Austin said, “but I’m with a friend, DMJ. Current NYPD, okay if I bring him along?” Austin glanced into the dining room, where David was now slow-dancing with Mavis to Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love. “He’s a bit of a… well… something. But he’s a good detective.”

“Can’t hurt. Long as he’s there unofficially. And you are, too, okay? Sheriff Daniels said I have no budget to hire consultants and, even if I did, I couldn’t hire you.”

Austin almost laughed. “He loves me that much, huh?”

“Let’s just say you won’t be invited to his Fourth of July BBQ. But seriously, I can’t have you on this case in general. I just need someone on the scene ASAP. But, I was trying to tell you, the officers on scene….”

“The rivalry, yeah, what’s the deal?”

“Like I said, two locals responded, Brian and Drew. Brian is brand new, literally his first month on the job. Don’t know him but I wouldn’t expect much. Drew is—well, I don’t know how to say this so I’ll just say it—he’s an old bitter bastard. Somehow stupid as hell and elitist at the same time. A charming combination. Ridley once called him the worst officer in Kitsap.”

“Why does he still have a job?” Austin asked.

“You know how short staffed everyone is,” Lucy said. “We can’t hire fast enough with the way the county is growing. And he’s not corrupt. Just an utter dumbass who thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes.”

Austin knew the type. Usually a few years on the job had a way of humbling guys like that, but not always. He’d once worked with a detective who called himself “Poirot” despite having the lowest clearance rate in the recorded history of the NYPD.

“Okay,” Austin said, walking back to the dining room, where he found Mavis and David poring over a book. “We’ll be there in ten.”

“One more thing,” Lucy said. “Later, will you come with us to speak with the witness?”

“Sure, but why me?”

“Jimmy and I have to be at the court by noon. The Del Guado thing finally came up, and I’m testifying. We’re gonna come back after. I’ll lead, but I want you there. You’ve done more of these than I have.”

Austin picked up his mug and chugged the lukewarm coffee. “And you don’t want Drew and Brian in there with you.”

“Exactly, but it’s something else. She’s blind. One hundred percent. Apparently she was near the murders. I don’t know. Like I said, she’s barely speaking. But something freaked her the hell out, and yet she didn’t see anything. This one might take a level of finesse.”

“Got it.” Austin hung up and Mavis excused herself, likely reading Austin’s concerned look.

“What was that about?” David asked.

“I know this is your vacation and all, but how would you feel about tossing on your detective hat?”

CHAPTER THREE

EVEN WITH THE WINDOWS UP, Austin could smell the crime scene. But the smell had nothing to do with the triple murder. The mudflats of Murden Cove smelled like a solid waste spill.

He parked his truck behind two police cruisers that had blocked off the two-lane road that ran parallel to the cove.

As he and David got out, the smell hit him twice as hard.

“What is that?” David asked.

Austin pointed at the muddy shore. “I know it’s something about the tides, but…” he shook his head.

They walked by a pasty-faced officer who looked no more than twenty-two. He was tying yellow police tape to a tree and Austin stopped when he saw him attaching the other end to the bumper of his cruiser. “You know,” Austin said. “When you move the car, it’ll pull the tape down.”

The young officer looked from bumper to tree, then from tree back to bumper, dumbstruck. He slapped his forehead. “I’m an idiot! That’s what I get for relying on an AI chatbot to teach me how to do this.”

“What do you mean?” Austin asked.

The officer held up his phone, as though that was enough explanation, and began cursing under his breath.

That must be Brian, Austin thought. Not only did he not know what he was doing with the crime scene tape, he’d let Austin and David walk into the scene without so much as a question confirming their identities. Even if Lucy had called ahead to let Brian know they’d be coming, he should have stopped them to be sure.

As Brian began fixing his mistake, Austin led David up onto a small patch of grass, then down a slight slope to where a picnic table sat on a patch of poured concrete. What he saw on the table made him turn away in disgust. Just beyond the table, driftwood gave way to mudflats that stretched a hundred yards and eventually disappeared into the Sound. The smell of saltwater, mud, and sulfur mixed with the sharp stench of blood, making Austin's nose wrinkle in disgust.

But the smell wasn’t even a fraction of the horror he was facing. He tasted cold metal, like biting on a quarter, as he always did when bracing himself internally. Determined, he softened his eyes and took in the scene.

Next to the picnic table, a black guy—muscular and wearing what Austin thought were stylish leather pants—lay face down on the ground, a bullet hole through the back of his head. Next to him lying face up was a young woman who looked Indian, shot twice through the chest. She wore blue jeans and a t-shirt for a band called The Killers. Austin could see the pain and fear etched on her face. His heart ached, but, looking at the third victim, he realized the first two had gotten off easy.

A young man—pale and freckled—was duct taped to the stone bench. Well beyond dead, his body showed clear signs of torture. His skin was covered in bruises and cuts. A detached, freckled hand sat on the stone bench as though left out for the birds. It had been sawed off his wrist, leaving a bloody stump at the end of one of the young man’s arms. In his face, Austin could see the fear and anguish, even in death. It was a gruesome scene that filled him with sadness and horror. This was murder, true, but it was also something more. Austin couldn't help but wonder what kind of person could commit such a heinous act.

He looked at David. “I’m sorry. We were supposed to be fishing. This is going to be bad, and if you want to head back to the B and B, or back to New York, I won’t blame you.”

David met his eyes, but said nothing. He shook his head slightly, dismissing Austin’s offer.

David loved to joke and sing and mess around, but when it came to detective work, he was deadly serious. David would want to find the killer just as badly as Austin, if not more so. And whereas Austin was driven by a need to know what happened, David had a way of taking things personally. Often, he was driven by vengeance on behalf of the victims, as Austin’s wife Fiona had been before she’d been murdered. It made David a good detective, but in the past it had also made him reckless.

A bald officer in a Bainbridge Island police uniform approached from thirty yards down the road, where he’d either been inspecting or using a port-a-potty. He folded his arms. “You the foreigners Ms. Lucy told me were on their way to step all over my crime scene?”

“You must be Drew,” Austin said, offering a hand. “Piss poor job securing your crime scene, if you don’t mind me saying. We walked right up.”

Drew shook Austin’s hand quickly, uncomfortably, as though he didn’t approve of the custom. “Before you say anything, just know this, we can handle this situation on the island. Don’t need mainland amateurs meddling in our affairs.”

Austin ignored this. “Drew, this is David Min Jun, DMJ. Lucy said he could observe.”

Drew studied David like he was about to object, then waved them over to the stone table. Austin thought maybe the gravity of the scene shamed him into being less of a jerk than he wanted to be.

“I’m thinking it’s a robbery,” Drew said, standing over the body of the burly guy with the gunshot wound through the head.

“What makes you think that?” Austin asked.

“These young folks were rich. Rich neighborhood.”

David pointed to a bulge in the back pocket of the dead man, which looked like a wallet. “How do you explain that?”

Drew shrugged.

Austin pointed at the severed hand on the picnic table. “Or that? Robbers rarely engage in that kind of barbarism.”

“I figure the killer took out the first two,” Drew said, “planning to rob them.” He had a way of speaking that was somehow both haughty and ignorant, like a refined hotel concierge describing an episode of Jerry Springer. “Then the third put up a fight and the killer wanted to teach him a lesson. Boom! Or maybe he tortured him for his bank code or something. Saw that on a documentary once.”

Austin doubted it, but he had to keep an open mind. He caught David’s eye and nodded toward the street. “DMJ, will you show Drew what we saw over there?” He pointed at a spot down the road.

David nodded. “Drew, yeah, can I show you something? Give Austin a minute with the scene alone?”

Sometimes when a witness or another officer at the scene was in the way, one of them would pull that person away to allow the other to get a focused look. Though it had been a couple years since they’d worked together, David still knew the signs.

Drew nodded reluctantly and David threw an arm around his shoulder. “As an NYPD detective for twenty years,” David said, leading him toward the road, “I’ve witnessed unimaginable horrors. But I've also learned that my job mirrors that of famous poets. Like Poe, I unravel the mysteries of the human mind. Like Shakespeare—who is overrated—I uncover the beauty and tragedy in life. And like Frost, I walk a solitary path filled with danger, relying on my own thoughts and words to make sense of it all. Searching for truth in the darkest places is a lonely road, like that of the bards. Now, let me extend the metaphor further… Are you a fan of Elvis?”

Austin looked from victim to victim.

Unless he was wrong, this was anything but a robbery gone bad. Not only was the victim’s wallet still in his pocket, but the Indian woman had a fanny-pack type purse around her waist. But it was the third victim that sealed the deal. Even though they were a hundred yards from the nearest house across the street, duct taping someone to a table and killing them in this manner would take time and involve way more risk than even the most fearless robber would ever take.

No, this was a double execution followed by something much, much worse. Something diabolical, something that could only have been done by a deranged mind the likes of which Austin had only seen a few times in his career. And, likely, it was something personal.

The sound of a car made him look up. He was relieved to see Lucy’s bright red hair emerging from her cruiser. Jimmy was there as well, uniform tight fitting as always, barely containing the muscles he worked so hard to maintain.

Their presence gave Austin some comfort. This was one of the worst crime scenes he’d ever seen, and he needed some familiar faces.

CHAPTER FOUR

“WE’VE GOT MORE info on the victims,” Lucy said after she’d taken a first look at the scene and Austin had introduced her to David.

She’d sent Brian, Drew, and Jimmy to begin knocking on doors in the neighborhood, then led them back to stand over the bodies.

She pointed at the man laying face down. “This is Michael Robinson, he was CEO of StreamVroomer, which is some sort of social media video app.”

“Single bullet,” Austin said, “back of the head.”

“Looks like a .45,” David added.

Lucy nodded. “Next to Mr. Robinson is Priya Apit. She was Chief Technology Officer at StreamVroomer.”

“Two shots to the chest,” Austin said, staring down at the body. “All three victims were gathered around the table, drinking Champagne and beer from the looks of it.” He pointed back in the direction of the road. “Somehow, the perp approached, likely on foot, and shot Mr. Robinson first, probably because he was the largest of the three. The one most positioned to put up a fight.”

“Why do you say he was on foot?” Lucy asked.

Austin pointed at the wound. “Back of the head. It was dark, not a lot of stars out last night. If he’d pulled up in a car, the first victim would have turned. Headlights, even if he hadn’t heard the car.” Austin had taken a good look at the ground leading toward the picnic table from every direction, but the prints had been largely washed away by overnight rain.

“So,” Lucy continued, “the perp creeps up, kills the first victim, then Ms. Apit turns and immediately catches two shots to the chest.”

David was over at the stone picnic table. “And this poor guy?”

“Douglas Miller. He was dating Danielle Davis, our witness. The four of them were staying two blocks away at a rental. All four worked at StreamVroomer, the tech company.”

“How do you know they were a couple?” Austin asked.

“The woman who owns the rental called in an hour ago when she noticed the police cars in the area. She’d wondered why the four hadn’t come back to the house last night. Told me they’d rented it for a couples weekend to celebrate the sale of their company.”

“Sale?” David asked. He raised an eyebrow. “That means they just came into money.”

Austin nodded. “Could be relevant, but…” he waved a hand at the gruesome scene before them. “Why all this?” Austin noticed blood splatter on a dry patch under the picnic table, but he imagined that a lot of blood had been washed away overnight along with the footprints.

Lucy shook her head, staring down at the severed hand. “We’ve got forensics and evidence tech on the way, or else I would have bagged that hand. As to why?” She shrugged. “I’ve got nothing. Yet. Let’s make sure that changes.”

Austin nodded.

“You know what I’m not seeing?” David asked.

Brian, the brand new cop, had returned and made his way down the gentle slope from the road. “Cell phones. Three young tech people with no cell phones.”

Austin walked a lap around the stone table, examining the ground as well as the bodies. Crouching, he used a pen to lift Michael Robinson’s back pocket, confirming that the bulge was a wallet, not a phone. “Nice catch,” he said to Brian.

“Stolen, ya think?” David asked Austin.

“Could be, but… I don’t know. Steal the phones, leave the purse and wallet?”

“Not to mention…” Lucy pointed at the wrist watch of Douglas, the victim still duct taped to the table. “That’s a Patek Phillipe. Five grand, maybe ten. Jimmy wanted one for his birthday and I laughed him out of the room.”

Austin leaned in, studying the watch on the victim’s one attached wrist. It was a deep blue, encrusted with what looked like tiny diamonds. “Looks like he was already spending the money from the sale of the company.”

David nodded, wandering in the direction of the port-a-potty. He crouched, grabbing a twig from the ground. When he turned, he was holding up a thick blue rubber band on the edge of the twig. Squinting, he read the words printed on it in blocky lettering. “Washington State Grown Organic Asparagus.”

“Put it back,” Lucy said. She nodded up toward the road, where the forensics van had pulled up. “We’ll want to get shots of that where it was.”

“Could be nothing,” Austin said.

“Or it could be something,” David replied.

Lucy frowned. “Technically, every single element of a crime scene could be nothing, or could be something.”

“Sorry,” Austin said. “Old habit.”

It was their go-to banter when they both knew they didn’t have anything significant on a case.

The forensics and evidence team gathered their equipment and began the work of photographing the scene and gathering evidence. It was good they’d arrived when they did. The crime scene was already badly damaged and if the rain started up again, the last of the evidence would soon be washed away. They had three pop-up forensics tents—each about ten by ten feet—that they were setting up over the bodies to protect the evidence from the elements. What was left of the evidence, anyway.

Lucy pulled Austin aside. “Today of all days.” She twirled a strand of her curly red hair around her index finger nervously, then let it spring loose. “I have time to go to the rental, then I have to get to court on the Del Guado thing. But I’ll be back by late afternoon.”

“How is that looking?” Austin asked. He’d been closely involved in the Del Guado case and, though he had no official role in the trial, it certainly piqued his interest. He’d helped bring to justice a couple that played a part in the killing of three decorated Navy men, until recently one of the biggest cold cases in the nation.

“Looks to be an open and shut case,” Lucy said. “They’re going down. We don’t win ‘em all, but we’ll win that one.”

He was glad to hear it. “Let’s win this one, too. Did the woman who owns the rental house tell you anything?”

“Only that Danielle Davis, the witness, is blind and was dating Douglas, the third victim. Said she called him ‘Doogie’ because he’d graduated early from both high school and college.”

Austin didn’t get it.

“C’mon, New York, that show should be right in your wheelhouse. Doogie Howser, MD.”

He shook his head.

“Anyhoo,” Lucy continued, “they had called to see how accessible the house was. To make sure there were no elaborate spiral staircases or anything. The lady said they were very nice. Just wanted to figure out if it would be difficult for Danielle to navigate on her own.”

Lucy pointed up the street. “Two blocks that way. Huge blue house with a guest house behind it. That’s where they were staying.”

Austin waved David over and, as they made their way back to the truck, the rain began again, coming in fat drops and splattering on his windshield like grapes. The air was in the mid-sixties, the sky an ominous dark gray.

“On the bright side,” David said, “we weren’t going to be getting any fishing done anyway. At least we have something to do.”

Austin gave him a look, then gestured toward the crime scene, where the rain pattered down on the bloody mess of bodies as evidence techs tried to tie down the tents against the wind. “Little insensitive, maybe?”

“A way to be useful, I meant.” David sighed. “Way I see it, I have to keep a sense of humor to do what I do. Remember, you took off. I’m still in New York. You know the kind of things I see.”

They got in the truck and Austin cast one more look at the scene. He did know the kind of things David saw. He’d moved across the country to get away from them. And yet, here he was.

He started the truck and pulled out in the direction of the rental.

CHAPTER FIVE

“MEDICAL AND TRAUMA TEAM JUST CALLED,” Lucy said, pausing in front of the giant blue house.

Austin stopped as well. David and Jimmy were a pace behind them.

She turned to face the crew. “Danielle Davis is okay, physically. Not a scratch. But she’s terrified.”

“Any word on what she saw?” Austin asked. “Or… sorry… heard.”

“Not yet,” Lucy said, “but Jimmy and I will be back to interview her with you right after court. Late this afternoon.”

Austin asked, “And until then?”

“They’re gonna offer her some food, coffee, and hold her at the station. Drew will head back and stay with her there.”

Austin gave her a look. “Drew?” He’d left a bad taste in Austin’s mouth from the moment he’d met him.

She sighed. “Literally the only option.”

“Lucy O’Needs-a-Hiring-Spree,” Jimmy called from behind them.

They followed a brick path along the side of the house. Austin smelled tomato plants and roses, jasmine and fresh dirt. The rain was steady now, but none of them had umbrellas and they’d all resigned themselves to getting wet.

The guest house was secured by a young officer standing on the porch. He introduced himself as Officer Johnson, mentioning that he was supposed to be out this week as his wife was due to go into labor any day. Lucy thanked him for coming in anyway, and led them into an entryway, where they were met by a blonde woman in her mid-fifties.

“I’m Suzanne,” the woman said, twisting her hands in knots, her face a picture of concern. “I own the property.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”

Jimmy and David joined them in the entryway, followed by Brian. Looking around, Austin realized that the entryway of the guest house was about the same size as his living room.

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Lucy said. “And I’m sorry. I know you didn’t know the victims personally, but… well… I'm sorry.”

Suzanne nodded and led them into the living room. “They’d only arrived maybe three hours before they went out. Take out food containers in the kitchen still. They ate and…” Her voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t finish the sentence. “Is it true what they’re saying on Facebook?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow and shot Austin an Oh-No look. “What are they saying on Facebook?”

Suzanne looked away, lowering her voice to a deep whisper. “Torture.”

Lucy frowned, clearly pissed that rumors were already spreading. “Were there photos? Don’t tell me someone…”

Suzanne swallowed hard. “Bainbridge Island Facebook group. I have no idea how it got past the censors or whatever. It got taken down after five minutes.”

“But once something is out there,” David said. “Screenshots, downloads. Once it is uploaded, it’s always out there.”

“Who posted it?” Lucy demanded. Then, softening her tone. “Look, I know it’s not your fault. Do you know who posted the picture?”

Suzanne shook her head. “Some kid. Fern, I think his name is. Lives a couple blocks away. His parents are both activist lawyers across the water. In Seattle.”

“That’s sick,” David said, shaking his head.

“Did he call in?” Austin asked Lucy.

It was Brian who answered. “He called in and reported it this morning. Maybe an hour after the witness came in. Said he’d been out jogging and came across the scene. Little bastard said nothing about a photo.”

Suzanne pulled her phone from her back pocket, swiped, and handed it to Lucy. “I took a screenshot of the post before it was taken down.”

Lucy studied the photo, then frowned and handed it to Austin. It appeared to have been taken from about ten yards away and slightly above the scene. It showed all three bodies in the exact positions Austin had seen them, and was not zoomed in enough to provide any additional information.

He handed the phone back to Suzanne. “Brian will follow up with you to get that photo, but there's nothing new there.”

Austin had no idea how the world had reached a place where someone could whip out a cellphone to take pictures of a tortured body, then post them online. But he couldn’t deny that this was the world he inhabited.

They all paused in the living room, which showed few signs that anyone had been there. The wood floors were gleaming, the couches looked brand new, and every square inch was done up like a home in an interior decorating magazine. Pacific Northwest tribal art, carvings of masks, and intricately woven blankets hung on the walls. Woven seagrass baskets were thoughtfully displayed on mantles and coffee tables. Not a single piece of furniture wasn’t a one-of-a-kind piece of art.

“The bedrooms?” Lucy asked.

Suzanne nodded toward the back of the one-story house. “Off to the right, that’s where the young man and the blind woman were staying. To the left, the other two guests. They were a little older. Michael was the man who made the reservation. He seemed to be in charge.”

Austin examined Danielle and Doogie’s room. The bed was still made, but the covers were crinkled a little, as though they’d been sat on. A leather duffel bag sat unopened on the dresser and a rolling suitcase stood in the corner. “I’m guessing that duffel bag belonged to the young white guy with freckles,” Austin said to Suzanne. “Douglas.”

Suzanne thought for a moment. “I… I believe so, yes. When I showed them the house, he was carrying it. He was also rolling the suitcase for the young woman, but when we reached the room he put the handle in her hand and showed her to her side of the bed.”

Jimmy was standing in the doorway behind them, “How’d you know it was his duffel bag, New York?”

“He was wearing an expensive watch. Patek Phillipe. The bag is, well, I don’t know what that logo is, but it looks fancy.”

“That’s a Ghurka,” Brian chimed in, way too cheerfully for the situation. “That thing would cost a month of my salary.”

Austin gave him a look.

“I’m a luggage guy,” Brian said, a little defensively.

David waved them over to the nightstand, where two cellphones sat. “Why would they leave their cellphones?”

Suzanne said, “The others did as well. Two more in the kitchen.”

Austin considered this. It was of course a cliché that young people never went anywhere without their phones. But neither did he or anyone he knew. At this point, damn near everyone carried their phone at all times. “Possible they were just going for a little stroll without them, but… I don’t know.” He turned to Lucy and Jimmy. “Maybe we can ask the witness about that?”

Lucy nodded and made her way to the other bedroom. Like the first, it appeared totally unused.

In the kitchen, they examined the cartons of food, which were mostly half eaten. No plates had been used.

“Vietnamese,” Suzanne said. “From the phở place. I eat there once a week.”

“What time did they arrive?” Lucy asked.

Suzanne said, “Six, or… wait…” She pulled out her phone. “Michael texted me at six-ten saying the ferry had just arrived. So they likely got here six-thirty. They had arranged an Uber, which don’t always run on the island, but I guess they’d set it up in advance.”

“And they had the food when they arrived?” Austin asked.

She nodded.

Austin paced the spacious kitchen, trying to piece together their evening. The two couples boarded the ferry in Seattle around 5:30, were picked up by an Uber around 6:10, stopped to pick up food, which they’d likely ordered from the ferry, then arrived at their rental around 6:30. They’d eaten, drank champagne, then hung around the living room for a bit before wandering out into the night, still drinking. All perfectly in line with two young couples celebrating the sale of their tech company. “Did they mention anything about going out?” Austin asked.

“Or meeting someone?” Lucy asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “They asked about local parks and restaurants. They seemed happy, even jubilant. Something about selling their startup?”

Lucy nodded. “The sale just went final.”

Brian, who’d been lingering behind them, held up his phone. “I have something on that.” He narrowed his eyes at Lucy, then nodded at Suzanne. “Maybe in private?”

“Will you give us a minute?” Lucy asked Suzanne.

Suzanne excused herself. “I’ll be in the main house.”

Brian leaned on the counter. “I found their LinkedIn profile. Well, Michael’s, anyway. And that linked to the deceased woman, Priya. From there I found an article on a tech blog. Lemme read from it: ‘The video conferencing startup, StreamVroomer, sold for $100.7 million to the larger streaming company FirstStream, Incorporated. Owned equally between its four founders, StreamVroomer used an advanced AI-assisted algorithm to route and re-route data resulting in clearer video and audio conferencing.’” Brian paused for a moment, then wiped a hand across his forehead. “A hundred million dollars. Split four ways.”

Lucy asked, “Anyone understand what the article said about their technology?”

Austin shrugged.

Jimmy said, “I kinda understand it, but—”

“AI is the next big thing,” Brian interrupted. “In the next ten years, the AI revolution in tech will be as disruptive as the Internet itself was in the early 2000s or the smart phone in the 2010s. Here, lemme show you this new Chat GPT thing…”

“Not now,” Austin said, “but tell us what it does. I don’t have a high regard for AI. I have Siri or whatever on my phone and it’s not especially helpful.”

“In this case,” Brian said, “and I don’t know StreamVroomer’s tech specifically, but it sounds like they’d developed a learning algorithm that was somehow able to figure out ways to send streaming data more efficiently, resulting in less lag, fewer dropped calls, and so on.”

“And,” Jimmy added, a little defensively since he was usually the one to explain technology to them when Samantha wasn’t around, “as the world relies on Zoom calls and other video conferencing more and more, that’s very valuable.”

Brian stepped forward, angling in front of Jimmy a little. “There’s more. Douglas—or ‘Doogie,’ as he was called—he’d already started another AI company. My guess is he was the main brains behind StreamVroomer. Started college at age fifteen, graduated at eighteen. Says here his company was already negotiating a hundred million dollars in startup capital from… holy hell!”

“What?” Austin asked.

“From a Saudi Arabian investment firm.”

The rain was coming down hard now, battering the metal roof. A particularly strong blast of wind blew a branch off a nearby tree and Austin watched it fall outside the kitchen window.

“I’ve gotta get going,” Lucy said. “But lemme see if I have this right. They sell their company for a hundred million. Doogie had already started another company, which was going to be funded by the Saudis—and we all know that the Saudi investment firms are actually arms of their government—and then Doogie is the one who was tortured. The other two merely executed?”

Brian nodded. “Right now there are three main projects developing general AIs. OpenAI is one—founded by Elon Musk and some others, then Microsoft invested. That’s the one everyone can play with online already and it does all sorts of cool stuff, like write essays.”

“That the one you used to figure out how to string police tape?” Austin asked, his voice neutral but the sarcasm apparent anyway.

“They’re not yet perfect,” Brian said, “but just wait.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Google has one that’s more top secret. We know that China is working on one as well, but obviously we don’t know the details about that.”

Austin didn’t like where this was headed. “So it’s possible the Saudis wanted in on the game and were investing in Doogie to make a go of it?”

David, who’d been quiet a long time, said, “I don’t know a lot about this, but from what I’ve read, this may be the most valuable technology ever created. Might eliminate half of all jobs, create unimaginable wealth either for a handful of companies or society as a whole. Valuable enough to kill for, I’d say.”

“I’m no detective,” Brian said. “But that’s where my mind went.”

“But why kill the person you’re investing in?” Austin asked. He didn’t doubt that the technology could be valuable enough to kill for, but if Doogie was one of the geniuses of the field, wouldn’t he be most valuable alive?

Brian shrugged. “A competitor, maybe?”

Lucy sighed. “Maybe, but we’re not gonna speculate our way to a suspect.” Her hair was damp and she looked more stressed than Austin had ever seen her. When Calvin Ridley had been suspended, she’d been tasked with managing the detectives of the Kitsap Sheriff’s Office. That meant testifying in pending cases as well as investigating new ones.

Today was a perfect storm.

“I’ll be back after court,” she said, meeting Austin’s eyes. “Thanks for your help. Give this some thought and I’ll call you when it’s time to speak with the witness. But, like I said, you’re not actually on this case.” She turned to Brian. “Head back and make sure she’s safe and taken care of, will you?”

The young officer nodded.

Austin led David out to the truck, rushing to get in before being hit by a falling branch or soaked through to the bone by the sheets of rain that were now sweeping down from all angles.

As he shut the door behind him, he tasted dry sand with a tinge of burnt toast bitterness. These were the tastes that came with frustration and dread. This case was going to be absolute hell, the kind he loathed and the kind he lived for, and he wasn’t going to be leading it.

CHAPTER SIX

“AS YOU STEP off the ferry, you're greeted by the vibrant colors of the flowers that line the streets. The sweet scent of roses and lilacs mixes with the saltwater and sea breeze, creating a heady aroma that is uniquely Bainbridge Island.”

Austin groaned. DMJ was at it again.

“As you make your way through the charming downtown area, you can't help but be drawn in by the quaint shops and restaurants that line the streets. The sound of laughter and intellectual chatter fills the air, the clink of glasses and the sizzle of grills can be heard from every direction.”

All Austin heard was pounding rain, gusting wind, and the whining creak of beams in the old house.

And yet, this didn’t slow David. “And in the morning—ahhh, the lovely mornings at your charming B and B—you'll wake up to the sound of sizzling bacon and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, as your friendly hosts prepare a delicious breakfast spread in the sunny dinette.”

“Can you stop?” Austin asked. “You lost me at ‘sunny dinette.’ We were supposed to be out enjoying a summer fishing trip. I think I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like.”

David raised a hand like a poet contemplating his next profound line. “And as you sit down to eat your tea and crumpets, you can't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to experience the simple pleasures of life at this charming B and B, the very same enjoyed by Commodore William Bainbridge, for whom the island was named.”

“Wait, what? Really?’

“No, he never stayed here. Never even visited the island. But it was named after him.”

Austin just stared at him.

David grinned. “Bainbridge Island History dot com.”

Actually, they were sitting down to plates of seared salmon, and their charming host hadn’t made it. They’d spent the late morning and early afternoon in the tiny kitchenette at the B and B, cooking their own lunch from food they’d picked up at the local grocery store, which had been jammed with people picking up bottled water, toilet paper and—strangely—bananas. All in preparation for the storm.

Austin was used to small kitchens, and the two-burner stove had been enough to perfectly sear two pieces of local sockeye, which he topped with a jarred pesto sauce and served with baby red potatoes he’d roasted with garlic and rosemary.

They sat across from each other at a little wooden table, rain pelting the single window and, despite the electric heater, a slight chill had crept into the air.

“Dig in,” Austin said. Something hit the side of the house, a branch most likely. “Sorry again. I really thought this would be a nice vacation.”

“Come for the fishing,” David said, again in his commercial voice, “stay for the gruesome triple homicide.” David didn’t so much as smile at his own joke. Sometimes he even wore out himself with his sense of humor.

“Lucy says we’re not welcome on the case, not really, anyway. Sheriff doesn’t care for me much.”

“Even after you saved his ass multiple times?” David asked.

“I guess we have a love-hate kinda thing.”

David popped a potato quarter in his mouth, studying Austin seriously.

“What?” Austin asked.

“C’mon. You know.”

“What? Seriously.” Austin took a bite of salmon.

David smiled. “Ask me what you really want to ask me.”

Austin swallowed hard. He’d planned to wait for David to bring it up. Since his friend’s arrival, Austin had made small talk, asked about New York, and avoided the topic of Fiona, his wife who’d been murdered. He hadn’t even mentioned Michael Lee, the FBI informant who was somehow connected to the case Austin believed had gotten her killed.

David chewed a bite of salmon, then leaned back in his chair, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small metallic object. He slid it across the table. “I have news. Wasn’t sure you wanted to go there yet, or when you’d feel comfortable. I know this is… I was going to say ‘sensitive,’ but it’s much more than that. It’s dangerous.”

Austin inspected it. It was a small USB thumb drive, the kind Austin used a lot in the 2000s and early 2010s, before much of computing was done in the cloud. “I feel like crap for involving you in this.”

David shrugged. “I owe you. Can’t count the number of times you covered for me when I showed up hungover.”

Austin picked up the USB drive. “You don’t owe me this big.”

His phone vibrated on the table, the display showing Lucy O’Rourke. He silenced the call, then glanced around the kitchen. “Not gonna get more secure than this. What’s on this thing?”

“Michael Lee came to see me. Told me some things. Gave me the USB drive.”

Austin read a pained look on David’s face, a look he’d seen before. “And?” Austin asked. “There’s something else.”

“Michael Lee is dead.”

Austin’s insides twisted. “Dead? But he…”

“Officially, the murder is unsolved. I spoke with him two weeks ago and he was found dead outside his safehouse last week.”

“The Namgungs?”

David nodded. “My bet is they got to a couple agents who tipped them off to Lee’s location.”

Austin pushed his plate away and closed his eyes tight, picturing Lee’s face, a face he’d seen only briefly at the end of their video call. Lee had pulled down his bandana, exposing a face that hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. His upper lip had been gashed and sown back together, giving him an odd, crooked smile.

Austin felt sick.

He’d spent weeks tracking down Michael Lee on the blind hope that he might have information about Fiona’s death. He’d learned that Lee had been an FBI informant working against the Namgung crime family, known for smuggling narcotics into New York City. He’d also learned that, according to Lee, elements of both the FBI and the NYPD were involved in a complex web, some working to bring the Namgung crime syndicate to justice, others working for the Namgungs.

He’d never be able to know for certain, but he had little doubt that his request for Lee to get in touch with DMJ had led to his death. “What did he say when you spoke with him?” Austin asked, pushing salmon around his plate with his fork. He closed his eyes tight, guilt tearing at him from the inside.

“Before I say anything more, lemme tell you this,” David said. “Austin, man, open your eyes.”

Austin opened them and found David giving him a familiar stare, stern but not cruel or judgmental. It was his listen-to-me-now stare. “Just like you did with Fiona, you’re going to blame yourself. You turn bad things inward, which is why we get along, I guess. I turn bad things outward. Probably because I wasn’t shown affection as a child, but that’s between me and my team of therapists.” He chuckled, but Austin was not amused. “Look, maybe we balance each other out is what I’m saying. Michael Lee was a drug smuggler and a murderer. He turned on the Namgung crime family when he got caught, just like a hundred rats before him and a hundred will in the future. He was no hero. I’m not going to be shedding any tears over him.”

Austin's phone buzzed again. A new message. He ignored it. “Okay, but…”

David picked up the USB drive and tapped it on the table. “He did, however, have some valuable information. Short version is this: he became an FBI informant to keep his own ass out of federal prison. Problem was, the Namgung crime family had a few dozen NYPD cops on their payroll, who in turn had a couple FBI agents who were bought and paid for.”

Austin recalled Lee saying he’d been caught up in a web of corruption. He wasn’t exactly sure how Fiona had been involved, but his hunch was that she and her office had gotten wind of it and she’d been killed to silence the investigation. “So what’s on the USB drive?”

David shrugged. “I was getting to that. Lee told me he thought he was going to die. And not because of you, Austin. They were already after him. When you flip on a family like the Namgungs, they don’t just accept it merrily and move on. It was only a matter of time before he got got.”

“So he gave you the USB drive. Why?”

“He said he’d shared all the same information with the FBI, but he was worried that, well, he didn’t say what exactly, but he was worried about something.”

Austin considered this. He knew there were corrupt elements of both the NYPD and the FBI. As in any huge organization, there were those trying to do an honest job, and those who were only out for themselves. He didn’t know how far this case extended, but he feared it was deeper than anything he’d seen before.

David said, “I haven’t put that thing in my computer. And I don’t think you should, either. Not unless you’ve become some kind of counter-surveillance expert recently.”

Austin nodded. He didn’t think anyone was tracking his computer, but he wasn’t sure, and didn’t know how to tell. “I know someone who can help. Samantha. She’s the one who set me up with the computer to chat with Lee in the first place. Assuming our fishing will be canceled for at least another day or two, maybe we can go see her tomorrow.”

They ate in silence for a long time. The salmon was good—nice and fresh and cooked perfectly—but Austin wasn’t enjoying it. Being around David made him think of the double dates they’d been on. Fiona had been close with David’s wife, Miranda, and they’d often eaten out together. Like Fiona, Miranda was a Jets fan and they’d all attended games together on more than one occasion.

When Austin had picked David up at the airport, he’d asked him about Miranda and David had blown him off with a “Good, she’s good,” then changed the subject. It gave Austin the sense that things were rocky between the two, but he was waiting for David to bring it up.

The kitchen door creaked loudly. “Two dead in Seattle.” It was Mavis, their host. “Reminds me of the August storm of 2015.” She came into the room holding a glass of red wine. “Man hit by a tree while out walking his dog. Little girl struck by a branch that broke through her bedroom window.” She shook her head sadly. “Impaled while playing video games.” She pulled a chair up to the little table. “Winds up to forty miles an hour at the airport. Flights grounded.” She must have noticed the look on Austin’s face. “Oh, were you two in the middle of something?”

“Kinda,” Austin said.

Mavis didn’t take this as a cue to leave, though. Instead, she winked at David and nabbed a potato off his plate, then popped it in her mouth.

David draped an arm around her shoulder. “You up for more Elvis singalongs?”

“Been working on my Jailhouse Rock dance routine all morning,” Mavis said.

David’s relationship with Mavis had gone from zero to besties in a day and a half.

“Potato wasn’t bad,” she said. “But I would have used less rosemary.”

“Noted,” Austin said, dryly.

They sat in silence for a long while, listening to the howling wind. Finally, Mavis stood. “Just wanted to tell you, the bridge is out. Ferries are on hold. This thing is getting worse. I’m sorry about your fishing trip, but it looks like we’re going to be stuck together for a few days.” She raised her wine glass. “Anyway, we’re serving a delightful pinot from the Willamette Valley in the library. Usually we don’t start until evening, but…”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” David said.

“Thanks, Mavis,” Austin said. “We will be down in a bit. By the way, you’d mentioned banana nut muffins. You’d better get to the grocery ASAP if you want any bananas in the next few days.”

“Already got ‘em,” she replied. “Who do you think provoked Defcon Yellow? Yours truly bought the last of the T and C bananas.” With that, she left.

“What’s with the banana lingo?” David asked.

“Islanders are serious about their banana consumption,” Austin said. “Maybe something about smoothies. A storm we had this winter wiped out the banana aisle before the second snowflake landed. My friend Anna wrote an article about it.”

“Thought she was a crime writer.”

“She is,” Austin said, “but that’s not full-time. She takes human-interest and local color pieces sometimes, too.”

“So,” David said, “How is the dating life?”

“Anna and I went out once, sort of. I screwed it up. Then we got in a fight about a story she ran. Wasn’t exactly her fault, but, well, then I met someone else.”

“Do tell…”

“Sy, short for Symone. NCIS. Honestly, it was the first time I’ve really felt a spark. I mean, I felt something with Anna, I was interested. With Sy I felt that spark.”

“So, where is she? When can I meet her?”

“She got sent back east. Just after we met. We’ve texted a couple times, but…”

“Long distance sucks,” David said. “Even with all the new ways to keep in touch.”

Austin stood and walked to the window. The sky was dark gray over the water and he thought about how, just that morning, he’d anticipated being out on a sunny summer fishing trip. “That’s why I asked Anna out again.”

“You did? But I thought the spark was with Sy?”

Austin turned to David. “When I met Fiona, I didn’t feel the spark either. I can’t explain it. Some people say it’s there instantly. For me it wasn’t. But it was certainly there after I got to know her. Maybe it’ll be the same with Anna. There’s something about her… something I like but can’t define. You were gonna meet her tomorrow, but…” He walked to the table and grabbed his phone. “That reminds me.”

He tapped out a quick text to Anna. Stuck on Bainbridge Island for the storm. Brunch tomorrow is unlikely. How’s Run? Make sure she’s eating her carrots.

Anna had agreed to watch his corgi for a couple days since the B and B didn’t allow pets, and they’d planned to meet for brunch the following morning. With the bridge out, that was off the table.

Austin’s stomach rumbled. He still felt queasy from the news about Lee, but he had to eat. He sat back down and ate a third of his salmon in one big bite. When he’d finished chewing, he asked, “What about you and Miranda?”

“She moved out. Took the kids.” He didn’t look up when he spoke, and his voice betrayed no emotion at all.

“What?” Austin had sensed something was up, but he was stunned. “Look at me.”

Slowly, David looked up, his face a hard mask. “I’m gonna need some of that wine Mavis was talking about.”

“DMJ, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Long story, and I’ll tell you, but…” his lip quivered, betraying the emotion he’d been trying to contain. Even though I prefer white with salmon, I wasn’t kidding about that wine.” He stood, trying to smile. “You want some?”

“You sure wine is the way to go right now?”

David contemplated this, then held up a single index finger and spoke in a loud stage voice. “I am past scorching: not easily can’st thou scorch a scar. And, before you ask, that’s Captain Ahab. Melville.”

Austin shook his head and grabbed his phone as David headed to the library, reminded of the message that had buzzed a while back.

As he read Lucy’s message, he grew strangely excited. He and David were opposites in many ways, but they shared one trait in common: they were both more comfortable talking about a case than they were talking about relationships or emotions. They were both more comfortable working than they were doing anything else.

Bridge out, and I’m stuck on the other side. Can’t get onto the island for at least a day, maybe more. Sheriff Daniels gave me the okay. Can you get down to the station and interview the witness?

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE POLICE STATION was only three blocks away, but they’d promised Mavis they’d drive. Even though the winds were coming in hard, they weren’t too fierce to walk in. But Mavis had pointed out that a stray branch could do them in at any moment and stood in front of the door until Austin had fetched his keys.

Now he was glad he had. The rain had let up a little—only a light drizzle pattered the truck—but the wind had picked up. As he drove west down Winslow Way, the truck swayed in the wind. It was only four in the afternoon and the sun wouldn’t set for hours, but the sky was a dark, ominous gray.

“As you explore the island,” David intoned, “you'll come across some of its most famous landmarks, like the Bainbridge Island Japanese American Exclusion Memorial, the Bloedel Reserve, and the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art. Each one a testament to the island's rich history and cultural diversity.”

“Where are you getting this stuff?” Austin asked, pulling into the parking lot of the police station.

“When our fishing trip was canceled, I looked at what else there was to do on the island. Looks like everything will be closed now. If we didn’t have a murder to solve we’d be sipping pinot with our host, singing Elvis, and learning how to play cribbage.”

“I might prefer a game of cribbage,” Austin said, but he wasn’t sure he believed himself. As much as he hated crimes, he loved solving them.

They rushed into the station and were met in the lobby by Drew, who seemed anything but pleased to see them. “I told Lucy I could handle it,” he said bitterly.

Austin tried to play nice. “I’m sure you could. But another set of ears, right?”

Drew frowned. “Who needs ears? She’s not saying anything.”

Austin asked, “Is she here now?” He’d asked Lucy to call ahead and have Drew bring her back to the station from wherever she was staying.

“Now?” Drew asked. “She’s been here all afternoon. Since the medical staff dropped her off.”

Drew must have read the look of disapproval on Austin’s face because he held up both hands defensively. “She didn’t want to go back to her rental, what was I supposed to do? Ferries aren’t running and…” He shrugged as though he’d been powerless in the situation.

Austin clenched a fist by his side. “Get her a hotel room? Find her somewhere to be that isn’t here?”

“She’s fine,” Drew said. “I checked on her a couple hours ago.”

“She’s been in the witness room alone for a couple hours?”

Drew simply folded his arms.

“Family?” Austin asked, trying not to lose it.

“None that she’ll tell us about,” Drew said, sneering. “At a certain point, she’s got to offer us something if she wants us to help her. I figure sitting in the witness room all day might get her talking.”

Austin felt David’s hand on his shoulder.

“Chill,” David said. “Let’s just go see her.”

What Austin wanted to say was that the first twenty-four hours are the most important in a murder investigation. The last thing you want to do is further traumatize an already reluctant witness by leaving her alone in a room all day. Instead, he just shook his head and followed Drew to the interview room.

David walked in first and Austin stopped in the doorway, blocking it from Drew and Brian, who’d joined them from an adjacent room. “You two stay out here,” Austin barked.

He shut the door behind him and turned to the young woman in the corner. “Danielle Davis? My name is Thomas Austin. I’m here with David Min-Jun, from the NYPD, who’s just here to help out. He goes by DMJ. I’m a private consultant working with the Kitsap Sheriff’s Department. Do you mind if we sit?”

“Hello,” David said. Like Austin, he knew it was important for witnesses to hear reassuring voices, doubly so for Danielle because she couldn’t see them.

The young woman pulled out a pair of earbuds and shook her head. She was average height and slight of build, with sandy blonde hair and freckles. Her face had the blank, glazed-over look Austin had seen a hundred times. It was the look of someone who was either too shocked to cry, to feel emotion, or had been crying so long there were no more tears left. Judging by the pile of balled-up tissues on her lap, it was the latter.

“Let me say, first,” Austin said. “I’m sorry the officers left you in here. They should have found you somewhere more comfortable to be.”

“I didn’t want to go back to that house.” Her voice was soft, almost ghostly. But at least she was talking. “That was the last place I was… was with them.”

Austin’s first job was to try to make her comfortable. “I see they brought your phone. That’s good. Were you able to speak with any friends, family, or loved ones?”

She gripped her phone tight in her hand, but didn’t reply.

Austin noticed a half-empty water bottle next to her. “Can we get you a coffee, or soda, or anything?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard any news on your phone,” Austin said. “But the bridge is out, the ferries are down. Looks like no one will be getting on or off the island for a day or two.”

Her face shook and her shoulders tensed violently, rising up toward her ears. “Don’t put me back in the house.” Her voice was a loud whisper, almost a hiss. “He might know I’m there.”

David shot Austin a look and mouthed, “He?” Austin had heard it as well, but he’d learned from the psychologists he’d seen at work on witnesses that it was usually better to ease into things, especially when the witness was traumatized. “No one will take you anywhere you don’t want to go. I promise you.”

Her shoulders dropped a little.

David said, “Maybe we can get you a room at the Bed and Breakfast down the road. It’s where Austin and I are staying. It was pretty empty. Would that be okay?”

She considered this, rocking back and forth in the chair. “Okay,” she said, faintly. “And as long as that other officer isn’t there.”

Austin assumed she meant Drew. “Why do you say that?”

“He gives me the creeps.”

Austin swallowed hard. “Did he do anything… inappropriate?”

Danielle shook her head. “I’m used to being around smart people. Morons give me the creeps.”

Austin was relieved. “He won’t be around. I would love to ask you a few questions, but before I do, is there anything else we can do to make you more comfortable?”

“Can someone get my stuff from the house? Officer Brian got me my cellphone, but...”

“We’ll have it in your room at the B and B,” Austin said. He made eye contact with David. “Can you have Brian—”

“I’m on it.” David left the room.

“My friend David is going to ask one of the other officers to get your stuff. He’ll get you a room at the B and B. He’ll make sure all your stuff gets there.”

This seemed to relax her a little. “My medication is in there. Clean clothes.”

“I understand,” Austin said. “You’ve been through a lot.” After what felt like an appropriate pause, he continued. “I’m sorry about what happened. Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

She said nothing.

“I know you must be exhausted, so I promise I’ll keep this short.” He let the silence hang in the air until, finally, she nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said. “Earlier, you mentioned something I’d like to go back to. You said, ‘He might know I’m there.’ Who is he?”

Her face began to tremble. She had set her cellphone on her lap and now she hugged herself, rocking back and forth.

Austin made his voice as soft and comforting as he could. “Is there someone you believe wants to harm you? Harm your friends?”

Her face went through a series of contortions, as though she was reliving a series of moments, of thoughts, of feelings, of experiences. Austin could sense a difficult past lingering just under the surface.

Still, she said nothing.

Austin stood and walked back and forth along the far end of the room. “I’m just pacing,” he said. He didn’t want her to think he was leaving. “Sometimes when I’m thinking, it helps to pace. We heard about the sale of your company, about the AI company that Doogie had started. So we are wondering whether this tragedy might have something to do with that. I hate to press you, but if you think there’s a he after you, who might be behind this, I need to know. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stopped rocking and stood up, grabbing her guide cane, which was leaning on the wall. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“I think I passed one on the way in,” Austin said. “Do you need me to show you where it is?”

“No, I went earlier. I memorize buildings the first time I walk through.”

“That’s good,” Austin said. “Danielle?”

“Yes?” She made her way slowly around the table and to the door, using her cane but navigating mostly without it.

Austin had to try one more time. “Who’s the he who’s after you?”

“My ex-husband’s ghost.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHILE DANIELLE WAS in the restroom, David returned, having sent Brian to the rental to pick up her belongings and called Mavis to secure a room across the hall from them. Austin filled him in briefly, but quieted down when Danielle returned.

As she sat, she seemed different—less shaky and more confident. Perhaps the act of saying her fear out loud had eased it a little, even if Austin still had no idea what she’d been talking about.

“How about we start from the beginning,” Austin said.

To his surprise, her resistance was gone. She put her hands on her knees and, slowly, haltingly, she told her story.

Danielle had been born into a small, fringe religious community in eastern Washington called “The Progeny of God.” The group started in the sixties, part hippie commune, part extremist Christian cult, the group operated largely in isolation on six-hundred acres of secluded land, where they grew much of their own food, ran a small school, and skirted the law as much as possible.

At age fifteen Danielle became the third wife of the group’s founder, Mark Dreggs, who was fifty years old at the time. As horrible as this was for Austin to hear, Danielle told it matter-of-factly, indicating that, within The Progeny of God, it was nothing out of the ordinary. When David asked about the legality of the marriage, Danielle just laughed. The Progeny had their own laws, she assured them, and the local government mostly let them operate in isolation.

She hadn’t wanted to marry Dreggs, she explained, but it hadn’t been up to her. Her parents had arranged it when she was only twelve. She’d lived as his wife for two miserable years, enduring his drinking, his sexual assaults, his religious grandiosity, and every other indignity he threw at her. To those she’d grown up with, marrying Dreggs was a great honor. He was considered, within their group, a descendant of Jesus Christ himself. Even her own mother told her she was lucky to be chosen by Dreggs because, even though she was pretty, she was blind, which meant she could not perform all the duties of a wife. Dreggs’ desire to marry Danielle, her mother told her, only further proved his grace and wisdom. Her mother viewed his acceptance of even God’s “flawed children” as further proof of his divinity.

At age seventeen, Danielle escaped the cult.

In the middle of the night, she’d stolen her husband’s cellphone, which only he was allowed to use. Using voice activation, she got directions to the nearest town and walked five miles, alone, in the middle of the night. As far as she knew, she was the only young woman ever to leave without permission.

She’d told the police about the abuse going on at the compound. But she was terrified they’d take her back if they thought she couldn’t take care of herself, so she’d later fled from the station and hitchhiked to Seattle. There she’d lived in a homeless shelter for a week before being taken in by a charitable organization that helped the visually impaired.

Two years later, Danielle had made it onto her feet. She was a sophomore at the University of Washington on a full scholarship. Homeschooled her whole life, she’d received her GED at age sixteen and began learning computer science at an online community college soon after. The only thing she was grateful for from her ex-husband was that he’d noticed her aptitude for computers, though even that had been done for selfish reasons. He encouraged her studies and tasked her with designing a website for the Progeny’s business, which sold vegetables and raw milk at local farmer’s markets. So she’d been naturally suited to the technology and Internet fields.

Also when she was nineteen, her former husband died of liver disease. At that point, multiple other families left the cult, some of whom sought out Danielle. Speaking with the other escaped members had given Danielle the feeling that Dreggs never recovered from the humiliation of her disappearance. His role was based on absolute power, total control of his wives and the other members of his Church. In essence, she had brought down the Progeny of God.

At this point she paused for a long time, but Austin sensed she had more to say, so he waited in silence.

Finally, she continued. “A cousin came to live in Seattle when her family left the Progeny. She had qualms about the Church, but she still believed in Mark’s divinity. She said he would punish me from the grave. That Mark’s ghost would come for me.”

Austin let that hang in the air a long time. The story had been astonishing but, sadly, not unique. Years ago he’d been involved in a murder investigation that involved a similar cult leader in upstate New York. So, although the details were different, the general situation of a powerful cult leader abusing women and children was nothing new.

Finally, he said, “And you’re sure he is dead?”

She nodded.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked cautiously.

“No.” She let out a long sigh. “I know it wasn’t him, but as I listened to my friends die, I thought it was him anyway. That this was happening because of me.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t believe in the teachings anymore, either, but…” she faltered, wringing her hands, “but I started praying anyway. The old Progeny prayers I learned as a girl. Why did I do that?”

David said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It sounds like you went back to what you were raised with in a moment of crisis.”

Danielle nodded slowly.

Austin had heard the phrase There are no atheists in a foxhole on a World War One documentary. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he’d seen time and again that, in crisis, people return to what is familiar.

“It would help if you walked us through the night,” Austin said.

David added, “No pressure, you don’t need to try to solve the case. Just start at the beginning.”

For the next half hour she walked them through the day, and it was just as Austin had thought. Ferry to Bainbridge, Uber, takeout Vietnamese food and champagne at the rental house. Then, a little tipsy, they’d wandered out into the night. They’d made a pact to leave their cellphones behind as much as possible to focus on the moment, rather than the screens they’d been tied to for years.

It was the next part Austin had been waiting for, and he hung on every word.

“I went to the bathroom,” Danielle said, “and that’s when I heard the gunshot. One, and then two close together.”

That fit with Austin’s read of the crime scene, but he didn’t say anything.

Again, Danielle hugged herself tight.

“Just to be clear,” David said, “you were in the port-a-potty when it happened?”

“Right.”

“Did you hear anyone’s voice?” Austin asked.

“Only Doogie at first. I knew it was him by the sound of his… his screams. And maybe a man’s voice, but I wasn’t sure. I also heard… noises. Like tools. Power tools. Saws, drills and…” she broke down, doubling over and sobbing.

“You don’t have to go on,” Austin said. “We know.” He regretted it right away. She couldn’t see the scene anyway, but she didn’t need to imagine what they’d seen. Quickly, he asked, “Can you think of anyone who might want to harm those three?”

She shook her head. “I mean, all we did was work, eat poorly, and sleep. We sacrificed everything for StreamVroomer.”

David cut in, “Danielle, I wanted to ask about the company. Can you think of anyone who might have been upset about the sale of your company, or jealous?”

“Dozens of people. We were hot stuff. And Doogie was a legitimate genius. He was gonna be the next Bill Gates.”

“What about people connected to other AI companies,” David pressed. “Did Doogie ever say anything about any threats he’d received?”

She shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. Sure, he was getting money from the Saudis, but they’ve invested in a hundred American companies now. And his was going to be an American company. His dream was to build an AI so smart it could cut work time in half for most jobs.”

Austin stood and began to pace. “What about local rivals? Other bidders for the company who lost out on the sale, maybe fired former employees who were upset about not getting their fair share?”

She thought a while, then shook her head. “I mean, there’s Bucky.”

“Who’s Bucky?”

“Chad Buckminster. He’s one of my boyfriends.”

Austin looked at David, then back at Danielle. “Wait, one of? We thought Doogie was your boyfriend.”

She took a long, slow breath. “A person can have more than one boyfriend. Doogie and I were poly.” When Austin didn’t reply, she continued. “Polyamorous. I have five boyfriends, and a girlfriend.” She lowered her voice. “Four boyfriends now.”

“Okay,” Austin said as neutrally as possible. “Let’s go through those folks, if you would.”

It took a while, but Austin finally got the full story.

In addition to Doogie, Danielle was dating a Bainbridge Island resident named Chadsworth Buckminster, a rich investor and real estate developer who worked largely in Seattle, but had been fighting with the locals for a decade to open up development on the island. He’d tried to buy StreamVroomer over a year ago—that’s how he and Danielle had met—but the deal had fallen through.

Her third paramour was named Stone Jackson, a woodworker who also lived on the island. Then there was Greg Baker, a man she’d met in a group therapy class for victims of cults. He was a banker in Seattle. And finally, there were Francesca and Luciano, a cello player and violinist who, in addition to dating Danielle, were also dating each other.

By the end of her explanation, Austin’s head was spinning.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard of polyamory, he’d just never heard it described so matter-of-factly. In his mind, it had always involved more drama. To Danielle, it was just the way things were. She was dating six people, now five, and they were all free to date others as well.

“Any chance one of them was jealous of Doogie?” David asked. It was the exact question Austin had on the tip of his tongue. “As you know…” he chose his words carefully, trying to be sensitive… “the perpetrator appears to have been differently motivated when it came to Doogie?”

“He was tortured,” Danielle said. “I’m not a precious flower. I had to listen to it. Least you can do is say the word.” She sighed. “And no. I was always up front with all of them.”

“Yeah,” David said, “but even in that sort of arrangement, jealousy can rear its head sometimes, right? For example, you must have been spending more time with him than the others because of the work you were doing on the startup.”

“The company did take a lot of our time. And, yes, jealousy happens,” she conceded, “but that’s true in any relationship. I know none of them are involved.”

Austin didn’t think she was lying, and she seemed smart and deeply perceptive, but he knew as well as anyone that jealousy and relationships often led to crimes of passion and generally surprised those closest to it.

“Brian’s gonna take you over to the bed and breakfast,” he said. “We can continue talking tomorrow if you’re up for it. We’ll have someone outside your door all night.”

“I’m a lot calmer now, and that isn’t necessary. I know my ex husband isn’t here.”

Austin was surprised. “Yes, but we still don’t know if you were left alive because you were in the port-a-potty or because the killer had no interest in you. Either way, a killer is on the loose, and may be trapped on the island with us.”

CHAPTER NINE

“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?” Lucy called, her voice coming in short bursts interrupted by gaps of silence.

Austin held his phone up in the air, then walked to the corner of the office Mavis had offered up as their temporary headquarters. Cellphone service on the island seemed to be somewhat random, and the storm wasn’t helping matters. “Lucy, are you there?”

“I’m here,” Lucy said, her voice now clear and way too loud for the little room. “Guys, can you hear me?”

“We can hear you,” Austin said, “and we’re all here. No need to shout.” It was eight in the morning and the coffee was finally kicking in, putting Austin a little on edge.

“Okay, sorry,” Lucy said. “I’m driving. Who all is there?”

“It’s me, DMJ, and Brian. Drew is in the dining room with Danielle.”

“Uh oh,” Lucy said.

“Nah, it’s okay. He’s just drinking coffee and keeping an eye out. Mavis, the owner of the B and B, is playing chess with Danielle.”

David said, “Drew is trying to give Danielle chess tips, but it’s hilarious: Danielle’s a wizard. She beats Mavis in like six moves. And David is trying to give Danielle tips like, ‘Don’t lose your queen.’ It’s like me telling Tom Brady to make sure he throws a spiral.”

Austin sat at Mavis’ desk, which, like the rest of the tiny B and B office, was decorated with photos of kittens and plastic flowers in pink and orange and blue. Dozens of crocheted wall-hangings covered the walls, all stitched with quotes from poets Austin felt vaguely guilty for not having read.

DMJ had stayed up late, drinking wine and chatting with Mavis. Brian had been there all night, alternating three-hour shifts outside Danielle’s door with two other officers who’d volunteered for the role. Drew had arrived that morning, assigned to the task of hanging around with Danielle.

“Okay,” Lucy said, “I’m pulling over so we can get this straight. Only have a few minutes. Everyone still there?”

“We’re here,” Austin said, “And we can hear you.”

“Okay, ferries are still down, bridge is closed. The bad news is the storm is picking up so no crew can get to the bridge to get things moving again. You are all stuck on the island for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

She didn’t need to say the second part. They weren’t just stuck on an island for forty-eight hours. They were stuck on the island for forty-eight hours wondering whether they had a psychopath on the loose, or whether the killer had escaped before the bridge and ferries were shut down.

“Sheriff Daniels gave me the okay on this,” she continued. “Austin, you are officially a consultant, working with the Bainbridge police. In truth, Austin, you’re in charge. Brian, you there?”

“Umm, yes,” the young officer said. “Yes ma’am.”

Brian was eager and nervous, but this was as it should be. Austin would wonder about an officer who wasn’t nervous getting thrust into a gruesome triple homicide his first year on the job.

“Good,” Lucy said. “Austin is in charge, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Brian, you will be his driver and contact within the department. You’re new, but you seem competent. We don’t have time for hurt feelings or BS. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Austin,” Lucy said, “what’s the plan?”

Austin stood, paced for a moment, then spoke loudly in the direction of the cellphone, which sat on the desk. “First, return to the scene. Second, talk to the boyfriends and girlfriend. Some live here, some in Seattle. Danielle is sure none of them are involved, but I’m not so sure. Then there’s the tech angle. Saudi Arabia. Then the issue of her past. The cult.”

“Polyamory is a thing among young people,” David interjected. “Don’t assume that just because it’s not how our generation did stuff that it is a motive for murder.”

Austin glanced at him. David had a weary, glazed-over expression Austin recognized. Heavy bags had formed under his eyes. He’d never been at his best first thing in the morning and he’d clearly had too much to drink with Mavis last night. Austin recalled the seductive look their host had given David that morning when she’d handed him a cappuccino. He really hoped all they’d done was drink.

“I’m not assuming anything one way or another,” Austin said. “But she was dating six people. One got brutally tortured and—”

“Big news on that,” Brian chimed in eagerly.

“On what?” Lucy said. Her voice was full of impatience and Austin could tell how much she’d rather be leading this meeting in person.

“I already texted that to Lucy,” Austin said. “Good work, but we don’t need to go over it.”

Austin had given Brian the names of the various people Danielle was dating the previous night. Brian had spent much of the night tracking them down, leading to a huge revelation. They were all present on the island.

“I didn’t hear this,” David said.

“Me neither,” Jimmy called through the phone. Austin had forgotten he was in the car with Lucy.

Austin pointed at Brian. “Summary. Go!”

Brian said, “Danielle is, was, dating six people. We know what happened to Doogie. Number two: Stone Jackson, highly skilled woodworker. Does what he calls ‘Forest to Table’ projects. Dude cuts down his own trees, mills the wood, turns it into a door, or a cabinet or whatever. Big on Instagram. Good clientele of rich locals and Seattleites. He’s also… what’s the non-offensive way of putting it?”

“He has a speech disability,” Austin said. “He does not, cannot speak. Met Michelle at a gathering for disability rights activists.”

“Number three: Chadsworth Buckminster. Some call him ‘Chad.’ Danielle calls him ‘Bucky.’ I call him the local jerk. Lives a hundred yards from where the murders took place. Very rich island family. He’s in tech, finance, and real estate. Ten years older than Danielle and kind of an outlier in the kind of guys she dated.”

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Go on.”

“Numbers four and five kinda go together: Luciano and Francesca, both Italian, both musicians, both live in Seattle. They are both dating Danielle, and dating each other.”

“Wait, what?” Lucy said.

“I agree,” Jimmy chimed in. “What?”

Brian looked at Austin. “Do they really not understand?”

“It’s exactly what broke my brain when I heard it,” Austin added. “Danielle is dating Luciano. Danielle is dating Francesca. And Francesca is also dating Luciano. And it’s safe to assume Luciano and Francesca are also dating everyone else in North America. Moving forward, let’s just assume everyone is dating everyone, okay?”

“Sometimes they call it a polyamorous pod,” Brian offered.

“Fine,” Lucy said, “My thing is: how do people find time for all these dates? Jimmy and I are engaged and, outside of work, we’ve spent like six hours together this month.”

Austin chuckled, then waved Brian along.

“Next is number six: Greg. He works at a bank and lives in Seattle, but is also on the island. He met Danielle through a rehab group for cult escapees.”

“And why are they all on the island?” Lucy asked.

Brian said, “I haven’t been able to get clear on all of it. Stone Jackson and Chaddy Boy Buckminster live here. Doogie, well, never mind. But why were Greg, Luciano and Francesca here? From his instagram, it appears Greg had a job interview. The other two, it’s a mystery.”

Austin wondered about this. It seemed like an incredible coincidence that every person she was dating was on the island. Possible, but not likely.

Lucy said, “Find out why they are.”

“Plan on it,” Austin said. “Here’s where we are with evidence. Tire tracks: nothing. Footprints: nothing. DNA: a couple things got sent to the lab, but we’re not hopeful, and it’ll be days, weeks, before we hear anything. Rain made a mess of the scene. Porch or driveway cams: nothing yet, but I’m hopeful. Bullet casings: nothing. The perp must have picked them up.”

“The bullets were from a .45?” David asked.

Austin nodded. “Nothing unusual or traceable there.” He cleared his throat. “We have that rubber band from the asparagus farm, but that’s close to nothing. We have very little on motive. There is the boyfriend angle, there is the cult angle, and there is the tech angle, which has two pieces: the company they just sold and the AI company Doogie started.”

“So,” Lucy asked, “What do you have?”

“All we have is a clear when,” Austin said. “We know the murders took place between midnight and one in the morning. So I’m thinking we start with the boyfriends and girlfriend. Look at the alibis.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lucy said. “When you don’t have much, pull on the only thread you have.”

David, who’d been quietly sipping coffee for most of the discussion, said, “The word ‘clue’ derives from the Middle English word ‘clew,’ which was used to describe a ball of thread.”

Everyone in the little office turned to look at David, who shrugged. “Perhaps not helpful? What can I say, I was an English major.”

“Oh you’re an English major?” Lucy said, taking the bait. “Name every word,”

David chuckled. “I asked for that.”

“Okay, let’s jet,” Austin said, ending the call.

He told Brian to head out and pull the car up front. Despite the heavy wind and rain, Brian assured him they could still drive the short distances to the locations of the people they intended to interview.

Out in the dining room, Austin found Danielle, who had just checkmated Mavis for the fifth time in a row.

“This young lady is whip smart,” Mavis said.

Danielle sipped a can of Coke, but didn’t acknowledge the compliment.

“Danielle, it’s Austin. How are you this morning?”

“Feeling a little better, though it may just be the sugar and caffeine talking.” She held up the can. “I don’t usually drink soda, especially in the morning.”

“All transportation on or off the island is still down. You’re gonna stay here with Mavis today, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Danielle said.

“Danielle, do you happen to know why Greg, Luciano, and Francesca are on Bainbridge Island right now?”

Danielle cocked her head and crinkled her nose. “They are? I mean, I knew Greg had a job interview or something. He works in banking. Like, as a clerk, not a financial guy. Lucky and Frankie—that’s what I call them—no idea. But we don’t keep track of each other all the time.”

They’d brought all her stuff from the rental and done everything they could to make her comfortable under horrifying circumstances. “We’ll have an officer here all day. Please keep your cellphone on in case we need to be in touch.”

Danielle nodded and Austin headed out. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he dashed through the rain into the waiting car. As he shut the door behind him, he saw a new text from Lucy.

Look what just floated up from the Sound.

Four pictures were attached to the text. Austin recognized the spot where the mud of Murden Cove met the water of the Puget Sound. Lying on a blue tarp were three or four power tools with bright teal handles.

Another text dinged.

Evidence crew just pulled these out of the water.

David was in the back seat. “Text from Anna?”

Anna had texted back overnight, agreeing to a rain check on their date and promising him that she was taking good care of Run, who didn't seem to mind the storm.

“No,” Austin replied, handing David the phone. “We have murder weapons.”

CHAPTER TEN

“NO MATTER WHERE you go on Bainbridge Island, one thing is constant: the beauty of the natural surroundings.” David was at it again. “Whether you're hiking through the old growth forests, soaking up the sun on the sandy beaches, or simply enjoying the views from a cozy bench in the non-threatening weather, you'll be surrounded by the beauty of nature at every turn. It's a place that truly captures the essence of summer, and one that you'll not soon forget.”

Given that Brian was currently navigating them through a storm that involved sheets of rain mixed with pine tree debris striking their car and wind causing them to sway a foot or two in either direction at random, David’s infomercial voice took on a new irony.

Austin tried to tune him out while researching the tools that had been found at the scene. It turned out, they weren’t just any tools. They were high-end Makita cordless tools powered by lithium-ion batteries. It wasn’t a complete set, but the photo included four items: a reciprocating saw, a grinder, a hammer drill, and a xenon flashlight.

They stopped briefly at the crime scene to examine the tools in person, but Austin didn’t learn anything new. The evidence team would check them for fingerprints and DNA evidence, but it was an exercise in futility. After two days in the water, they weren’t likely to get anything usable. Any blood that had been on the saw had washed away, and though it was possible they’d find traces of Doogie’s DNA on it somewhere, he doubted they’d find any trace of the killer.

Austin forwarded the photos to Samantha, the tech guru of the Kitsap Sheriff’s department, to see if she could find out if any hardware stores or home improvement big boxes had sold a similar set recently. It was a long shot, but given how little they had so far, it was a shot worth taking.

Their next stop was the palatial home of Chadsworth Buckminster, who lived close to the crime scene. As they entered his neighborhood, the houses grew larger and nicer. Other than the trash cans lined up curbside for pickup, and the occasional branch blown down by the wind, the neighborhood looked like it was ready for a feature in a magazine devoted to modern island living.

Brian pulled into the driveway, which was long and ran down a slight slope toward the water. “With the crime scene so close, Austin, you mentioned the coincidence of all the people she’s dating being on the island. This seems like another one.”

“I agree,” David said. “And, I’m not gonna lie, I assume this guy is evil just based on his name. I mean, Chadsworth Buckminster. Why didn’t his parents just call him Doctor Evil or Emperor Palpatine? Brian, when we get in there, if he so much as looks at you funny, cuff him.”

Brian glanced at Austin nervously.

“He’s kidding,” Austin said. “We don’t arrest people based on their names. Right DMJ?”

David said nothing.

“Right, DMJ?”

“Fine, fine,” David agreed. “But I kinda have a thing against spoiled rich kids who got their money from their parents. Combine that with his name and my hangover…” he trailed off.

They hopped out and hurried up the stone steps as a dog went nuts behind the door. Its barking sounded as though he wanted to rip them limb from limb. But it was the door itself that stopped Austin in his tracks. It was ten feet high and made of some exotic wood, intricately carved with swirls and lines and patterns. A true work of art.

“Celtic,” David said flatly. “Helluva door. Probably cost more than my car.”

The door opened slowly as they examined it, revealing a man in his mid thirties with wavy brown hair and a self-assured smile. “My lawyers told me you’d be coming. I’m Chad. Come in.” His hand was on the head of a giant dog that looked to be part pit-bull. “And this is Cupcake. She’s very friendly once you get to know her. Cupcake, to bed!” The dog studied the three strangers for a moment, then trotted down the hall and disappeared into a side room.

Austin introduced himself and the others, then Chad waved them inside.

“American pit bull terrier, right?” David asked as he closed the door behind him. “I used to have one.”

“Right,” Chad said, leading them through a grand foyer. “And that’s awesome. Hey, any chance you’re Korean? I spent a semester in Seoul, junior year. Love me some bibimbap.”

David frowned. “I’m a New Yorker.” Austin noticed that David exaggerated his New York accent a bit.

Chad eyed him awkwardly. “But, like, your parents? I mean, were they American?”

“They escaped from North Korea as children,” David said. Austin could tell when he didn’t like someone, and Chad had quickly taken up residence on this list.

“Anyway,” Chad went on, “Love me some bibimbap.”

“You’ve probably never had real bibimbap,” David said.

“Indeed I have. Gotta get that gochujang, feel me?” He offered a fist bump that David ignored. “You see—”

“Can we not?” Austin said, more a demand than a question.

They stopped in a kitchen the size of Austin’s apartment. It reminded him of the kitchen in the Johnson family home in Seattle. A kitchen he’d come to know in a past case. It also reminded him that the gap between the wealthy and everyone else was much wider than he usually imagined. “I’m finishing breakfast,” Chad said. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk?” He waved at a huge glass table, laid out with a pitcher of some green juice and a giant cutting board covered in thinly-sliced meats, pickled vegetables, olives, capers, and at least three kinds of cheese and two kinds of lettuce.

“A meat plate for breakfast?” David asked, sitting across from Chad.

“It’s called a charcuterie board,” Chad corrected.

David glanced at Austin, eyebrow raised as if to say, Well, isn’t that fancy?

“In New York, we call it a meat plate,” David said flatly. “And I notice it has asparagus on it.”

Austin had noticed that as well.

Chad leaned in, studying the tray mockingly. “Also tomatoes, olives, and pickled carrots. And no bread. I’m keto. So what?”

“So,” David said, “makes me think—”

Austin cleared his throat, glaring at David. “Let’s start over. Chad, we can make this pretty quick. Two nights ago, where were you between midnight and one in the morning?”

“Home.”

“What were you doing?”

He scratched his stubble, which looked like the sort of three-day beard people carefully groomed to look like they hadn’t groomed at all. “I don’t know. Probably texting, watching TV. I usually go to sleep around two. When I heard about what happened down at the water, I wished I’d… I don’t know. Maybe if I hadn’t had the TV on I would have heard something, done something.”

Brian scribbled notes as Chad spoke, as Austin had instructed him to do. “And did you know that Danielle was in town?”

“Knew she was thinking of it, but not the exact night she was coming. I was the one who turned her onto that rental.”

“Why didn’t you run to her side when you heard what had happened?” David asked.

“I reached out to her. Didn’t hear back.”

It was news to Austin that Chad had told them about the rental. “So, you arranged for her to be on the island the night her friends were murdered?”

Chad chuckled.

“Something funny?” David asked, plucking an olive from the tray without asking.

Chad gestured toward Austin. “The way he flipped what I said around reminded me of a crappy cop show. No, I didn’t arrange anything. Dani asked if I knew any cool rentals. I did, and I texted her the link like a week ago.”

“And you were dating her, correct?” Austin asked.

“Her and like six others,” Chad said.

“And you knew she was dating others as well?” Austin asked.

“Of course. People think it’s all drama and cheating in our community, but we don’t lie to each other like you vanillas do. Everything is above board.”

“Vanillas?” David asked. “That’s what you call people who are monogamous?”

“Or people pretending to be monogamous,” Chad shot back.

This quieted David. He’d admitted that his marriage was on the rocks and Austin feared that David’s wild personality, combined with his drinking, might have led him to cheat. He didn’t want to believe it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if this is why Miranda had kicked him out. The look on David’s face all but confirmed this.

“So,” Austin said, trying to regain his focus. “You knew Danielle was around, but you didn’t see her on the night in question, correct?”

Chad nodded. “Right. By the way, how is she?” Chad popped a wiggly slice of mortadella into his mouth and chewed as he spoke. “I offered to come be with her. I don’t know, to provide some comfort or something.”

“She’s hanging in there, but let’s focus on my questions for now,” Austin said flatly.

The dog's deep, menacing bark exploded from the other room and she ran in, looking up at Chad as if to tell him the world was ending.

Chad said, “Just the garbage trucks, baby.” He pet her head, looking up at Austin. “She hears so much as a squirrel farting half a mile away and she makes sure I know about it.”

Austin heard the grating sound of the garbage truck out front, then pointed at the large window that looked toward the water from the breakfast nook. “So the murders took place right out there, and down the beach a little.”

“We don’t call it a beach,” Chad said, “and you can’t see it from here.”

“Did you hear anything strange?”

Chad shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Did Cupcake bark much that night?” David asked.

Chad thought about this. “Yeah, she barked a lot, actually. But that’s not super unusual. Raccoons, too much wind. She’ll warn me if a fly buzzes three doors down.”

Austin stood. “One last thing. Is it true you tried to buy their company last year, StreamVroomer?”

“That’s how I met Danielle in the first place. Sale didn’t work out.”

“I imagine that upset you,” David said.

Chad smirked. “Look at my house, check my bank accounts, if you haven’t already. Sure I wanted to buy that company. Would have made me richer, but I’m already pretty damn rich. The timing wasn’t right.” He leveled his gaze on David. “Like I told Danielle then and a hundred times since: I didn’t get StreamVroomer, but I got something much better: her.”

David stood and leaned in, getting into Chad’s space. “But you don’t exactly get her, do you? My hunch is you might be a little more jealous than you’ve let on.”

Chad smiled and grabbed his phone from the table, tapped and swiped. He held it up, revealing a picture of a bikini-clad blonde standing on the deck of a boat. “That’s Marie.” He swiped, revealing a picture of a young woman with dark skin, dressed in an elegant red dress. “That’s Jamila.” He swiped again, this time to a picture of a dark-haired woman, maybe in her early forties. “That’s Susan, my cougar. I could keep scrolling. All of these women have one thing in common: I’m sleeping with them. Danielle was one of six.”

“What’s your point?” David asked.

Chad wrapped a piece of capicola around a pickled carrot. “I wasn’t jealous of Danielle’s other lovers. But if one of them had anything to do with her murder, I hope they get what’s coming to them.”

Chad popped the bite into his mouth.

Austin stood. “We’ll be in touch.” He paused. “Oh, and one more thing. Do you have any tools around the house?”

Chad held up his hands. His nails were smooth and perfectly rounded, his hands soft and clean and pale. “I call a handyman to change my light bulbs. I work with my mind, not my body.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Austin said.

“No. I mean, there’s a screwdriver in the garage, maybe a hammer.”

“No power tools?” Austin pressed.

“No. Never.”

They found the Italian musicians Luciano and Francesca in the lobby of a winery about two miles out of town and, within thirty seconds, Austin knew two things about them. First, they were not the killers. Second, they were definitely on drugs.

Luciano was tall and lean, with the face of a model but the hair of a California beach bum, long, tangly, and dyed blond. When they’d arrived, he’d greeted Austin with a long hug and mumbled, “The circle will complete itself, my friend.”

Francesca was curvy and short, with dark eyes that danced around nervously from Austin to David and Brian. She wore pajama bottoms and a t-shirt covered in colorful cartoon characters.

They took seats in a sitting area near the front desk, where, Austin imagined, on a typical summer day the winery would be checking people in for tastings and tours. Clearly, everything had been canceled because of the storm.

Austin stared at Luciano until the young man’s eyes finally settled on him. “Everything alright?” Austin asked.

“Everything is beautiful,” Luciano said with a slight Italian accent. He ran a hand through his hair, which only increased the knots and tangles.

Francesca crossed and uncrossed her legs, her eyes shifting from Luciano to Austin. “We’re on molly right now.”

Luciano laughed and put a hand on her thigh. “Honesty. Always honesty, amore mio.”

Austin let out a long, thin sigh. “We know you heard about Doogie, about Danielle, right?”

“Danielle is a beautiful soul,” Luciano whispered. “Doogie, I didn’t know him, but he was one of Danielle’s lovers, so he was a beautiful soul as well.”

Francesca nodded along nervously. “Danielle and I aren’t sleeping together, we mostly just game. She pointed at her t-shirt. Super Smash Bros. Danielle always plays as Bowser. I play as Mario.”

“She can play video games?” Brian asked.

“La genialità,” Luciano said. “That’s what I call her.”

Francesca giggled. “They’re gonna think it’s something to do with genitalia.”

Luciano laughed. “It means genius, or talent. I was a rated chess player as a boy in Italy. She has never seen a board and can beat me every time. Chess. Video games. Business. A wounded but beautiful soul.”

“She memorizes things, reads a lot, mostly audio, studies games,” Francesca added. “A lot of it is memorizing combinations and patterns.”

Luciano nodded. “The world is much more than what you can see, brothers. You must open more than your eyes.”

David had heard enough. “Can we drop the fortune cookie wisdom and get to it? What brings you two to the island?”

Luciano was unphased. “Negativity is the enemy of beauty.”

“Why are you two here?” Austin asked.

“Weekend trip to the winery,” Francesca said. “We didn’t know it would come with a storm and the death of our friend’s other lover.”

David opened his mouth, but Austin held up a hand, wanting to take the lead. “And you two didn’t think that maybe the day after your friends were murdered wasn’t the time to take ecstasy?”

Luciano ran a hand through his hair in a way that would have been perfectly appropriate on a San Diego beach, but seemed beyond strange in an interview about a triple homicide. “Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power.”

“And they weren’t really our friends,” Francesca said. “I had never met any of the three who… who died.”

Brian said, “What else can you tell us about Danielle?”

“She’s a beautiful soul,” Luciano said, as though he’d just thought of it.

“Other than that,” Austin said curtly.

Francesca smiled. “She’s a lovely person. Went through more than anyone I’ve met. Strong as hell.”

“Right on,” Luciano added.

“How much do you know about her past?” Austin asked. “Has she ever been threatened or attacked, that you know of?”

Luciano had dropped his head back and was staring up as though someone had scrawled the meaning of life on the ceiling.

Francesca said, “Always spoke about her past as though it was over. She’d escaped.”

Brian’s phone rang and he excused himself. Austin delved into a series of questions about their relationships, about Danielle’s relationships with Stone, Greg, and Chad, and about where they’d been during the time of the murders.

In the end, it had gotten him little. They provided an alibi that seemed sound, which Austin would have to confirm with the winery, but most of what he got was Luciano’s philosophical ramblings, and Francesca’s nervous attempts to be helpful.

They might have been high and irresponsible, but they were the last two people on earth Austin could imagine sawing off Doogie’s hand with an electric saw.

Back in the car, Brian had news. “Earlier, I texted Chad’s next door neighbor. I went to high school with him. He’s my age but still lives with his parents. He says he hears that dog barking all the time, but not on the night in question.”

Austin cocked his head. “Which means maybe he wasn’t at home that night. Or, at least his dog wasn’t.”

David said, “I told you that bastard was a liar.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

STONE JACKSON LIVED LESS than a mile from town at the end of a long dirt road off of Blakely Avenue. They had to stop twice to pull large fallen branches out of the road, which was muddy but thankfully not flooded enough to render it impassable for Austin’s truck, which they’d stopped off at the B and B to pick up.

Austin parked, staring out at the old, two-storey farmhouse, but didn’t get out. Brian was following in his cruiser, and was taking a little longer to navigate the road.

“What is it?” David asked.

“I don’t know,” Austin said. The gravel driveway gave way to a lawn that stretched all the way to the house, which was old but well maintained. “Something eerie about this place.”

David said, “It’s the storm, man. And the old house at the end of a dirt road thing. Anywhere would come across as eerie right now. You saw this place on a nice summer day…” he pointed out the window… “with those apple trees and blackberry bushes… this place would be postcard worthy.”

When Austin didn’t say anything, David continued. “What do we know about this kid?”

“Stone Jackson, age twenty-five. He doesn’t speak, like at all. Skilled woodworker. Brian said he was ‘Instagram famous,’ which I guess means that he’s super popular there, but not well known in the real world.”

David shook his head. “Impressive to be that young and live in a house like this on a woodworker’s salary.”

“I don’t think he has a salary. Custom jobs, very high end.”

Brian’s car finally pulled up behind them and Austin hopped out and led the way up the wooden stairs. A baseline and drumbeat rattled the old wooden porch, though Austin couldn’t make out the rest of the song through the sharp wind howling through the slatted porch.

He rang the doorbell, but doubted anyone could hear it over the music.

“I think the music is coming from back there.” David gestured around the side of the house. “Should we check it out?”

Austin considered this, then banged on the door as hard as he could. Nothing.

“Hold on,” Brian said from behind them, tapping on his phone. He stared at the screen for a moment, then said, “Yeah, he’s on his way.”

Seeing the look on Austin’s face, Brian explained. “I messaged him through Instagram. Remember, he doesn’t speak, so fast textual communication is important to him. He also gets most of his clients through Instagram.”

Austin shook his head and was about to say something like, Kids these days, when a figure emerged from around the side of the house. He was a giant man, maybe six foot three, wearing blue overalls. Rain dripped off his dreadlocks and he stood, staring at them blankly, as though he’d never had visitors in his life.

After a long moment, he waved them around the side of the house and into a small outbuilding—smaller than a two-car garage but larger than a shed—where a huge slab of wood was propped up between two workbenches. The place smelled of lacquer, a sharp, stringent odor that was somehow both good and bad at the same time.

Stone walked around the slab of wood and folded his arms. He looked annoyed at having his work interrupted.

Austin said, “Brian may have explained when he messaged you, I’m Thomas Austin, this is David Min-Jun. We’re helping the Kitsap Sheriff’s office with the investigation into the murders at Murden Cove.”

Stone stared down at what Austin now thought was a door for a very large home, judging by the doorknob hole on one side. It reminded him of the one that led into Chad’s house. It was beautiful, made of a dark, expensive-looking wood Austin didn’t recognize. And Stone appeared halfway through an intricate carving in the style Austin had come to recognize as Coast Salish, the style belonging to the Pacific Northwest Indigenous people.

In any other moment he would have taken the time to marvel at the beauty of the door. But now he needed answers.

“Have you messaged with Danielle?” Austin asked.

Stone shook his head.

“Did you know Doogie?”

He shook his head again.

“But I assume you knew she was dating him, and others?”

Stone sighed, then nodded and grabbed an iPad from a workbench in the corner. He deftly tapped out a few lines, then pressed Play.

In a surprisingly natural voice, not like the robotic-sounding ones Austin was used to, the iPad read Stone’s words. “We have an open relationship. She’s free to date whoever, and so am I. I’m on a deadline to finish this project. I don’t know anything about what happened.”

Austin nodded at a side table covered in tools. They weren’t much like the saws and drills found in the water at the crime scene. These were more refined tools, for making fine holes or subtle edges. Stone Jackson wasn’t only a carpenter. He was an artist with wood. “This is a nice workshop,” Austin said.

Stone tapped, then his iPad said, “My finishing studio. Workshop is way back through there.” He pointed out a small window to a stand of fruit trees that gave way to a patch of evergreens.

“You ever use Makita tools?” Austin asked.

Stone shook his head. His tools weren’t the same kind as the ones found at the scene, but that didn’t mean much. He was certainly a man who knew how to use them.

David asked. “Did you make the door at Chad Buckminster’s house?”

Stone nodded.

“Just out of curiosity, how much does a door like that cost?” David asked.

Stone rolled his eyes and tapped out a few lines, then hit Play. “That guys an a-hole. The wood alone cost $4,000. Bocote. Agreed upon price was $40,000. I spent three weeks on it. He tried to talk me down on price after the installation.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a grudge,” David said.

Stone smiled for a moment, then tapped out a reply. “Then why did I bother killing the others and not him?”

Austin smiled. The strange situation had him a bit on edge, but Stone had a good point.

Stone and David had a brief staring contest, then David said, “You think this is funny?”

Stone shook his head.

Austin asked, “Where were you on the night of the murders?”

Stone tapped a line. “At home playing video games. You can check my activity on the Xbox.”

Austin nodded. “Has Danielle ever said anything that made you concerned for her, or for her friends? I assume you knew how closely she worked with them.”

Brian’s phone dinged loudly and Austin shot him a look. Brian excused himself to make a call, stepping outside the little overhang outside the shed.

Stone’s face had grown serious and he took longer to tap out his reply. “You know about her childhood, I assume. Those people are the worst representatives of Christ’s message, Christ’s glory. Her former husband was a false prophet.” He paused the text-to-speech app and pulled a chain out from under his damp t-shirt. At the end of it was an elaborately-carved wooden cross. Austin assumed he’d made it himself. He held it up under the faint light filtering through a leaf-covered skylight, then pressed Play. “Jesus lived for radical acceptance, giving, charity, and the possibility of an individual relationship with God in a time when the state, the empire, claimed dominion over the religious realm. What her people stood for was the opposite of Christ’s message. One reason Danielle and I fell in love is that deep in her heart she knows that, despite her family’s evil, Christ is still here for her.” He kissed the cross and tucked it back into his shirt.

It was odd hearing the passionate words from a lifeless iPad as Stone looked on. He gave Austin a long, strange look, then tapped out another message. “I think I’ve seen you at the Hansville Church.”

Austin nodded. He didn’t attend services, but his store was right across the street and he sometimes sat in the pews alone, with the permission of Pastor Johnson, because being there reminded him of his wife. Perhaps Stone had seen him coming or going.

Austin glanced at David, then at Brian, who was making his way back into the workshop. “Do you know Greg?” Brian asked Stone.

Stone nodded and tapped out. “Good guy. Helped Danielle emerge from her horror through their support group.”

Brian gave Austin a little nod toward the door. “He’s ready to talk, and apparently has some things he wants to get off his chest.”

“What do you mean?” Austin asked.

“He just cursed me out for two straight minutes.”

Austin excused himself after asking Stone to show them his workshop, which was an old barn through a stand of trees out back. It was full of tools, none of them Makita, but that meant little. Stone seemed smart, much too smart to commit a triple homicide with a partial set of his own tools while leaving the rest in his workshop.

Greg took a deep breath and snapped the rubber band on his wrist for the third or fourth time. “I told you already, I was here all night and no, I can’t prove it.”

They’d left Stone Jackson after confirming that he’d stay near his iPad in case they wanted to message him, then met Greg in his hotel room, only a few blocks from the police station and the B and B.

Within minutes of entering his room, he’d begun cursing them out, accusing them of being bad police officers, of mistreating Danielle, and of failing to catch whoever had killed Doogie and the others. “I could be next!” he shouted repeatedly, between expletives.

Austin didn’t take it personally. Greg seemed to have anger issues, his pinched-face revealing a kind of perpetual anxiety or pain that actually made him sympathetic, when viewed from the right angle.

“What’s the deal with the rubber band?” Austin asked. “And please, no more cursing at us. Have a seat on the bed and go slowly. Remember, we’re here for Danielle.”

Greg swept a patch of sandy blond hair off his forehead. “It’s a therapy tool. When you’re losing it, you snap the rubber band on your wrist and it brings you back to the moment. Like a reset button.” He snapped the rubber band, then took a deep breath, as though proving his point.

“Mind if I take a look?” David asked. He didn’t wait for a reply. He loomed over Greg on the bed, leaning down and inspecting his wrist. “Where do you get them?”

“Bought a bag of a hundred. They break a lot.”

“Ever use one from a bunch of asparagus?” David asked.

“What, no? Why the hell would—”

Austin held up a hand. “So, assuming you’re telling the truth about where you were, which we will confirm with the hotel surveillance cameras…” He watched Greg’s eyes carefully as he said this and thought he noticed relief. Criminals often lied, but were sometimes so desperate that they didn’t consider how easily their lies could be proven or disproven. If Austin was reading Greg right, the hotel surveillance would back up his story. “In fact, Brian, head down to the front desk and try to get those, so we can officially rule Greg out as a suspect.”

Greg’s shoulders dropped and he breathed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My brother is in jail and I’m afraid of cops.” His voice caught in his throat. He was fighting back tears. “It comes from my upbringing. I was raised in a cult even worse than the Progeny.” He snapped his rubber band. “I have a hard time believing I’m not about to be punished at all times.” His face contorted in pain. “I had nothing to do with what happened, but I feel guilty about it anyway. I feel guilty about everything. Does that make sense?”

Austin nodded, even though it only barely made sense. “You and Danielle connected at a meeting for people who escaped cults, correct?”

He nodded.

“Have you ever met anyone from the Progeny of God?”

Greg shook his head. “Don’t try to get me to talk about those bastards, or her life with them.”

“Why not?”

He folded his arms. “Not my place.”

This struck Austin as strange, but he decided to shift course for a moment. “Did you know Doogie, Michael, and Priya?”

“Met them a few times. Danielle was lucky to have met them in college.” He smiled. “She and I joked about it sometimes. I make eighty grand a year working for a bank, she made like eighteen grand a year at her tech startup, then suddenly she was going to be rich.”

“Maybe that brought on some jealousy?” David asked. “Like she might leave you behind?”

“I was jealous of all her other boyfriends, and Francesca. Not about the money.”

Austin pulled a chair from the desk and sat across from him. “So how does it work, the jealousy?”

“I wasn’t poly before I met Danielle.” He scrunched up his face like he’d tasted something sour. “Didn’t even know what it was. I’d only had a couple relationships. She was totally up front with it. Told me she’d never marry. Never date just one person, never rely on one person alone. The institution of marriage and typical monogamy had been forever destroyed for her. I didn’t really agree that it had to be that way, but I wasn’t gonna say no. I mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous and brilliant, and look at me. She and I had a running joke: only a blind girl would date a guy as ugly as me.” His shoulders slumped. “Getting one sixth of Danielle’s affection is the best I’ll ever do.”

“And now it’s one fifth,” David pointed out. “A slightly better ratio, from your perspective.” It was crass, to be sure, but Austin knew he’d said it to see Greg’s reaction. David had a way of throwing out wild, often offensive statements to get a rise out of suspects.

Greg’s eyes flashed, then his shoulders slumped again. “That was grossly insensitive.”

“So you’d made peace with her other love interests?” Austin asked, continuing with the good cop role.

Greg considered this, his face pinching tight, then finally relaxing. “As much as I could, yeah. She told me that’s part of poly. There’s jealousy and whatnot, but you talk it out and as long as you’re open and honest…” He sighed, clearly trying to convince himself as much as them. “Look, it’s far from perfect, but neither is monogamy. My only other real girlfriend cheated on me with two different guys. Only difference here is that Danielle doesn’t lie about it.”

“So, is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to hurt her and her friends?” Austin asked.

“I’d love to say it was a conspiracy between Chad, Stone, Luciano and Francesca. Get all four of them locked up so I can have Danielle to myself. But, honestly, they all seem pretty decent. Well, except for Chad—still can’t believe she dates him. And, well, Stone is a mystical nut job, but not the kind that does any harm. Francesca and Luciano are typical artists, on drugs half the time.” He sighed. “But look, none of them are killers.”

Austin said, “So, earlier you mentioned you didn’t want to get into her past, her family. May I ask why?”

“Ever been to AA?” Greg asked.

“I have,” David said, “Didn’t stick. Got too thirsty.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Greg said, narrowing his eyes on David. “Anyway, everyone in our group therapy agreed to keep what was said in our meetings private. I’d go to jail before breaking Danielle’s trust.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

ON THE RIDE BACK, Austin had David read him the Wikipedia entry for The Progeny of God. It took some arm twisting, but David finally agreed to use his normal voice.

“The Progeny of God is an obscure Christian cult based in Eastern Washington, United States. It is said to be a splinter group of the The International Loved Ones (TILO), one of the most influential and controversial religious cults of the 20th century. The Progeny of God was founded in 1987 Mark Dreggs, a former member of TILO.

The Progeny of God's followers view themselves as the literal descendants of the Biblical Jesus—whom they believe married and had children—and they emphasize the importance of living a life of total devotion and obedience to their teachings. Followers of the Progeny of God believe that they are the chosen people and that they must live a holy life of prayer, study and service. They also believe that their leader is the only one who can interpret the Bible correctly, and that all other interpretations are invalid.

The Progeny of God has faced criticism over the years for its extreme views and practices, which have been compared to those of The International Loved Ones and even the Jonestown cult that ended in disaster when 909 members drank poisoned Kool-Aid in 1978. The Progeny of God has been accused of brainwashing its members, forcing them to renounce their families and other outside influences, and more.

In 2007, the Progeny of God made headlines when it was revealed that several members of the cult were involved in a series of high-profile kidnappings in the Pacific Northwest region. The kidnappings were widely believed to be related to the cult's belief that members must remain devoted to their leader and their teachings. The case was later dismissed, the prosecutors citing insufficient evidence.

In 2014, the Progeny’s leader, Mark Dreggs, died of liver disease and it is believed that the cult is now largely disbanded. At the time he was facing both state and federal investigations into fraud and tax evasion for allegedly misusing funds donated by members.

In 2023, the Progeny of God continues to be a source of controversy online. While some see the cult as an example of extreme religious devotion, others see it as a dangerous and manipulative group that seeks to exploit vulnerable individuals.”

When he’d finished reading, David sighed. “I mean, it sounds like the Progeny is pretty much disbanded.”

Austin agreed, but he’d asked Lucy to have Samantha find out everything she could about current members, if any were left. So far, she hadn’t found much. “We’ll see if anything comes in, but yeah, folks aren’t exactly eager to advertise their allegiance.”

“Other than Francesca and Luciano,” David said, “I could see any of her partners being the killer. Stone was kinda creepy. Greg clearly has anger and jealousy issues. Chad is a sociopath.”

Austin thought through the interviews they’d done. “I wouldn’t rule any of them out until Brian finishes chasing down their alibis, but… I don’t know.” He pulled his truck into the parking lot of the B and B. “We need to talk to Danielle again.”

“Here’s what you have to understand about Greg,” Danielle said in between sips of tea. “He wouldn’t talk about the Progeny because most of what he knows about them he learned from me. At meetings.”

They’d gathered in the dining room of the B and B, where Mavis had served them hot tea and sandwiches with leftover salmon, cream cheese, and capers.

“It’s like alcoholics anonymous,” Danielle continued. “He is not allowed to repeat stuff he hears there.”

“That’s what he told us,” Austin said. “He also told us he was jealous of the others.”

Danielle looked unphased. “He was. We talked about that. Vanillas think that any tinge of jealousy means something has gone wrong. We view it as a feeling, one of many that can be worked with.”

Of Danielle’s paramours, Greg was the one Austin thought most capable of murder, but Brian had texted him minutes earlier, having confirmed that Greg didn’t leave his room all night. Surveillance video could be doctored, but Austin decided to move on. “We also spoke with Luciano and Francesca, Chad and Stone.”

“I know.” She held up her phone. “We texted. Francesca says you’re kinda hot.” She smiled for the first time since Austin had met her.

Austin cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. “Tell her thanks.”

“Seriously,” Danielle said. “She said you were somewhere in between a DILF and a Silver Fox.”

Brian laughed loudly, but Austin was just confused. “I have no idea what that means and—”

“And you don’t want to,” Brian chimed in.

David refilled his tea. “So lemme get this straight. You’re dating Francesca—and Luciano—and you’re not jealous that Francesca is hitting on Austin, through you, via text?”

Austin’s stomach rumbled and he engulfed half a sandwich in two quick bites. This whole conversation was making him uncomfortable.

“I’m not,” Danielle said, somewhat smugly. Austin was getting the sense that Danielle and her friends had a slight air of superiority toward anyone who was living the so-called “vanilla” lifestyle.

David shook his head. “I’d like to morally judge or condemn it, but given the fact that I’m living in a hotel with a weekly rental because my wife kicked me out, maybe I’m not one to talk.”

“Why did she kick you out?” Danielle asked.

“Put it this way,” David said, “all mortal greatness is but disease. I guess I was coming down with something.”

“I understand that,” Danielle said. Austin didn’t get it, but before he could ask what he meant, Danielle continued, “Should we call you Ishmael?”

“I might be more of a Captain Ahab,” David replied. “I don’t get it with you and Chad though. What do you see in the guy?”

Danielle thought for a moment. “Better to sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunk Christian, right?”

Now Austin was truly lost.

“You know your Moby Dick well,” David said.

“Thank God for audiobooks.”

David noticed the blank stare on Austin’s face. “Please don’t tell me you didn’t read Moby Dick in high school.”

“I think I was sick that week,” Austin said. In truth, he just hadn’t read it and had always felt vaguely guilty about it. Even as a junior in high school he’d been obsessed with crime and had half-assed his way through anything he didn’t think would help him become a detective.

“More like semester,” David said. “It’s a long book. She’s saying better to be with a jerk who’s upfront about it than one who hides behind BS.”

Austin said, “Chad does seem to be the odd man out among your various, uhh, friends.”

Danielle nodded. “He is.”

“The others don’t seem to like him too much.”

“He’s a mega alpha,” Danielle said. “It’s a lot of energy for the others.”

“Stone said Chad screwed him over on a deal,” Austin said. “Something about a custom door.”

Danielle said, “Wouldn’t surprise me. You met Chad. He’s a bit of a liar. A huckster.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” David asked.

She scrunched up her nose as though genuinely considering this. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Would it surprise you that he lied to us?” Austin asked pointedly.

She chuckled. “Not especially. He lies all the time. He and I made a deal. He can lie to me, but not about sex or dating. About that, we’re above board.”

“He told us he was home all night,” Austin said, “and we have reason to believe he was out at the time of the murders.”

Danielle shook her head. “Idiot.”

Austin cast a glance at David. It was an odd response. She didn’t seem even slightly surprised that he would have lied about this.

Austin picked up his tea, then set it down without taking a sip. “Since you don’t think he is the killer, why do you think he’d lie about that?”

“Because he’s a liar. Who knows? But there’s no way he did that to Doogie.” The mention of the name seemed to bring on a rush of memory and emotion. She put her hands on the table, forming them into a tight ball. “Also, I don’t think Chad has ever held a tool of any kind.”

“You mentioned that he’d told you about the rental. Did he know you’d be in town on that specific night?”

“Sure.”

David shook his head. “Not what he told us. He said he didn’t know what exact night you were coming. Another lie.”

Danielle sighed. “Maybe the exact night slipped his mind. I don’t know. Look, Chad is someone who lies about little stuff and big stuff. Usually it’s not lying, it’s bullshitting.”

“What’s the difference?” Austin asked.

“Lying has a real intent to deceive. Bullshitting is more instinctual, like exaggerating, or, for Chad, breathing. One thing I can tell you, he’s not lying about being a killer.”

Brian tapped on the table and held up his phone in front of Austin’s face. The message was from an Officer Davidson.

Neighbor four doors down from the shore at Murden Cove says he saw Chad’s Tesla in the area the night of the murder, at least twice. Thinks between ten and midnight, but isn’t sure on time.

Austin took the phone, read the message twice, then handed it to David, who nodded and gestured toward the door.

Danielle felt like a reliable witness, a reliable judge of character. But there was too much evidence stacking up against Chad to ignore. They had to interview him again.

“Thanks,” Austin said to Danielle. “We’re gonna get back to work.”

PART 2

THE STORM

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AS THE RAIN battered the roof of his truck, it struck Austin just how odd it was that he was sitting outside a mansion on Bainbridge Island waiting for a guy named Chad Buckminster to get home. They’d arrived half an hour earlier, just as the sun had begun to set behind the thick blanket of gray that was the sky. They’d knocked and rang the bell multiple times, but received no answer. Not from Chad and not from Cupcake. Three phone calls had gone unreturned.

“Why would he be out in this?” David asked.

“We’re out in this,” Austin said.

“Not a bad point.”

“You still don’t like him for this?”

David considered this. “Maybe I’m losing my intuition, but no, I don’t.”

“Why would you be losing your intuition? What do you mean?”

“Young people these days. And before you say anything, I know how get-off-my-lawn I sound right now. I’m only twenty-ish years older than Danielle and her reverse harem, ten or fifteen years older than Chaddy-Boy. But I feel like their great grandpa.”

“What does that have to do with your detective intuition?”

David said, “People around our age, it’s like I have a feel for them. Danielle, Stone, the others… I don’t know. It’s like I’m not part of the same world. Can’t get a feel for what they want, what motivates them.” His tone took on an accusatory note. “And it’s quite clear they don’t want me as part of their world. Polyamory. Tech startups. It’s like…” He let out a long breath, as though breathing out a hundred frustrations and failures at once.

“Change is accelerating,” Austin said, “but I don’t think that’s why you’re upset.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Austin shrugged. “Every generation changes from one to the next, but you and I were part of the very last generation on earth not to have the internet growing up. The age group right below us never once had the experience of not having all information—and people—right at their fingertips. Things are different.”

David folded his arms. “Ah, humanity! Things are worse.”

“I dunno,” Austin said. “I really don’t. And yes, you have officially crossed over into get-off-my-lawn guy. But like I said, that’s not why you’re upset.” He waited until David looked over. “You’ve been sleeping at a hotel?”

“Miranda cheated on me.” He looked away as he said it. “Pilates instructor she met up with while I was at the bar. It was stupid.”

“Damn,” Austin said. He’d assumed it had been David who strayed. “Wait, so it happened once, while you were at the bar?”

David frowned. “I’d been on a bender for a month.”

“Oh.”

David ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it’s like there’s another person inside me, one who does things that he can’t control, doesn’t understand. I thought as I got older I’d come to understand myself better, tame my demons. Instead it’s like there’s another me growing inside me, one that is trying to destroy my life, my family, my relationship with my kids, with Miranda.” A couple days earlier, when Austin had asked about their relationship, he’d changed the subject. But he’d blurted it out during the interview with Stone Jackson and now he was just letting it all pour out.

“How’s Miranda?”

David waved a hand dismissively. “I blame her, then blame my drinking. She says it was a mistake and wants me to get sober. Neither of us are perfect.”

“You need to go back to rehab. Whatever her deal is, you need to focus on your own issues.”

“Remember how I told you I had it under control after the last time, three years ago or whatever?” He looked up. “That was all total BS. Well, not total BS. It was like a car with no brakes going downhill. At first you think you can control it because the steering wheel still works. But as you pick up speed it gets harder to control until finally the littlest thing, a divot in the road, a slight error in the way you move the wheel, and you careen off course and fly off the mountain.”

“That’s poetic,” Austin said, “but it’s no excuse. I don’t blame you. I never had the itch with alcohol, but you have to keep fighting it.”

“Addiction is a leviathan. On occasion you get lucky and strike the whale, I did a number of times. What we don’t realize is that the line attached to the harpoon is strung around our neck and the next time the whale goes down, we’re drowned.” He sighed. “I think it’s over with Miranda.”

Austin glanced up at the house, which was still except for the never-ending torrent of rain running off its roof. “That’s enough Melville. I’m gonna call Miranda.”

“That would be good. She’d like to hear from you. You know how Fiona used to say she wished you were ten percent more like me?”

Austin smiled. “More spontaneous, less reserved.” Fiona had often said this when the two couples hung out. She loved David’s energy, his sense of humor. And when David was around Miranda, he was at his best. Austin was quite sure, though, that Fiona would not have enjoyed the full-on DMJ experience.

David rocked back and patted Austin on the shoulder, as though deciding all of a sudden to change the mood. “Miranda told me for years she wished I was fifty percent more like you. More responsible, more stable.”

“She loved you. Still does, I’d bet. All she wanted was to see you stabilize a bit. Are you willing to work on it? First, the drinking, second, the marriage?”

“I spit my last breath at thee. Ye damned whale.”

A car horn behind them did a short double tap. Beep beep.

It was Brian, signaling them for some reason.

Austin turned, but couldn’t make anything out through the rain-smeared back windshield.

He started the car and turned on the wipers. Brian seemed to be waving at them while simultaneously backing out of the driveway. Then Austin’s phone rang and he answered and put it on speakerphone.

“Austin, follow me,” Brian said, his voice eager. “Chad just drove up, idled behind me in the road for ten seconds, then took off. He saw we were here and bolted.”

Austin began backing out of the driveway, handing the phone to David.

“Did he have his dog with him?” David asked.

“What?” Brian asked. “I mean, yeah. Saw him through the win… I… he…” The call began to break up and David ended it.

“You’re obsessed with that dog,” Austin said.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Oldest story there is.”

Austin followed closely behind Brian’s cruiser, which was only doing fifteen miles an hour. He could make out a dark blue Tesla ahead of them. Chad’s car.

”Remind me,” Austin said.

David fell into a stuffy English accent as he performed both parts of the famous Sherlock Holmes scene, which, Austin recalled, he’d done before. Usually after a couple cocktails.

“‘Is there any other point to which you would wish to draw my attention?’

‘To the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime,’ Holmes said.

‘The dog did nothing in the nighttime,’ Gregory replied.

Holmes smiled. ‘That was the curious incident.’”

David let it hang there like he’d just solved the case.

Austin said. “So, Chad tells us he was home all night. And that his dog always barks. You’re thinking that the dog would have heard the tools the killer used?”

“And gone nuts.”

“I don’t know. Might be too far away from the cove.”

“Chad said Cupcake goes crazy if a squirrel farts three blocks away. You really think she’d remain silent as a power saw dismembers a human being?”

He had a point.

“And the neighbor would have heard the dog going nuts, if not the tools themselves. Cupcake did not bark in the nighttime. And now we know that Chad brings his beloved mutt when he goes out. We already had neighbors saying they saw his car out and about. Now we know he lied about being home that night.”

Austin nodded. “Something is up with him, but I thought you said you didn’t like him for this.”

“I don’t, but, like I said, I’m out of touch. I like to think I have a good radar on this stuff, but maybe it only applies to people over thirty. We can’t ignore the obvious.”

They followed Brian following the Tesla down a side street, then onto the main road that hugged the curve around the shore at Murden Cove.

Austin’s phone rang again. He answered and put it on speaker. “Brian, what’s up?”

Brian said, “Can you guys handle things from here?”

“What’s the matter? Not enjoying this low-speed pursuit?”

“Low-speed?” Brian laughed. “This storm has nothing on peak ferry traffic.”

“Sure we can handle it,” Austin said. “But what’s up?”

“Johnson, he’s the officer at the B and B watching Danielle. His wife just went into labor. He’s not supposed to be in today anyway, and—”

“Get back there,” Austin said. “And see if Danielle will open up any more about Chad. Don’t grill her, just lose a few games of chess or whatever and see if she gets to talking.”

At the next intersection, Brian made a u-turn, leaving them about forty yards behind Chad. After another minute, the Tesla began to slow, then stopped entirely.

Austin saw why. The high winds had knocked a giant tree into the road, blocking it completely. No traffic could pass in either direction. Austin took the opportunity to stop the truck in the center of the two lanes, blocking Chad’s path out if he made a u-turn.

They sat, watching the back of the Tesla through the rapid back-and-forth of the wipers.

Then, suddenly, the driver’s door swung open and Chad, dressed in a black hoodie and blue jeans, bolted across the road and disappeared into a thicket of trees.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CUPCAKE, Chad’s dog, followed him out of the car and raced after him into the woods.

Austin could sense David giving him The Look. Austin had recognized it their first day working together in the NYPD, when David had flashed the look just before chasing two armed suspects down a dark alley at midnight in the Bronx, ignoring every single protocol of the department. Austin had followed, reluctantly at first, then at full speed because, well, even if David was reckless, he owed him the backup.

“No,” Austin said before David could open his mouth.

“I’m in better shape than you, and you know I’m going no matter what you say,” David replied. “I was just gonna tell you that, since he left his door open, you have every right to snoop around in his car.”

With that, David leapt out of the truck and bolted into the woods.

David didn’t have a gun, didn’t have any legal right to detain Chad and, by the letter of the law, was now somewhere between a weirdo and an outright stalker. Still, if David hadn’t been there—and been in better shape than him, despite the drinking—it might have been Austin racing through the woods right now.

Austin sighed, staring at the open door of Chad’s Tesla. “It would be a shame to let the rain ruin his leather seats,” he said to himself.

He hopped out of the truck and jogged to the car.

David leapt a patch of thick tree roots with fat globs of water dripping from the evergreen canopy and striking his already damp face.

He was having fun. Austin had spent years trying to get him to slow down, to be more responsible. Once he’d even asked David if he had a “death wish.” But nothing was better than pursuing a suspect on foot.

He was an addict. And the adrenaline he got from the job could be an equally dangerous addiction. His obsession with his work was just as much to blame for his failing marriage as the alcohol. Of course, he knew Austin was right, but he’d meant what he said about needing something to write about. When he’d taken English classes in college, he’d loathed all the short stories full of psychological introspection and navel-gazing nonsense.

If he was ever going to write the Great American Novel, first he needed to do some Great American Things, like chasing this bastard Chaddy-Boy Buckminster through the woods during a rare summer storm. No one wanted to read about the detective who sat in the car waiting patiently for backup.

The only problem was that, in his imaginary book, the scene only worked if he eventually caught Chad. David hadn’t gained on him in the least. In fact, he was falling further behind. Despite Chad slipping on a mossy log, he was still fifty yards ahead, darting between trees and leaping logs like a college track star.

In the distance, David saw a patch of light through the trees, probably where the woods met the road. That would be his chance.

Gathering all his remaining energy, he geared up to a full sprint, gaining a few yards on Chad, then a few more.

Then, suddenly, Chad disappeared right at the patch of light. Possibly he’d crossed the road and ducked behind a tree or… David picked up speed, eyes focused on the last spot he’d seen him. He had to be there somewhere. He couldn’t have just…

David reached the road, panting, then leapt to the side as Chad emerged from behind a tree holding a… a what?

Cupcake jumped between Chad and David, unleashing a fury of threatening barks.

David stepped back, eyes locked on Chad’s hand.

He was holding a cellphone and it was pointed right at him.

Chad’s Tesla was immaculately clean except for an empty Starbucks cup in the cupholder. An iPhone charger dangled from the plug, but Austin didn’t see a cellphone. Chad had likely grabbed it before bolting.

In the back seat, there was a large, plush dog bed and two little metal bowls, one labeled food, one labeled water. Both were empty, but a plastic bottle of Voss spring water and a glass jar of dog food sat in a small wooden crate on the floor. From the look of it, Chad took Cupcake out with him often. It never ceased to amaze Austin that even guys like Chad took good care of their dogs.

He found the trunk button and was about to pop it when he noticed a single white envelope wedged between the seats. Austin glanced through the windows at the deserted street and scanned the woods, which were quiet. Then he opened the envelope.

It contained a single piece of paper, extra thick, folded in thirds and marked with a list of names on the left hand side and a list of numbers and dates on the right side. The paper had no header, no title, no date at the top, which made him think it was an unofficial record of something.

James Brownstone…$22,000…August 17th.

Marianne Moore…$8,000…July 14th.

Tamir Samuel Gunderson…$31,000…August 9th.

Austin didn’t know exactly what it meant, but his gut told him it was something shady as hell.

Using his cell phone camera, he snapped a picture of the list, then carefully folded it, put the envelope back where he’d found it, and returned to the truck.

“Oh, it’s you.” Chad wielded his cellphone like a gun aimed straight at David, but seemed genuinely surprised to see him. He quieted Cupcake, who sat happily on the ground now that she’d been assured David was no threat.

David, having taken a moment to recover from the shock of Chad’s appearance and the fact that, at first, he’d thought he was aiming a gun at him, stepped back. “Who were you expecting?”

Chad waved his phone, making sure David saw it while still keeping it trained on him. “I’m recording. I have evidence of you stalking me now.”

David wanted to point out how ridiculous the situation was—one grown man pointing a little phone at another as the rain beat down on them. But instead he said, “That’s fine. But you didn’t answer my question. Who were you expecting to be chasing you?”

Chad shook his head, lowering his phone slowly. “I’m going back to my car.”

“Why’d you run in the first place?” David asked. “You were surprised it was me, which means you were expecting someone else to be following you.”

Chad shoved his phone in his pocket. “Go to hell.” He began walking back in the direction of his car.

“We know you lied,” David called.

This stopped him. Chad turned, wiping sweat and rain from his damp hair. “Lying isn’t illegal.”

“It is when you lie to cops.”

“You’re not a cop, at least not here. My lawyers said I shouldn’t have spoken with you, but I wanted you to catch whoever killed Doogie and the others. Little genius didn’t deserve what happened to him.” He shook his head. “Neither did the other two.”

“Why’d you run?” David demanded. He felt a rage building inside him, a hatred of this guy before him. He was rich, handsome, and dating multiple beautiful women. He was also entitled, annoying, and likely a criminal, possibly a murderer.

Chad opened his mouth to say something, then smirked and continued walking back toward the car, Cupcake trotting happily behind him.

When he was ten yards away Chad stopped and held up his cellphone. “My lawyers are gonna see this video. Stop harassing me and go out and catch the killer.”

David wanted to yell something back, but there was really nothing to say. He typed out a quick text to Austin, warning him that Chad was on his way back. Then, staying twenty yards behind, he followed Chad through the woods toward the road.

His chest burned and his mind, having shaken off the two bottles of wine from the night before, was no longer cloudy. Instead, it stormed with racing thoughts. The truth was, whether or not Chad was the killer, he wanted to hurt him, to punish him. It was as though everything going wrong in his life had found a target.

And that scared David more than anything.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BACK IN HIS TRUCK, Austin checked his phone. He had a new text from David.

Coming back. If you’re in Chad’s car, get out. Will explain later.

Swiping open his photos, he continued reading down the list of names.

Deron Carr, Junior…$13,000...September 4th.

Gloria Maria Sanchez…$32,000…July 8th.

He stopped on that one. July 8th was the day of the murders. He still had no idea what it meant, had no idea if it meant anything, but he damn sure needed to find out.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Chad emerging from the woods and heading straight for his truck.

Austin rolled down the window.

Chad pointed his phone at him. A little red light blinked on top, indicating that it was recording. “Got anything to say to my legal team about why you’re harassing me and chasing me through the woods?”

Austin considered this.

But before he could answer, Chad barked, “No? Okay then. You’ll be hearing from them.”

“We wanted to ask you some questions about inconsistencies in your story.”

Chad flipped Austin a middle finger and walked back to his car.

“Will you answer some questions?” Austin called, not bothering to get out of his truck.

Chad ignored him. He knew as well as Austin that he didn’t have to answer any questions.

Chad pulled a quick u-turn, honking for Austin to stop blocking the lane. Austin pulled the truck to the side as Chad flipped him another bird for good measure, then sped past him.

Moments later, David emerged from the woods, looking like he’d spent the night at the bar and slept out in the rain. “Sweet guy, that Chaddy-Boy,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“He’s a real ray of sunshine,” Austin agreed. Then, getting serious, “What did he say? I’m so confused.”

“He must not have been able to make us out through his rear windshield. He bolted because he thought someone else was following him.”

“A guy like that has lawyers, plenty of them. It didn’t add up that he’d run from us.” It made more sense that Chad had been running from someone he mistook them for, but that raised other questions. Who would be threatening enough to make Chad abandon his car and run through the woods? Could it have something to do with one of his businesses? Or the list of names and dollar amounts Austin had found? Or did he think he was the killer’s next target?

Austin handed David the phone, open to the image of the list from Chad’s car. “Those names and numbers mean anything to you?”

David studied the list, then handed the phone back to Austin. “No, but I need a beer. Let’s get back to the B and B and talk this over.”

Turned out, David needed more than “a” beer. By the time he stopped pacing and took a seat across from Austin in Mavis’ little office, he’d had three. Brian had excused himself to take a call, then joined them back in the office just as Austin was about to speak.

“Labor was a false alarm,” Brian said. “Officer Johnson is about to get back and will watch Danielle.”

“Good,” Austin said.

“Got something else,” Brian said. “Something big. Fern. The kid who took the picture that went semi-viral on the Bainbridge Facebook group before being deleted. We have a video call with him and his folks in five minutes.”

“Okay,” Austin said, “but why?”

“His parents didn’t want to say until we were all on the line, and they demanded that Lucy be there as well, which she will be. I think that kid knows more than he said at first.”

“Little bastard,” David muttered. He wasn’t drunk yet. At his size and with his tolerance, three beers was just enough to loosen him up. But Austin sensed this could be one of those nights for David. He was beginning to regret involving him in the first place. David had always been a bit of a loose canon, but he didn’t have Miranda here to rein him in when needed. Now, well, for the first time Austin was genuinely worried about his friend. And what his friend might do.

Austin stood and leaned on the wall. The room wasn’t big enough to pace in effectively. “Lemme summarize where we are on this. We’ve got Danielle sleeping a few doors down and… wait, Brian, any word on extended family, other friends, anything?”

Brian shook his head. “I’ve been in touch with Samantha and she's not finding much on her family. Other than the five living people she’s dating, all of whom are technically on our suspect list, Danielle appears to be alone in the world now that her three friends are gone.”

“Okay. What about the tools?”

Brian snapped. “Forgot to tell you. Turns out that set is high-end enough that not everywhere carries it. Called around and found a place in Seattle that sold a set like it just last week. They’re sending over surveillance footage from the day of. It’ll be a lot to go through, but it’s a lead.”

“Good work,” Austin said.

For a rookie, Brian was impressing him.

“Credit card?” David asked, having locked back into the conversation.

“Cash,” Brian said, raising an eyebrow. “Which sucks because we can’t trace it, but also, who buys a $1,400 set of power tools with cash? Makes me think that it’s our guy.”

“Good,” Austin said. “Get that footage ASAP.”

Brian nodded. “We also confirmed, not a single neighbor heard Chad’s dog barking. Very likely he was lying about being home that night. And not a single neighbor heard screams or power tools.”

“A curious incident,” David said, back to his heckler stage of drunkenness.

“Question is,” Austin said, “would the sounds of the tools have been loud enough for Cupcake to hear, but not loud enough for people to hear?” Austin puzzled over this for a moment, then realized it didn’t matter. “Nevermind. We already know he’s lying about multiple things. We just need to figure out why.”

He handed Brian his phone, open to the list from Chad’s car. “Those names or dates or amounts mean anything to you?”

Brian read the list. “I mean, sure. The names do, at least. I don’t recognize them all, but Deron Carr Junior is a big real estate developer in Seattle. And Gloria Maria Sanchez is a state senator.” He continued studying the list. “Tamir Samuel Gunderson is…hmm… not sure.” He tapped on his own phone, scanning, scrolling. “State Environmental Inspector.”

Austin was putting two and two together. “You said Chad was involved in controversial land development?”

Brian nodded. “And this sure looks like—”

“A murder weapon!” David said, way too loudly. He was on his fourth beer now and that, combined with the lack of food, had tipped him over the edge.

“No,” Austin said, “not a murder weapon. A list of payouts.”

“Bribes?” Brian asked, opening up a laptop and launching a secure video call.

Austin adjusted the laptop to make sure David wasn’t in the frame. The last thing he needed was a buzzed David making an already bad situation worse. “Given who Chad is and what he does, would it shock anyone if he was dishing out bribes to get his development plan approved?” He turned to David just before the call connected. “Don’t get in the picture.”

David nodded, leaning heavily against the wall.

Moments later, Lucy popped up in a little box on the screen, followed by a pale, freckled young man flanked by two adults Austin assumed were Fern’s parents.

After introductions, Fern’s mother, who appeared very much to be in charge said, “Now, I do not believe in cooperating with police, but in this case, it must be done. Fern, tell them.”

Fern had a short buzzcut that almost looked military grade. A stark contrast to his parents. His dad, who’d introduced himself as Gentle Wind Creighton—though to Austin’s untrained eyes, he did not look Native American—had long blond dreadlocks and wild eyes. His mother had introduced herself as Mary and wore a Black Lives Matter hat and a Che Guevara t-shirt. Fern, in a crisp button-up shirt, looked like a West Point student who’d been kidnapped by parents he wanted nothing to do with.

“You have to believe I feel terrible,” he began. “I never should have taken that picture, and I never should have posted it.” He spoke slowly, but with confidence. Austin got the impression that he was much more comfortable speaking with police officers than either of his parents. “What I need to tell you is that there’s another photo, and it might help.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“OKAY,” Lucy said, taking charge. “Start from the beginning.”

Fern cleared his throat. “You’ve all seen the one photo I took, right?”

They all nodded.

“And before you say anything, look, I only posted it to make fun of all the hippies and liberals around here. To show what happens when you let a bunch of softies run the government and the police.”

Austin watched Lucy’s eyes widen on the screen. “Softies?” she asked, frowning. “You sure about that?”

Fern said, “I didn’t mean you. I respect you guys. I meant losers like these two.” He pointed a thumb in each direction, indicating his parents. “I’m straight edge. Don’t drink. Don’t smoke, don’t do drugs. When I vote, I’ll vote for the hardest-core pro military badass there is. I posted that photo to show what’s happening to liberal cities in America.”

Austin sighed. It was some of the most twisted logic he’d ever heard. Then again, Fern was a teenager and teenagers were hard wired to rebel. In his family, maybe this is what that meant. “Like Detective O’Rourke said, start from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Fern began, “so we were out at the McDonald’s around ten, then—”

“He’s not supposed to be eating there,” his father said. “We only feed him organic, pasture raised animals that are humanely treated.”

“Are you Native American?” David asked, leaning into the frame, his words a bit sloppy, though not yet slurred.

Austin had wondered this, too. The Pacific Northwest was home to many Native American tribes—the Suquamish, for example, lived only ten minutes away, just off the island. And yet he’d never known anyone to introduce themselves by a name like Gentle Wind. One of his cashiers at his store—a member of the Port Gamble S’Klallam tribe named Cindy—had a whole comedic rant about local white folks giving themselves stereotypical Native American sounding names.

“No,” Fern’s father said, “but I received my spiritual name from Chief Mercy Morningstar of the Cherokee Tribe. An online ceremony.”

David laughed, falling out of his chair.

Austin frowned, then glanced up at Lucy’s box on the screen. She wasn’t about to reprimand him or David during the interview, but she did not look pleased.

Austin said, “Fern, focus. Please. Ignore the sideshow. What happened then?”

“We walked from McDonald’s and were just like on our phones and stuff.” He glanced nervously at his mother. “My friend, Teddy, he pulled out a joint.”

Fern’s father smiled. “About time you learn to get high.”

“Shut up, dad.”

“Then what happened?” Lucy demanded.

“We were walking down by Murden Cove. It’s the way we always walk home. Probably eleven or so. Teddy lights up the joint and I take a picture. There’s a flash and Teddy is all yelling at me. Unlike these stoner freaks, Teddy’s parents would kill him if they knew he was smoking weed. Anyway, so I take the picture and it’s like I saw something in the background, but didn’t see it, ya know?”

“Not really,” Austin said. “Where’s the picture?”

“Don’t have it. I sent it to Teddy to like troll him. Then he made me delete it.”

“What did you see and not see?” Austin asked.

“I didn’t think of it at first. Then I saw on the news, something about police looking for a white sedan.”

Austin stared hard at Fern, ignoring the concerned looks of his parents and the rhythmic tapping of David’s foot on the floor. “Behind Teddy in the photo, parked at Murden Cove, you thought you saw a white sedan?”

Fern squinted, like he was trying to remember. “I think so, it was all so… I’ve never been high before. I swear.”

“Does Teddy still have it?” Lucy demanded. “The photo?”

“I don’t know,” Fern said. “Last I heard from him, his parents smelled the marijuana on him. Took his phone. He’s grounded.”

Austin tasted salty grapefruit, a bitterness that always accompanied the feeling of frustration. He asked Brian, “Is there any way to recover a deleted photo from Fern’s phone?”

Brian said, “It’s not impossible, but it would mean going through the phone company, which takes days, at best.”

Lucy said, “Mr. And Mrs. Creighton. I’m going to ask you to stay home, keep Fern home, and don’t speak about this with anyone. Fern, we will need the contact information for Teddy and his family.”

Fern nodded gravely. “I’m really sorry. And please don’t tell anyone I was smoking weed, okay? I have an image to live up to.”

Austin lay diagonally across the small bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain batter the windows and roof. His feet hung off the bottom. His toes were cold. He turned over, trying to tuck his feet under the blanket.

He imagined what the storm must be doing to the rest of the island. More downed trees, probably downed power lines. Two people had already died in Seattle, and Mavis had heard about a young couple hospitalized after a tree struck their car in Poulsbo. He hoped that was the worst of it.

Thousands of people were huddled in their homes, waiting for the storm to pass. And a killer was on the loose. That is, if the killer hadn’t already found a way off the island.

He also thought about Anna. He couldn't help himself. As much as he wanted to focus on the case and the case alone, something in him couldn't stop from thinking about her. Part of him wished she’d been on the island with him instead of David.

He remembered David as a reliable partner, but his friend’s life seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

He yawned, beginning to doze off. He’d heard once that if you want to have meaningful dreams, you should focus on a big question just as you fall asleep. You’ll dream about the question—your unconscious running through all sorts of scenarios—and, more often than not, you’ll wake up with an answer.

For a moment he tried to focus on the big questions in the case, but instead he found himself wondering how he could help David get his life together.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DANIELLE LAY IN BED, listening to the rain and the wind. In her audiobooks and braille books, wind was always described as whistling or blowing or whooshing. She heard it differently. More subtly.

This night she heard three different winds. There was a constant low, bass-note, an ominous whooooooo that never seemed to end. On top of it, like a cello over a bass in an orchestra, where brighter gusts of wind whipping through trees and under cars and between buildings. Then there were the higher-pitched screams of wind—the sharp notes of a violin on top of everything. These were the whistles of wind as it coursed through the cracks in the windows. Almost like an angry bird complaining about the storm.

The trauma specialist she’d spoken with the day after the massacre had told her to try not to relive the event outside of a therapeutic setting. “If you find yourself back in those moments, overwhelmed with emotion,” the woman had said as Danielle sipped cold coffee at the urgent care center following the murders, “gently place them in your Feelings Box and put the box on the shelf. It doesn’t mean we are ignoring those memories, repressing those feelings. Just setting them aside for later.”

This had proven easier said than done.

Every time she came close to dozing off, she heard Doogie’s screams. Then the ripping sound she’d thought was duct tape, which the killer had used to cover Doogie’s mouth. She’d always been good with sounds, and the young officer Brian had confirmed she’d heard right. Instead of thinking about how she’d spend her share of the money—as she had many nights for the last three months—she heard drills and saws. Both the ones she’d actually heard that night and new ones she’d added herself as the nightmare grew worse each time she relived it.

And she heard her own prayers. The prayers that had surprised her as she heard them coming out of her mouth.

Not only had she escaped from the Progeny—from her husband, her captor—she’d rejected everything about their cult, their beliefs, and that included the prayers her husband had written and forced her and her sister wives to recite over and over. She’d vowed never to look back, never to utter a word of those prayers again, never attend a church of any kind, never marry.

And yet.

In her most difficult moment, when panic struck, she’d gone right back to them.

Maybe Stone was right. He’d been telling her for months that she should come to church with him. His church was open, accepting, celebratory. That’s what he said, at least. She’d always said no, but maybe she was a deeply religious person who’d been in denial about it since escaping from Progeny. At moments like this, lying in bed and listening to three kinds of wind, she had to admit to herself that she still believed.

Not in the God she’d been trained to believe in, and certainly not in his so-called representative on earth, her ex-husband. But she... what was it?

She felt something. Something bigger than her. Holding her.

Maybe it was that to which she’d been praying in the port-a-potty.

Maybe she’d found the old prayers in her mind because they were the only ones she had.

Maybe she could still find new ones.

The worst imaginable thing had happened and yet…

She was warm, comfortable. Safe. The officer was outside her door.

She had no choice but to go on, to find meaning somewhere.

She thought of Moby Dick again. The giant whale was God, fate, religion. Bainbridge Island. The universe itself. The whale was something too big to understand, something too expansive to grasp. Something we pursue to no end without ever truly knowing what we’re pursuing. Something over which we have no power.

She relaxed into bed and offered herself to God, to whatever it was that was greater than her. She offered herself to whatever or whoever had protected her that night.

She remembered laying out in the fields as a little girl, listening to the sounds of summer. Gentle breezes. Grasshoppers. Rustling leaves. She’d felt it then, too, this feeling. Long before anyone had told her what words to say or what she was supposed to believe.

This time she didn’t pray. No words came. Only a feeling of surrender and gratitude.

She didn’t believe. She didn’t have faith. She didn’t need to.

Despite sitting in the car for the last hour, his clothes were still wet. Sopping wet.

The wind whistled, howled and raged, but he was safe in his car. It was the kind of wind Danielle would have loved to describe. She’d always described sounds better than anyone who could see.

Her room was on the second floor of the B and B. The light had been turned off about thirty minutes ago, but that didn’t mean she’d turned it off. She didn’t turn on lights when she entered rooms, and didn’t turn them off when she left.

What it meant was that no one was in there with her now, and that was enough for him.

By now she’d be asleep. He knew that she often had trouble falling asleep, but when she did she slept like the dead.

She wouldn’t hear him coming.

He popped the trunk and got out, pulling on a yellow rain jacket. Grabbing the ladder, he walked briskly to the side of the B and B. Every light was dim save for a couple in the front. Those were for the lobby and dining room, and he assumed those were left on all night.

Slowly, he unfolded the ladder and leaned it against the side of the building. The wind gusted. The ladder swayed, but he’d wedged the feet into the soil, smashing some flowers in the process.

From the garden he grabbed a rock the size of a baseball and slowly began ascending the ladder. One step, two steps. The ladder adjusted slightly, settling into the ground.

Three steps, four steps. His damp shoes squished with each step up the ladder. He could feel the water swishing through his toes.

He wondered whether Danielle had used the last couple days to reflect on what she’d done. He hoped so. He believed so. After one more set of punishments, she’d be ready.

Five steps, six, seven. Squish, squish squish.

He was almost to the window.

Lights struck the side of the building and he turned. Headlights.

A car had pulled into the driveway.

He froze. The car stopped, lights right on him. For a long moment it didn’t move. They could be staring right at him, or down at a cellphone. He had no way of knowing.

Then slowly the car pulled to the other end of the parking lot and the lights dimmed. From his angle, he couldn’t see if anyone had gotten out. He didn’t hear a door slam, but would he have been able to hear it over the sound of the rain?

He glanced up at the window, where Danielle was sleeping only a few feet away.

Quickly, he squished down three steps, then jumped to the ground. He folded the ladder quickly and hurried back to his car.

There was no movement from the parked car and he still couldn’t see whether anyone was inside.

He started his car. He’d be back.

It would be safer to start with someone else.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE CAME IN OVER NIGHT,” Brian said, his youthful face clean-shaven and unreasonably chippy, given that they were in the middle of a murder investigation during a devastating storm.

Austin rubbed sleep from his eyes and blew on his coffee, which was still too hot to drink.

“You’re peppy as hell,” David said irritably, scratching at his stubble.

Austin had the sense that his friend had kept drinking long into the night. Maybe it was because he was older now or maybe because his life was falling apart, but David seemed worse off than when he used to show up hungover.

Brian handed Austin his laptop after pressing play. The screen displayed a video, color but not especially high definition, of a man of about average height and weight parking a white sedan in a parking lot, then walking into a store. He wore sunglasses and a gray hooded sweatshirt pulled tight around his face. The shot changed to the same man at a register, paying for a case of tools. Only his nose and mouth were visible. Next it showed him getting back into the car and driving away.

“They were nice enough to splice it all together for us,” Brian said. “Cashier confirmed it was the special set of tools he bought. Same ones from the scene. And before you ask, yeah, photos of this vehicle are with every officer. We even posted it online to ask for tips.”

Austin sighed. “I mean, damn. Looked like a white guy, but no license plate. No real face shot. Whoever that guy is knew where the cameras were.”

“Could have been Chad,” David said. “But it could also be one of a hundred guys. Greg, even Luciano, though I don’t think the walk was right for that.”

Austin thought back. “You didn’t even see Luciano walk anywhere.”

“Yeah, but I can tell he doesn’t walk like that. Guy in the video had a stiff, upright, American walk. Luciano—Italian, musician, high all the time—I’d bet anything his walk is more graceful, more… I don’t know… artistic.”

As ridiculous as it sounded, Austin couldn’t quite disagree. “Well, we know it wasn’t Stone Jackson. That dude is a foot taller than this guy.”

Everyone agreed, then David said, “My head says it’s Greg, my heart wants it to be Chad.”

Brian cocked his head in Austin’s direction. “Is this really how police work is done?”

“We’re just talking here,” Austin said. “Thinking out loud.”

Mavis appeared from the back and set down a tray of muffins and fruit. “Food delivery couldn’t make it onto the island, so this is all we have for today. But the banana-nut muffins are to die for.” She stood with her hands on her hips until all three had tried one and agreed they were, indeed, to die for. “They say the storm should blow itself out by tonight. Crew has begun working on the bridge.”

“Thanks,” Austin said. “That’s a little ray of sunshine, I suppose.”

Mavis studied the three men, then said. “Looks like you’re in the middle of something. “I’ll take Danielle her breakfast.”

When Mavis was gone, Brian said. “I spoke with Lucy O’Lecture this morning and…” He paused. “No laugh? Did I do it right? Lucy O’Lecture.”

“You did it fine,” Austin said. “What did she say?”

“The rubber band found at the scene is unique to a consortium of Oregon and Washington growers. They sell at farmer’s markets and some of the smaller chains. Basically, they’re everywhere. I did a test with it and it’s too big for Greg’s wrist. Greg and I are around the same size and my wrist has a 6.8 inch circumference. That rubber band has a 8-inch circumference. It would have hung loose and the whole point is for it to be snug on the wrist.”

“Good work,” Austin said.

David took a loud swig of coffee and put his cup on the table with a heavy thump. “And I’m assuming no DNA, no fingerprints, no stray hair?”

“Nothing useful from forensics,” Brian said. “Not on the rubber band, not anywhere else. The lab is still hopeful they’ll be able to find some DNA on Doogie’s body, but nothing yet.”

Austin’s coffee had cooled enough and he drank the whole cup in two sips, desperate to find some of the pep Brian had. “Whatever DNA there might have been likely got washed away by the rain or the tide. Any word on Teddy, Fern’s friend?” Austin popped a chunk of cantaloupe in his mouth.

“Parents are both lawyers. They’re stalling. Sometime today, though. They know they have to speak with us.”

“Next subject,” Austin said. “Alibis.”

Brian passed a muffin from hand to hand, walking a lap around the table. “Officer Stevens—did you meet him yet?—anyway, he went to the winery. The Italians were at a dinner and tasting that went past one in the morning. Multiple guests verified it.”

“No surprise there,” David said. “Why massacre people when you’ve got wine and ecstasy to consume?”

“Next, Stone. His alibi checks out as well. At least, very likely.”

“What do you mean?” Austin asked. “XBox recorded him playing a constant stream of online multiplayer games until two in the morning. And he let us go through his phone. He was simultaneously texting with a guy he was playing against in Call of Duty.”

David said, “Couldn’t he have just had someone playing on his account and texting from his phone?”

Brian shot David a hard stare, “That’s why I said very likely and not certain.”

Austin was starting to like this kid more and more. “Plus, with the video from the hardware store, I’d say we can rule him out.”

“Chad,” Brian continued, “well, let’s just say I spoke with his legal team and they were not forthcoming.”

“We already know he lied about being home,” Austin said. “The question is, why?”

Brian refilled his coffee from the urn on a side table. “Finally, there’s Greg. Greg the Egg because his head is shaped kinda like an egg.” He waited for a response, but Austin only offered a frown. “I spoke with the bank. They have no record of a planned or canceled interview with him.”

That got Austin’s attention. “He lied about why he was on the island?”

“Looks that way,” Brian said.

Austin stood. “Let’s go get him.”

“Wait, there’s more.” Brian pulled out his phone and handed it to Austin. “We need to confirm ourselves, but the hotel manager says that he can track whether someone left the room based on data in the door itself, not just in the keycard. Greg was in his room between 9 pm and 7 am the next morning. Exactly as he said he was.”

Austin said, “Do you have anyone you can send over there? Even if that’s true, we need to bring him in to talk.”

Brian nodded. “Already on it. Johnson is on his way over. Should hear soon.”

Austin’s phone rang. Lucy.

“Hey there Lucy O’…” Austin paused. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing clever. Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“Ha ha,” Lucy said, but she did not sound amused. “Chadworth Buckminster and his team of lawyers just stormed into the Bainbridge police station. Can you get down there with Brian and try to smooth things over? Drew is there and they’re threatening all kinds of legal hell.”

“What for?” Austin said, but he had a creeping sense he knew exactly what for.

Lucy clicked her tongue, the way she sometimes did when she was annoyed. “Any chance you illegally searched his vehicle?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A RED-FACED LAWYER in a blue suit started in on Austin before the glass door to the police station had even closed all the way. “Illegal search of a vehicle. Illegal gathering of evidence without a warrant. Targeted harassment. And stalking.” He paused, flashing a white-toothed, sarcastic smile in Austin’s direction. “And that’s just what I came up with before breakfast.”

“Nice to meet you,” Austin said.

“I’m Damian Robertson, Mr. Buckminster’s personal attorney, and this is Breanna, our researcher.” He indicated an older woman holding a stack of papers which, Austin had to believe, were just for effect. No way they’d had the time to actually draw up a lawsuit.

Chad stood wearing a silver track suit and a cocky smile that betrayed a hint of nervousness as well. Sure he had lawyers, but Austin had seen his list of, well, he wasn’t yet certain they were bribes, but he did sense that they weren’t anything Chad wanted made public.

Robertson patted the stack of papers in Breanna’s hands. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Mr. Austin.” He jabbed a thumb at David. “And your pal from the NYPD, too.”

Austin clenched his fist by his sides. He tasted charcoal and stale bread. He didn’t enjoy being threatened, and he’d never been especially fond of lawyers, other than the one he’d married.

It was Drew of all people who was the voice of reason. “Let’s take this back to the conference room.”

Austin followed Drew, Brian, Chad, and the lawyers, trailed only by David, who had promised to keep it cool with Chad. The last thing they needed now was an assault charge to go along with everything else they’d done.

As they all sat around a conference table, Robertson put on a pair of reading glasses, repeating his introduction. “As I said, I’m Damian Robertson, Mr. Buckminster’s personal attorney. I have to say, Mr. Austin, I’d heard that sometimes you play it fast and loose, but illegally searching a vehicle is a big problem. For the department, and for you personally.”

He pulled a laptop out of his briefcase and leaned in, then clicked on a file. He slid it across the table. “Press play.”

Austin didn’t need to. It was a wide angle shot, not super clear but clear enough to make out himself sitting in Chad’s Tesla. Austin had completely forgotten about the existence of dash cam footage. He’d been wondering how they’d known about Austin’s little venture into Chad’s Tesla. Now it all made sense.

Robertson reached out and pressed play. Austin watched himself look around, then find Chad’s envelope and open it. He swallowed hard. In his head for the last few days, he’d been thinking of David as the reckless one, and here he was, caught on camera illegally searching a vehicle. If Brian had been there, a uniformed officer, things might be different, but he hadn’t been.

“That’s enough,” Austin said, closing the laptop. “What do you want?”

Breanna slid a stack of papers across the desk, making her lips a tight line and speaking while barely opening her mouth. “These are the lawsuits we’re prepared to file.”

“But you haven’t filed them yet,” Austin said, glancing at Chad, who seemed bored by the whole thing.

Austin knew what they were up to. They were fishing for some sort of deal.

“Courts are closed today,” Robertson countered.

“That’s not why you haven’t filed them,” Austin shot back.

“No,” Robertson said. “It isn’t.” He cleared his throat and looked at the table as though deep in thought. “We’re prepared to let this matter slip into history on three conditions. First, you immediately cease all harassment of and investigation into my client regarding the murders that took place on July 8th. You know as well as we do that he had nothing to do with them and you’re simply investigating him because he’s the richest of all your so called suspects.” The last word dripped with sarcasm, indicating that he knew just how weak the suspect list was.

“Not just ‘cause I’m rich. That dude hates me.” Chad stabbed a finger in David’s direction. “Thinks I’m racist because I asked if he was Korean just because he looks Korean.”

“I don’t think you’re racist,” David said, “I think you’re a spoiled rich kid bastard.”

Chad stood. “Dude chased me through the woods like a straight-up stalker. Just cause I called him ‘bro’ and said I loved bibimbap.”

Austin held up a hand to David preemptively, but he couldn’t stop his friend from responding, “False. Like most people, I enjoy a jog in the rain. You just happened to be taking the same route.”

Austin held up both hands. “Everyone quiet.”

Chad slowly sat back down, glaring at David, who glared right back.

“I’m not in any position to say what the Kitsap Sheriff’s Department will or won’t investigate,” Austin said. “And you know that. What are the other two conditions? I think that’s why you’re really here.”

Robertson cleared his throat. “That you delete the picture you took while illegally searching Chad’s vehicle, sign a form saying you have not shared it with anyone and that you will never speak of it with anyone.” The lawyer's eyes were hard, firm, and Austin knew he’d guessed right. He’d accidentally found evidence of another crime, and that was what Chad was worried about.

“Why’d you lie about being home the night of the murders?” Austin asked. “And why’d you lie about knowing Danielle was on the island?”

Chad smirked. “I pay these two a total of $1500 per hour. You really think I’m gonna answer that with them here?”

Robertson cleared his throat loudly. “We don’t acknowledge that any lies were told, and no further conversations with our client will take place without us present. If he accidentally misspoke, we assure you it wasn’t because he was out committing violence. Our client often takes drives late at night to clear his mind.”

“Or to bribe state senators and environmental inspectors,” David said under his breath.

Everyone ignored him, then Chad said something that surprised Austin. “Can I see Danielle?” His voice was softer, his tone less arrogant.

“She’s not seeing anyone right now,” Austin said.

“She’s not texting me back,” Chad continued.

“What about all your other hot girlfriends?” David spat.

Austin had heard enough from David. “Stop it. Seriously. You’re not helping.”

Chad sighed, looking from David to Austin. “Look, just because I date a lot of people doesn't mean I’m not worried about her. I swear, I don’t know why you have it in for me—jealousy, probably—but have you considered that I actually care?”

Austin turned back to Robertson. “Look, I’m not going to bargain. That said, we both know that any evidence I gathered on behalf of the Kitsap Sheriff’s Department would not be admissible in any court. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

Robertson said, “That sounds like you’re bargaining just a little, Mr. Austin.”

Austin waved a hand dismissively. “Your client is a crook, Mr. Robertson. I’m not yet sure exactly what kind, but he’s a crook.”

“And kind of a bastard,” David added.

“Either way,” Austin said. “That photo, consider it deleted.” He glanced up at Brian, who’d been standing against the wall with his arms folded. “I showed it to Brian, who’s prepared to forget it as well. Right?”

Brian nodded. “Forget what?”

“Exactly,” Austin said, turning back to Robertson. “I give you my word, that particular file will never see the light of day.” He stood up and leaned across the table. “But I promise, if we find out he had anything to do with the murders we’re investigating…” He shook his head slowly. “Well, I’ve already gotten a few dangerous criminals locked up for life since moving to Kitsap County. Nothing would make me happier than adding another.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

IN THE CONFERENCE room of the police station, Austin sipped bad coffee and surveyed his team. David had perked up a little, but his eyes were puffy, his hair a bit of a mess. His slacks and shirt were wrinkled, but at least they weren’t jeans and a Yankees shirt.

Brian was on his phone, though Austin had learned that he wasn’t simply scrolling social media. He seemed to use it for the bulk of his work.

Drew had his arms folded, his feet up on a chair. He was clearly waiting for Austin to lead the meeting. But his skeptical frown made it seem like he was just waiting for Austin to say something he could object to.

“Look,” Austin said, setting down his coffee. “Lucy won’t be here until the end of the day at best. That’s if they fix the bridge. For now, it’s just the four of us. Let’s go over what we have. Brian, you’ve been looking deeper into the alibis, right? And why everyone was on Bainbridge to begin with.” When he didn’t respond, Austin rapped the table with his knuckles. “Brian?”

“Hold on,” Brian said, without looking up. “I think I have something.”

Austin folded his arms. “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“He’s probably on Tinder or something,” David said.

“Actually,” Brian said, finally looking up, “I was solving the case. At least, sort of.”

Austin pulled up a chair at the other end of the conference table. “I’m listening.”

“So, while our buddy Chad was here, I heard back from the folks at the winery. It’s true that Francesca and Luciano were there for a tasting. But they didn’t book a tasting, they won it.”

He said this as though the meaning ought to be self-explanatory.

“So?” Drew said, his face scrunched up like a bitter old chipmunk. “Wineries and hotels offer prizes as weekend getaways all the time.”

That’s exactly what Austin had been thinking.

Brian said, “Right, but let me finish. The winery did an auction a month or two ago. Every weekend throughout the summer, an all-expenses paid trip with dinner, a full tasting, room, ferry tickets, and so on. Someone won the auction for this particular weekend and gifted it to the Italians, but didn’t give a name. They paid via a PayPal account under a business name, Boom Party Supplies, Inc., and in the winery’s system it’s just ‘Anonymous.’ Someone called in to arrange the gift, claiming to be good friends of the Italian couple, and arranged the whole thing. I checked, and the business name is fake. Leads nowhere. We might be able to track down who actually owns the Paypal account, but it would take time.”

Austin stood. “So someone wanted the Italians to be here this weekend—this exact weekend—and anonymously gifted them the trip?”

“Exactly,” Brian said.

Roughly twenty years younger than Austin, Brian was rapidly becoming the prized little brother Austin never had. “Well done.”

“This was a setup from the beginning,” David said. He threw back his head to guzzle a full cup of coffee in one go. It was late morning and, if David was anything like he used to be, he’d be kicking into gear any minute now.

“There’s more,” Brian said. “I checked Stone’s Instagram account.”

“Oh boy,” Drew said sarcastically, “that’s some solid police work.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “My apologies, Grandpa Sadness.” He turned back to Austin. “Stone has tons of followers. He’s kinda internet famous because he’s legitimately one of the best custom woodworkers in the country. He does shows in Seattle and is always updating people about everything. He had announced that he’d be on Bainbridge, locked in his workshop and finishing a project during the day of the murders. So, anyone could have known he’d be on the island.”

Pieces were coming together in Austin’s mind at lightning speed now. “And combined with the fact that Greg thought he was coming for a job interview, which was also completely fake, and the fact that Chad lives here as well…”

“Holy hell,” David said. “Someone arranged for everyone Danielle was dating to be on Bainbridge Island on July 8th. I hate to admit to being wrong, but of everyone around this case, I feel like Chad is the only one who could pull that off. Fake businesses, fake job interviews. I didn’t like him for this, but I don’t see where else it goes. Didn’t he say he was the one that recommended the rental to Danielle?”

Austin nodded. “And we need to get someone to check on all the others. But DMJ, imagine you’re Chad and you want to take out all the people Danielle is dating. Why go about it this way? Why kill Michael and Priya? Doesn’t make sense.”

Drew rose and started tapping on his phone. “I’ll get Johnson and Stevenson out to check on the others. Greg and Rock.”

“Stone,” Austin corrected.

“Whatever,” Drew said. “I’ll head out to his place as well.”

“And I’ll call the winery,” Brian said. “I already have a contact there.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DANIELLE SAT ON HER BED, wondering why Greg wasn’t texting her back anymore. Even though the officers had asked her not to be in touch with them for now, she’d not been able to help herself. She couldn’t believe any of them had anything to do with what happened, and she needed them now more than ever.

She needed Greg and his deep understanding of her past. She needed Stone, his artistry and insistence that she could find God again without the taint of the Progeny. She needed Francesca to play video games and talk about comic books. And she needed Luciano, who’d play her a song and make her pasta. She even needed Chad, who made her feel like a princess, and always paid for everything. For a while she’d told herself that his money didn’t matter, but it had. Odd that she’d never again need to worry about money.

She called Stone again. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail, which, strangely, was her own voice. They’d spent over an hour getting it just right. He’d wanted to pretend to have an English assistant so she’d listened to Youtube videos about how to fake an English accent, then did twenty takes of his voicemail message. “Hello, you’ve reached the offices of Stone Jackson, fine woodworker. Our team is unavailable at the moment, but please leave a message and we will return your call as soon as possible. Have a blessed, joyful day.”

Of course, Stone didn’t have a team. He was a true artist and negotiated every price, every deal himself, based on how he felt in the moment, how he felt about a client, a job. He based his price on “vibes.”

But now he wasn’t picking up or responding to her Instagram messages.

She knew that Luciano and Francesca were on the island. Something about a winery getaway. They’d both texted her the previous day, saying that they’d been interviewed by the police, that they were thinking of her, and they missed her. They’d asked if there was anything they could do.

So had Greg, when he’d texted.

So had Chad.

He was the only one she hadn’t texted back. She didn’t know what to say. Something felt different between them ever since she knew she was going to be rich. Had she been seeing him only because of the money, because with him she could do things otherwise out of reach? Was she really that shallow? She didn’t know, and she’d promised the trauma therapist she’d take it easy on herself and only do what felt right. So she hadn’t texted Chad.

She tried calling Stone one more time, but again it went to voicemail.

She had six romances, six loves—five now—and yet she’d never felt more alone.

As it had been the previous night, the parking lot was mostly empty. But cars passed by occasionally and the side of the B and B was visible from both houses and businesses across the street. The ladder was too risky. He’d have to do this in a way he’d never intended.

The weather report had announced that the storm might break as early as that evening. That meant search parties, more police presence. He’d grown desperate.

His initial plan had been upset by the storm, by the closure of the bridge, the shutting down of the ferries. But it had worked out. As long as Danielle was in her room, everything would work out even better than he’d hoped.

There was just one more piece to the puzzle, and now was the time. It was a risk, the biggest he’d taken yet, but he had no choice. It was now or never.

Throwing a red ski mask over his head, he pulled it down tight, then put on his rain jacket. Taking a few deep breaths and sucking some minty nicotine from his vape pen, he hopped out of the car, popped the trunk, then closed it most of the way. For this to work, he’d need to be quick.

He crossed the parking lot. His shoes were still a little damp from the night before and they made soft squishing squeaks with each step.

He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the facade of the B and B. Then he hurried up the steps and slowly opened the door.

Inside, a staircase led upstairs straight ahead of him and, to the right, a dining room held a few people eating sandwiches. He was thrown off for a moment by the sound of Elvis Presley wafting toward him. One of the diners screamed when she saw him. An older woman made eye contact with him from the dining room, then ran through a door. He ignored her and bounded up the stairs three at a time, then turned left.

A guard in a dark blue police uniform was poised at the top of the stairs. He’d heard the screaming and was reaching for his gun.

But the cop was too slow.

Reaching the landing, he swung a wrench at the side of the officer’s head, connecting with his temple and knocking him back into the hallway. He was either dead or knocked out.

He opened the door, and there she was. Sitting on the bed, hands up in self-defense. She’d heard the attack. Suddenly Danielle reached for her phone.

He leapt forward, swiped it out of her hand and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over, coughing, and he grabbed her.

In a moment, he’d zip tied her wrists and ankles. Then he slung her over his shoulder, making his way down the stairs two at a time. Luckily she hadn’t gained weight. Short and always petite, she couldn’t have been more than 110 pounds.

The old woman was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, dialing a phone.

He sped up as he careened down the stairs and she jumped out of the way.

Danielle still over his shoulder, he raced across the parking lot and tossed her in the trunk.

Her face was frozen in fear, but she managed to speak before he closed the trunk. “What… what are you going to do with me?”

He looked down at her, hating her, loving her. “Take you to see some of your friends.”

He slammed the trunk.

A couple people had gathered on the porch. Some were making calls, others recording him.

It didn’t matter now. He had her. Everything was coming together.

He peeled out of the parking lot and sped out of town, vape pen in hand, feeling higher and stronger than he ever had before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“OH NO!” Brian exclaimed.

Austin watched the young officer’s face go pale as he paced the conference room of the police station. A soft gray light filtered through the lone window, hitting the papers and laptops and coffee cups that covered the table.

He’d seen that look before on the face of a rookie officer. Something had gone very, very wrong. “What is it?” Austin asked.

“No no no! Damnit!” Brian let the phone fall away from his ear briefly and closed his eyes tight, then raised it again. “We’ll send someone right out. Tell your guests not to leave their rooms.” He ended the call and looked at Austin, his face ghostly. “Luciano is dead. Francesca is missing. Someone… I don’t know.”

Austin leapt up from the chair, bumping the table with his long legs and spilling coffee everywhere. “Danielle. Call the officer on her door at the B and B.”

Brian was already dialing.

Austin waited as the phone rang once, twice, three times.

“He’s not picking up,” Brian said, his voice full of urgency.

But now Austin’s phone was ringing. He didn’t recognize the number but he answered immediately. “Hello?”

“This is Mavis. Something has gone terribly wrong.”

Austin bolted for the door, putting his hand over the phone and shouting at Drew. “Call the officers Drew sent for Greg and Stone, I’m going to the B and B.” David was in the bathroom, but Austin wasn’t going to wait for him.

He ran out of the police station and across the parking lot to his truck, phone to his ear. “Mavis, what happened? Mavis? Can you hear me? Damnit!” The call had dropped.

The drive was only a couple minutes, but it took what seemed like forever. The rain had abated, turning into a light drizzle with high winds, but a few stores had opened for business and more cars were on the road than the previous day.

When he finally screeched to a halt in front of the B and B, Mavis stood on the porch passing her phone from one hand to the other. Her face told him everything.

Stomach twisting, he jogged up to her, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Tell me she’s alive,” he said. “Please tell me that.”

Mavis sat on the steps. “Ambulance on its way. Officer was hit… he’s… breathing… I didn’t hear a gunshot.”

“What about Danielle?” Austin asked.

“She’s gone. He had her. A man. Red ski mask.”

“I need to know exactly what happened, but first let’s go check on the officer.”

Mavis stood. Austin followed her up the stairs, where a middle-aged Asian woman Austin recognized as one of the other guests knelt over the wounded officer. He didn’t appear to be moving.

“Is he alive?” Austin asked.

She glanced up. “Yes. He’ll have a concussion, and he needs stitches.”

The officer raised a hand slowly, offering a weak thumbs up. He opened his eyes as he turned his head, revealing a bloody gash near his temple. “White male, mid twenties, I think. Hit me with something… I don’t know. A hammer or piece of metal or something. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You hold tight,” Mavis said. “Ambulance will be here soon.”

“Thank God the storm has quieted a bit,” the doctor said, rising. “He needs stitches ASAP.”

Austin hurried down the stairs with Mavis and began barking orders. “We don’t have enough officers to do this the right way,” he said, “so Mavis, I need your help. Anyone who saw anything, anyone who—”

“A couple people took videos, they might have—”

“Good,” Austin said. “Please get everything you can. Videos, pictures. Anything you or anyone saw. Text it to me. ASAP.” He turned for the door.

“But where are you going?” Mavis called.

“To check on another victim, or maybe the killer.”

Austin pulled into Chad’s driveway and stopped behind his Tesla. He’d picked up Brian and David at the station and the three now sat in silence, contemplating their next move.

Greg wasn’t answering his phone anymore, and Austin feared the worst. The officer who’d been sent to the hotel to check on him had gotten stuck in a patch of mud on the shoulder of 305 while trying to go around a fallen tree.

“Brian, you stay here,” Austin said. “DMJ.” He nodded toward the house.

Austin heard Cupcake’s explosive barks as soon as he opened the door of his truck. Chad greeted them on the front porch.

Austin watched his eyes.

Chad scanned to the truck, then to Brian, then to Austin. “I thought you’d agreed to stop harassing me,” he said.

“Have you heard anything?” Austin asked.

“About what?”

David pressed up into his chest. “You arranged for all of Danielle’s lovers to be on the island and you’re taking them out, one by one.”

Chad smiled, glancing at Austin. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Austin grabbed David’s shoulder. When they’d first met Chad, Austin thought he might be their killer, David thought not. Now, their roles were reversed.

As sketchy as Chad was, Austin didn’t think him capable of the kind of evil being perpetrated here. And he believed David was letting his personal feelings get in the way of his judgment. Still, it wasn’t a bad idea to play a little good cop, bad cop.

“Has anyone been around?” Austin asked. “Have you seen anyone suspicious or received any threats?”

“What is this good cop, drunk cop?” Chad backed into the house and pointed at David. “Only threats I’m getting are from this guy.”

Austin let out a low, slow breath. “Look, Francesca is missing, Danielle is, too. Luciano was killed overnight. And we don’t know where Greg is. I—”

Austin turned when he heard a car door slam. Brian was making his way up the steps. “Just got off with the hotel. Greg is not there. All his stuff is still in the room, but he’s gone. They checked his keycard and it wasn’t used. Surveillance cameras show him leaving alone at four in the morning. He simply walked out of the hotel. They don’t have cameras in the parking lot.”

“Damnit,” Austin said, dropping his eyes to the porch.

“Lured out,” David said. “My bet is that whoever is behind this got him to leave, posing as Danielle or something. We all saw that Greg isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

That was possible, but it was also possible that Greg had left his room at four in the morning, killed Luciano, kidnapped Francesca, then taken Danielle.

David moved into the doorway, his posture menacing. “You are the only one of Danielle’s romantic partners who hasn’t been killed or disappeared. Do you see how that looks?”

Chad’s smirk had faded. His face had gone blank. “What about Stone?”

Austin said, “We don’t actually know about him.” He put a hand on David’s shoulder. “Settle down.”

Brian said, “Someone is on the way out to Stone’s now.”

David said, “Here’s a thought: Rich island boy Chaddy-Chad-Chadworth is used to getting everything he wants. Money. Women. Power. He dates someone who then comes into money of her own. She doesn’t need him anymore. Now she’s someone he can’t control. So he hatches a plan to take out all her other lovers, one by one.”

Chad scoffed. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Austin’s phone dinged with a text message from Mavis. It was a video. “Stay here,” he ordered Chad, waving Brian up to the door.

At the bottom of Chad’s steps, Austin pressed play. David joined him, watching over his shoulder. It was shaky, the angle poor, but the video showed a white sedan peeling out of the parking lot. There was no view of the driver except for a yellow raincoat hood from behind.

“Can you zoom in on the plate?” David asked.

Austin did, but it was too blurry to make out. He forwarded the message to Samantha, asking if she could run software on it to get a better view. Most likely, she’d be able to isolate and enhance the plate number.

Brian’s phone rang and Austin watched his face drop, then turn even paler than before. He hung up without saying a word.

Austin walked back up the stairs, where Chad was looking quizzically at the whole scene.

“Stone?” Austin asked.

“He’s dead,” Brian said. “Shot once through the back of the head in his workshop. Officer at the scene said it looked at least a few hours old, likely five or six.”

Austin felt his chest tighten, his head start to throb. He struck the side of the house once as hard as he could with an open palm.

Cupcake growled.

Chad sat on his doorstep.

David paced the porch.

Brian stared at his phone like it might contain the answer to some unasked question.

“Brian,” Austin said at last. “Stay here. Don't let Chad leave. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s his lawyer. I’ll send you the video. Put it out to any officers who are working and can get around the island. Put it out in the Facebook groups, message boards, whatever.”

Brian said, “They’ve already been looking for a white sedan, though I guess it’ll help to have a photo. Most people are still staying home.”

“Try anyway,” Austin said. “We’re out of other options.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“WHO WAS it who said it’s always darkest right before dawn? I mean before Ishmael.” David passed an empty beer bottle from one hand to the other.

“I think I remember that from a Bob Dylan song my mom used to play all the time,” Austin said.

“I said before Ishmael. Maybe it’s from the Bible.”

Austin shrugged. He was in no mood for trivia.

“Anyway,” David said. “It sure wasn’t true for Captain Ahab.”

They’d been sitting in the dining room of the B and B for over an hour, talking in circles. Not only had the investigation taken an unexpected turn for the worse, so had the storm. The winds had picked up, carrying a new onslaught of rain. Mavis had assured them it was still supposed to let up by the end of the day, but that was little comfort. Austin hoped David’s saying proved true because, at this point, they couldn’t even get out to patrol the island.

Mavis returned from the kitchen and set down a fresh cup of coffee, then pulled up a chair next to him. “Wind shifted, they’re saying. Should blow over soon.” She paused as the wind howled against the old windows and the occasional branch struck the roof. “This is the worst of it.”

“How is it,” David wondered aloud, “that the world produces guys like Chadsworth Buckmintser? Rich, handsome, multiple girlfriends, and all he wants is to get richer by building dozens or hundreds of new homes on an island where the people don’t want them.”

“And it looks like he’s bribing half the people in the state to make it happen,” Austin said. He wasn’t as bitter about it as he sounded. That wasn’t his case and, in the scheme of things, not on his list of top concerns.

“Thing is,” Mavis said, nibbling the edge of a cookie, “we need the housing. Lived here for thirty years. Always been a tension between the existing homeowners wanting to keep things as they are and slow growth, and the fact that no one can afford to live here. Not enough homes, not enough rentals. Not enough—”

“It’s not like old Chaddy Boy is building affordable housing units,” David said. “Brian said he’s developing five thousand square foot mansions. Probably for his buddies in the tech industry in Seattle to hold cocaine-fueled orgies on the weekend.”

Mavis covered her ears and frowned at David’s empty beer bottle. She was growing annoyed with him, or maybe just at the situation.

Austin glanced around the dining room. All the other guests were upstairs in their rooms, so he felt free to talk about the case. “We know that someone arranged for all the people Danielle was dating to be on the island. Greg with the phony email about a job offer. The Italians with the winery thing. And the killer knew Stone would be here from his Instagram post and, presumably, that Danielle and Doogie and Chad would be here. But why take some and kill the others?”

“This is where I excuse myself,” Mavis said. “I’m no help, and I want to check in on Officer Johnson anyway.”

Austin nodded. He’d been taken to urgent care just before the storm worsened.

David stood and walked over to the bookcase, lacing his hands behind his back. “Remember that book I mentioned once, about the psychology of killers, torturers?”

“You told me about a lot of books.”

“It was called Weakness Turned Outward, or something like that. The argument was that to torture someone the way the killer did Doogie, the killer has to feel deeply weak and vulnerable on some level, he—” David turned and held up a hand to silence Austin, who’d stood up to object. “Hear me out, lemme finish. The killer has a deep sense of vulnerability, of weakness, even though he or she is not aware of it. And the killer soothes that by having power over others.”

“Maybe,” Austin said. “You and I always parted ways on the psychologizing of killers. I mean, fine, but so what?”

“Let’s go back to the original scene,” David said. “Killer executes Michael first. He posed the greatest risk. Then he executes Priya, then tortures Doogie. With the Italians, he executes the man, snatches the woman. At least, that’s the way it seems as of this moment. With Stone, as physically intimidating as Michael, just in terms of sheer size, the killer executes him straight up. With Greg, smaller, weaker, less intimidating, the killer snatches him. Why?”

“Well, the killer didn’t snatch Greg. He walked out of his hotel room at four in the morning.”

David said, “Right, but I still think the killer somehow convinced him to come to the parking lot or something.”

“Maybe.” Austin blew on his coffee, tasted it to confirm it was cool enough, then swigged half the cup in one gulp. “Why leave Chad behind? Unless Chad is the one who arranged it all.”

“I guess there are two options. Either Chad was the guy the whole time, or for some reason the killer doesn’t want him or, more likely, couldn’t get to him. Like him or not, Chad is smart, his house has an alarm and a protective dog. Quite possible that last night, the killer went to take out Chad and failed.”

Austin studied his friend, who was making sense but his eyes were wild, his clothes disheveled. Austin was thankful Mavis had run out of beer. “I thought you believed Chad was behind it.”

David sighed. “I don’t know. I think we had this wrong from the jump. We thought someone she was dating killed Doogie out of jealousy. But I still think we were right that it’s personal. What if there is more than one person involved?”

Austin stood and walked to the window, watching the rain coming in sideways and battering everything in its path. “This is a solo act. We’re looking for one person. My bet is that if there were two or more people involved, the killer wouldn’t have had to kill the strongest links.”

“So if it’s not one of the boyfriends or Francesca, that doesn’t leave much of anyone, except…”

“Right there with you,” Austin said. “Danielle had little life beyond the company and the people she was dating. The people at the company are dead, the people she’s dating are either dead or missing.”

“Or Chad.”

“Right,” Austin agreed. “Or Chad. And right now at least, I’m off of Chad. My gut says he’s just not a psycho. And with Brian on his door, he’s not going anywhere. So we’re left with one place to look.”

David said, “Her past.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DESPITE THE PHONE lines being down and the power being off on a third of the island, the internet still worked and Samantha’s young, round face looked crystal clear on Mavis’ laptop.

“How is it that the power is out, we’re running on one-quarter power on a backup generator, and yet we have Internet access?” Austin asked.

Samantha, who’d connected with them from the Kitsap Sheriff’s office, sighed as though explaining to a six-year-old why they can’t have ice cream for dinner. “Cable. Underground. Can we get to it? I have some info here.”

Austin nodded. He and David huddled around the laptop as Samantha studied her screen. David had switched from beer to coffee and was now on his third, matching Austin cup for cup. Samantha hadn’t been able to isolate a license plate number from the video Austin sent, but he hoped she’d had better luck looking into the Progeny of God.

“These folks are not super online,” she said. “From what I can tell, when the leader died—Mark Dreggs I think his name was—they kinda scattered. It wasn’t one of those cults with a big infrastructure, money tucked away and all that. This really was a mom-and-pop operation.”

“Tell me you found something, though,” Austin said. “Anything. This storm will blow through enough that we can go out again soon, and we are at a dead end. And when the bridge opens and the ferries start running…”

“Can you get to your email?” Samantha asked.

Austin nodded. “Still have cellphone service, though it’s spotty.”

“I’m sending you a list. Everyone I could find with a connection to the cult who is still alive and still in the state. Records of home ownership, police records, which were thin, DMV—”

“Anyone have a white sedan?” David asked.

Samantha shook her head. “That was the first thing I checked. Sorry.”

Austin opened the email app on his phone, where Samantha’s message had just arrived. He opened the attachment, which appeared to be dozens of pages long. “Can you give me the executive summary?” He waited. “Samantha?”

The screen had frozen. Austin ended the video call and reconnected.

Back on the screen, Samantha said, “You didn’t give me anything to narrow it down, so it’s tough. Basically, from what I could gather, Danielle’s ex-husband, Mark Dreggs, had six children from previous marriages before marrying Danielle. As you know, he and Danielle had no children. So, even though some were older than her, technically they were her step children. One is dead, Peter. He was the oldest. The other five children are all potential suspects, I guess, though I don’t have much on them other than locations. Two daughters, three sons. Then there are a dozen or so cousins. Everyone there was everyone else’s cousin. Some a little younger than her, some older. A few of the parents—the first generation who came up with Dreggs in the eighties and nineties—are still around. They’re in the file, too.”

David tapped the desk, annoyed. “Nothing on motive, though?”

Samantha said, “Motive? I mean, they all have motive, I guess. She left the cult, which they view as a great crime. But why not kill her? From what you’ve told me of the case, the killer had plenty of opportunity. Why kill everyone around her?”

Samantha was right, and that’s why Austin had kept coming back to the boyfriends. If someone in the cult was upset with Danielle, why kill her boyfriends and business partners?

“Thanks,” Austin said. “Quick change of subject. What would you do if you had a USB drive containing tens of thousands of pages of documents—some from the FBI, some from the NYPD—relating to a massive investigation into a drug-smuggling crime family?” He cleared his throat. “Theoretically speaking.”

Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Assuming I wasn’t supposed to have the documents? That I’d received the documents nefariously?”

“Assuming that,” Austin said.

“First, I wouldn’t talk about it over a video call. And second, remember what we did at Best Buy? The laptop?”

Samantha had helped Austin pick out a secure laptop that he’d used to connect with Michael Lee, the source who’d given David the USB drive before being killed.

“I remember,” Austin said.

“I’d do that again. But a little differently. You have to make sure it’s not connected to any network, to the Internet. That it can’t be connected to the Internet.”

Austin nodded. “If I ever get off this island, I’ll be looking to hire you again. Off the record, off the books.”

Samantha looked skeptical. “I’ll have to clear it with Lucy. And, I’m not getting myself involved in anything illegal.”

Austin nodded. “And keep digging on the Progeny of God.” He was scrolling through the files she’d put together, which had photos of some of Danielle’s step children and cousins. As much as he wanted to see the face of an obvious killer, they all looked pretty normal.

“Will do,” Samantha said.

Austin was about to close the laptop and end the call when Samantha said, “Austin, be careful. I don’t know if any of these folks are part of this or not, but these kids were tortured. Maybe one of them is a killer now, but they were tortured. Not with power tools and duct tape maybe. But…”

She trailed off.

“What?” Austin asked.

“Isolated from the world, raised to worship a drunken leader who claims to speak for Jesus, to be a descendent of Jesus. Married off as young as thirteen to other members of the cult. Rape. Probably beatings. Indoctrination. I’m all for religious liberty, but this was a massive failure by the state. Never should have been allowed to go on as long as it did. You’ll see in the records, there are police reports on these bastards going back as early as 2002. The Dreggs kids, Danielle’s former step children: they were tortured by a powerful man surrounded by brainwashed yet complicit enablers.”

David had been quiet a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was sad. “And the only thing that eventually broke them was Danielle’s courage to run away.”

Austin closed the laptop and looked down at the images of the Dreggs family. Some of the photos were from local newspaper clippings from years ago, one was a mugshot from a drunk driving arrest a decade prior, others were cobbled together from recent social media.

Nothing jumped out, and Austin felt more lost than ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“WHAT’S the deal with Fern’s friend?” Austin asked Brian. “Teddy, I think it was. Anything on that yet?”

“Reached his parents.” Brian sighed. “It’s a long story. We had a bit of back and forth. They said the kid was grounded. They’d taken his phone. They don’t know the password, and now he’s not speaking with them.”

Austin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You told them this is for a murder investigation, right?”

Brian looked embarrassed. “The kid’s dad, Mr. Johnson. He was the principal of the high school back when I went there. I got suspended for selling weed. That was only like six years ago. I think he still holds a grudge against me. And you know how people are now. Blame cops for everything. Said he is consulting his lawyer about the proper course of action and said Teddy won’t open his phone.”

Austin walked over to Brian and put his hands on his shoulders. “Brian. This is an investigation into five murders, multiple disappearances. Threaten, cajole, do whatever is required to get that kid to open his phone and send us any and all photos that might pertain to this case.”

Brian scurried away, leaving Austin alone in the conference room. The storm appeared to be ending, and though the winds were still strong, they’d been able to meet back up at the police station.

Officer Johnson, whose wife still hadn’t gone into labor, had taken over for Brian guarding Chad’s door.

Austin heard voices in the hallway. A man and a woman, then a younger voice, one he recognized. It was Fern and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Creighton.

Austin hurried out and knew immediately that they had something. Mr. Creighton was holding up a phone as though he’d discovered the meaning of life and was there to present it to the world.

“Here!” he said, his dreadlocks swaying with his excited head bob. “We got the photo.”

Austin held up both hands to slow their approach. They all stopped in the hallway and it took Austin a moment to take in their appearance before he could move to the phone. Fern wore black slacks and a button-up white shirt. His short hair was gelled in place such that he would have looked at home at a meeting for high schoolers interested in internships in the finance industry. His father, who called himself Gentle Wind Creighton, wore baggy brown pants that appeared to be made of linen or hemp, a coarse rope serving as a belt. His mother was dressed in jeans and the same Che Guevara t-shirt she’d been wearing on the video call.

“Okay,” Austin said. “What happened?”

Fern said, “Mr. Austin, I Googled you, and let me say, mad respect. You’ve busted like three killers since you moved here.”

“Um, thank you,” Austin said. “The photo?”

“Teddy’s parents have been all over his ass for smoking weed. Took his phone and—”

“We went over that,” Austin said impatiently.

“Right,” Fern said. “When his parents went to sleep he stole back his phone and texted me the photo.”

“May I see it?” Austin asked.

Mr. Creighton handed Fern the phone. He swiped it open using Face ID and handed it to Austin.

The photo showed a young man smiling and holding a joint. It had been taken at night with a flash, so his face was lit unnaturally, his eyes red. Typical stoned teenager picture.

It was what was behind him that was of interest. The white sedan sat in the frame to the right, parked along the side of the road.

“Where was the photo taken?” Austin demanded.

“About a block from Murden Cove. From where…” Fern’s voice cracked. He’d been full of confidence, and the weight of what had happened seemed to hit him all at once.

“What time?”

“So, we left McDonald’s at like ten. Photo would have been… oh wait… here.” He took the phone from Austin, clicked a couple times and handed it back. “Metadata.”

Austin saw that the photo had been taken at 10:49 PM. This put the white sedan at the crime scene not long before the murders. He figured that the killer knew where Danielle was staying and may have even planned to do the killing at the rental house. Perhaps he’d been sitting in his car, mustering the will to go through with his plan, when he’d seen Danielle walking arm-in-arm with Doogie, headed for the water. What still made no sense was why Danielle had been left alive.

Austin zoomed in on the sedan, which was mostly dark and shadowed. But on the rear right bumper, there was a sticker, which had caught just enough stray light from the flash to be visible. It was an intricate symbol, difficult to make out, but as he zoomed in he was fairly sure he could make out three letters, intertwined with a thin snake and three stars connected with thin lines.

The initials were P.O.G.

Progeny of God.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“DANIELLE, SHALL WE PRAY TOGETHER?” He stood over her, admiring her blonde hair, tied into a neat ponytail. She sat on a wooden chair, rain dripping through the slats in the roof of the old barn and forming small puddles around her. “I believe you still remember your prayers.”

She shook her head but said nothing.

“It’s normal to be reluctant at first, but I know you remember them.”

He pushed her off the chair and forced her to her knees. Then he grabbed her zip tied wrists and forced her palms together in the sign of prayer. Her face shook, but her hands were steady. “You look just like you did as a little girl. How about we warm up with a song?”

She said nothing. He got on his knees and assumed the same position. He hadn’t imagined ending up in a barn, but it was absolutely perfect.

The walls were made up of old, weathered wood and the beams were thick and full of character, some of them with names carved into them from years gone by. The center of the barn had a large open space, now filled with a variety of woodworking tools and equipment. The windows were small and covered with cobwebs, letting in a bit of natural light. The air was musty and damp, but still held a hint of sawdust and wood shavings. The smell of wood and oil was strong and comforting. A half-finished armoir sat on a tarp in the corner.

“Let’s sing an old favorite,” he said. “Real Real Real.”

He watched Danielle’s face twitch. “Never,” she hissed.

He thought she was trying to sound strong, but he knew he was breaking her down.

“Actually, right now,” he said, glancing at Francesca, who lay in the dirt next to her severed pinky finger. “Don’t make me take another finger from your friend.”

He began to sing and Danielle joined in through tears. But that was okay. The tears would dry but the music would live on in their hearts forever.

Come follow the Lord, be part of his group.

Give your life to his cause, so his glory takes root.

He's the one and only, the path and the way,

He’ll give you salvation and a brighter day.

No longer a dream, he’s real, real, real.

No longer a vision, he’s real, real, real.

Two thousand years later, Lord Jesus will heal,

In the form of our father, he’s real, real, real.

The words soothed him, refreshed him, took him back to a better time. A time when his father watched over him and his brothers and sisters. A time before Danielle strayed, tempted by evil, and brought everything to an end.

He continued:

Let us join in the hymn, we will sing of his love…

Danielle had stopped singing along. He reached out and grabbed her jaw, moving it up and down as though she were a doll. “Sing along, Danielle. Remember what father said, ‘If you find yourself doubting, sing until belief fills your heart.’ Your friend can’t play violin without fingers.”

Danielle’s head moved in the direction of Francesca. The Italian girl was still passed out on the dirt floor where he’d left her, ankle tied to a giant saw at the edge of the barn. Of course, she couldn’t see her friend—her lover—but she could probably smell her perfume.

He began to sing again, and this time Danielle joined in quietly.

Let us join in the hymn, we will sing of his love

A song of devotion to our Lord up above.

We will worship his name and proclaim his might

never faltering from faith, we’ll sing in the light.

No longer a dream, he’s real, real, real.

No longer a vision, he’s real, real, real.

Two thousand years later, Lord Jesus will heal,

In the form of our father, he’s real, real, real.

Her voice was soft, but—despite her recent behavior—still full of the innocence he’d known as a boy. “Thank you, Danielle. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I knew you still remembered.” He stroked her hair. “But your reluctance disappointed me.” He turned, taking a sweeping look across the old barn. Francesca was still passed out, but Greg… Greg was wide awake and alert.

Hands and feet bound with duct tape, he was tied to a giant lathe in the center of the barn, face shaking, hair damp from a leak in the wooden slats above him that allowed fat globs of water to fall directly onto him.

“Are you ready to atone, Danielle?”

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

Her voice was defiant. He liked that. She hadn’t said more than a few words. And when he’d taken Francesca’s finger with a table saw, she’d only screamed savage curses at him.

His father had liked what he’d called her “feisty spirit.” She had “God’s gusto,” he’d said. And as long as it could be channeled—tamed—that was fine. His father had failed to tame it.

He would not fail.

“Three things,” he said, rising from his knees, “and three things only. Repent for all your sins. To God, first, and to me, as the lineage holder of the Progeny. Second—”

She spat in his general direction, but he was too far away to be hit. “Lineage holder? Are you serious?”

He ignored the outburst. She would come around. He was sure of that. “Second, dedicate yourself to making amends for the harm you did by serving the members of the community of God’s children. We will regather the Progeny and rebuild the community.”

Danielle now looked more surprised than anything. “Even if I agreed to that, your people would never take me back. They despise me.”

“You did a despicable thing, but they have forgiveness in their hearts, as I do. And that leads me to the third requirement, unless you want to hear your lovers scream again.”

He waited as Danielle’s face twisted in anger, then pain. He’d always loved watching her because she didn’t know he was watching her.

“The third thing is that you acknowledge my rightful claim to you as a wife by marrying me.”

Her face was blank. He knew that she might agree to the first two conditions, or at least pretend to in order to save her friends. But this one, this one was the true test. And he’d stay here until she passed.

“Never,” she said quietly. “I’d rather die.”

He walked over to a large metal tool cabinet and carefully selected a shiny nail gun with a blue handle. He unwound the cord, plugged it into a long orange extension cord, and walked over to Danielle.

Pressing the gun into a wooden workbench next to her, he shot off a single nail. It hissed and popped.

Danielle jumped.

“That was a nail gun going into a bench. What sound do you think it will make when it goes into Greg’s shin bone?”

He walked over to Greg, who shook violently. He appeared to be in some kind of panic.

“No, please,” she said. “I agree. I’ll agree to whatever. Please.”

He knew she was lying. She needed to understand the suffering she’d caused. She needed to hurt more.

As he approached Greg with the nail gun, he finished the song.

No longer a dream, he’s real, real, real.

No longer a vision, he’s real, real, real.

Greg squirmed and kicked.

He stepped to the side, bashed him across the head with the butt of the nail gun, then quickly shot a nail into his leg. He missed the shin bone, but heard the satisfying thunk of nail into flesh.

Greg screamed in pain. Francesca stirred to life. Danielle sobbed uncontrollably.

He finished the song.

Two thousand years later, Lord Jesus will heal,

In the form of our father, he’s real, real, real.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AUSTIN PULLED up to the waterfront house just as the sun cut through the clouds. It had been about three days since he’d seen the sun and he blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light.

Fern’s friend Teddy lived with his parents in a little bungalow facing the water on Manitou Beach Drive. One of the smaller houses in the area, it was more Austin’s style. One story, with cedar shingles and a small garden where unripened tomatoes had been knocked off the vine by the storm.

He’d called ahead, and they met him on the porch, inviting him into a cozy living room.

Brian and David were a quarter mile away, probably knocking on Chad’s door by this point. They’d decided that since Chad was the only person close to Michelle who was still safe, they needed to speak with him about her past. Maybe she’d mentioned a specific family member, for example. Or said something about the cult that she’d not told Austin.

Austin thought they’d have better luck with Teddy, whose parents had finally relented and agreed to a full interview. People often remembered more than they thought, and he hoped he could get something out of Teddy now that he’d seen the photo.

Mr. and Mrs. Oliphant introduced themselves and called Teddy into the living room. The teenager wore baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt for the band Sublime. His brown hair was greasy and unwashed and his face held a scowl that told Austin he was there against his will.

“We have the photograph,” Mrs. Oliphant said, “and Teddy is ready to cooperate fully.”

Austin wavered between relief and anger. “About time.”

“Spare us,” Mr. Oliphant said. “You have no right to search his phone and you know it. We are now cooperating voluntarily because we’re sure Teddy and Fern have no legal jeopardy.”

Teddy shoved his hands in his pockets then, after a long pause, pulled out his phone. “The photo. Here.” He swiped it open and handed it to Austin.

“I already saw this,” Austin said. It was the one Fern had shown him.

“Oh, I didn’t know he…” Teddy shrugged as though all of this was a waste of his time.

Austin pressed on. “I’m hoping you can think back to that night. Any little detail might help. Did you see anyone around the neighborhood?”

“No.”

“You were walking around for a while, though, right?”

Teddy nodded. “McDonald’s, then all the way back to the neighborhood.”

“Any chance you saw this car driving in the area?” He held Teddy’s phone up in front of his face. “Look carefully. Maybe you saw it, saw a driver.”

“Dude, I wasn’t paying any attention to the cars.”

Mr. Oliphant said, “People are saying on Facebook that the murders took place after midnight. Fern slept over that night and they were back before midnight.”

“So,” Austin said, “they caught the car before the murders. When the killer was waiting.”

The front half of the car was almost completely black, much too dark to make out whether anyone was in the driver’s seat. “Did you see anyone in the car?” Austin asked. “See any movement, hear anything unusual?”

Teddy shook his head. “I didn’t even notice it at the time. I mean, it’s just a car, right?”

“Did you see anyone in the neighborhood?” Austin handed him back the phone. “Anyone you didn’t recognize on the walk back from McDonald’s?”

Teddy shook his head. “I feel like you’re repeating yourself.”

Austin gave him a hard stare. “People are dead. Others are missing.”

Teddy shut his eyes tight. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“And you didn’t hear anything unusual?” Austin asked. “Power tools, screams, anything?”

“We told you,” Mrs. Oliphant said, growing angry. “He was at home when the murders happened.”

“Wait… there was something.” Teddy opened his eyes, then closed them again and began humming a tune, quietly at first, then louder.

Austin didn’t recognize it.

Teddy said, “You know when you get a song, like, stuck in your head and you find yourself singing it, but you don’t know why, then later you realize it was playing in the grocery store or elevator or whatever? Always happens with garbage songs and it’s so annoying.”

Austin nodded.

“We were high, okay? I was half out of it. Everything was all colors and jokes and… I heard that song. That tune.” He began humming again. Then, frustrated, said, “It’s from the eighties or maybe the seventies. Something about West Virginia.”

This time Austin recognized it for sure. It was Take Me Home, Country Roads. He asked, “How did you get it in your head? Where was it coming from?”

Teddy sat on a plush leather chair. He stared down at his phone for a long time. “It could have been… I’m trying to remember. At first I thought maybe it had been on in the McDonald’s, but I don’t think so. I remember they were playing like PG-13 rap music. I think it was coming from this car.” He pointed at the sedan in the picture on his phone.

Austin walked behind the chair and leaned over him, pointing at the car. “So, lemme get this straight. You were strolling along Manitou Beach Drive, toward Murden Cove. You stopped to take a photo, posing with the joint you’re smoking, and you think you heard this song playing?”

“Real quiet, though, like I heard it but didn’t even know I heard it. Can’t really tell from the photos, but I think the windows were rolled up.”

Austin didn’t think there was any way to enhance the photo to see inside the car, and even if they could it would likely only be the back of someone’s head. But at least now he had one more piece. Waiting before the murders, the killer had likely had the radio on, just loud enough to waft into the night and hit Teddy’s stoned ears as he posed for a picture.

He thanked the Oliphants, made them promise to be in touch immediately if Teddy remembered anything else, and walked out to his truck.

On his way out the door, on a whim, he texted Samantha.

Is there any way to connect any of the Progeny of God folks to the John Denver Song, Take Me Home, Country Roads. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.

He pressed send and headed for his truck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“BRIAN, YOU’RE DOING A HELLUVA JOB,” David said, a semi-phony grin plastered across his face. “Especially for your first year on the job. I mean, this is your first big case, right?”

“It is,” Brian said, pulling into Chad’s driveway. “And thanks. We’re not all like Drew.”

Officer Johnson sat on a folding chair on Chad’s porch and he waved as they got out of the car. “Good timing! Wife thinks the baby is coming any minute now.”

Brian called, “Hasn’t she been saying that for like a week?”

They took the steps and joined Officer Johnson on the porch.

David hoped he’d buttered up the young officer enough. “So, here’s my thought, Brian. I have a keen interest in getting Chad to talk to me. As you’ve seen, he’s, well, let’s be honest, an utter piece of crap. My thinking is that I go in alone, that way I can really press him. You don’t want to be part of this. Could get you in trouble.”

“Could get you in trouble, too,” Brian said.

Something was off. David scanned the porch and back to the driveway, where Chad’s Tesla was parked as expected. David usually knew to trust his gut when something didn’t feel right. Figuring out specifically what wasn’t right was a different story. “I’ll be back in New York in two days. His lawyers aren’t going to mess with me there.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Brian said. He didn’t wait for an answer. He headed back down the steps the way they’d come.

“Yeah,” David said. “I think I can handle myself.”

“What about the dog?” Brian asked.

David stopped, finger on the doorbell.

“It could be—”

“Quiet,” David said. “Listen. The dog in the nighttime.”

“It’s daytime,” Officer Johnson said.

David eyed him. “Why isn’t the dog barking?”

Officer Johnson looked flustered. “It was, I mean it did. It…”

David rang the doorbell three times in quick succession. “Is he in there?”

Officer Johnson seemed surprised. “I… yeah… I think so.”

David smashed the doorbell angrily. “Why isn’t the dog barking?”

“He… I… Um…” Officer Johnson was on his feet now, banging on the door.

David checked the windows, but the curtains were drawn. He rang the doorbell again. Nothing. No Chad, no barking from Cupcake.

David took Officer Johnson by the shoulders and got right in his face. “I’m assuming he didn’t walk out the front door. Even you would have noticed that. When was the last time you heard something?”

“Oh, damn.” He seemed to have just realized the gravity of his failure. “He… I swear it was maybe fifteen minutes ago. Package delivery. Dog went nuts.” He pointed at an Amazon package on the porch as though that proved his point.

“Did the delivery person ring the bell?” David asked.

“No, just came in and left it. Dog went nuts from the moment the gate was opened until the moment the driver pulled away. Very protective.”

Brian tried to say something, but David was already gone. He jogged around the side of the house, past flower beds and a little rock garden with a stone statue of the Buddha. Off the back of the house was a deck that led to a sliding glass door and into the kitchen. It was locked.

David considered breaking through it, but thought better of it. There had to be an easier way. He raced around to the other side of the house, finding a wooden door that led into what he thought was an office. Planting his left foot in the gravel, he kicked violently, just below the metal door knob. The door jolted and cracked, but stuck.

He kicked again and again, the rage building in him and being released with each kick.

Finally, it broke open and he rushed in.

Starting in the office, he checked the downstairs rooms. Then he bounded up the stairs two at a time and checked the bedrooms and TV room upstairs. No sign of a struggle and, more importantly, no sign of Chad or Cupcake.

He’d been worried that the killer had found them here.

He wasn’t sure if this was worse or better, but it was something different.

Chad had left. Or had he been taken?

In his mind, David had gone back and forth about whether Chad could possibly be involved. He had no connection to the Progeny, to Danielle’s past, but he was the kind of guy who might be able to fool David.

Back on the deck off the kitchen, he scanned the gravel path that led through the back yard and into a small stand of trees. The ground was still damp, and he found a set of footprints pointed in the direction of the street. Next to them, dog tracks.

At some point in the last fifteen minutes, Chad had left, bringing Cupcake with him. His car was still in the driveway, so he’d left on foot.

He sprinted to the front of the house, where Brian and Officer Johnson were nowhere to be found. They’d followed him into the house and were still looking around.

He hopped in Brian’s police cruiser, found the keys in the cupholder, and took off.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SITTING IN HIS TRUCK, Austin called David. “Where are you? You sound like you’re driving? Why are you driving?”

“Don’t worry, mom.”

Austin put the phone on speaker and put it in his cup holder. “David, seriously.” There was no reason for him to be behind the wheel when he had Brian to drive him. It wasn’t even legal for him to drive Brian’s patrol car.

“Chad wasn’t at his house. The damn officer on the door let him get away. Or get snatched.”

Austin ran a hand through his hair, which felt like it was getting five percent thinner each day he worked with David. “You’re sure? How did you—”

“Broke the door down. I thought he could be dead or dying in there.”

Austin gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. He mentally added a breaking and entering charge to the stack of lawsuits Chad’s lawyers had already prepared. “And now you’re…”

“Pursuing in Brian’s vehicle.”

“And Brian is…”

“Probably playing patty-cake with Officer Sit-At-The-Door.”

Austin closed his eyes tight and let out a long stream of air. “David, you—”

“Lemme just stop you there. You’ve always been the responsible one. I get it. I’m reckless. But here’s the thing. Chad left his house. Ask yourself why he would do that when he knows someone has either killed or kidnapped every single one of Danielle’s romantic partners.”

Speaking with Teddy, Austin had become fully convinced that the killer was connected to the Progeny of God. In their initial interview, Danielle had first said that her ex-husband was behind the murders. They’d confirmed that Dreggs was dead. They had hospital records, a burial site. But if not the husband, maybe another of the wives, maybe a cousin, a brother. And the sticker on the back of the white sedan was too much to overlook. Unless. “Do you think Chad could be setting it up to look like a Progeny member is behind it?”

“Would you put it past him?” David asked.

Austin didn’t reply.

Could Chad pull it off? Probably.

But would he? Austin doubted it.

But then why leave his house?

“Where are you exactly?” Austin asked.

There was a long silence and Austin imagined David scanning street signs. Driving on Bainbridge Island was very different from navigating the mean streets of New York City. Less traffic, more leisurely.

But David sounded keyed up just the same. “Sportsman Club Road. I just crossed over a two-lane highway or road. 305.”

“But what are you doing?”

“Chad left on foot. I’m going to find him.”

“Then what?” Austin asked.

David was quiet a long time. “I’ll politely and professionally, with all the courtesy a man of his wealth and position is due, ask him where the hell he’s going. And why.”

“Okay, we’re going to stay on the line. I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

DAVID WAS DOING ten miles an hour in a thirty-five zone, but no one dared pass him. No one honked. Illegally driving Brian’s cruiser gave him a certain clout, and the cars stayed well back.

He scanned every driveway, every yard, and the face of every person he saw. Assuming Chad had been at home not long before, he couldn’t have gotten far.

David drove for a few more blocks, never topping fifteen miles an hour, then circled back and tried a few side streets. He circled back again, checking the small side streets and alleys but staying on the larger roads.

Again he crossed 305 and angled onto Sportsman Club Road. He stopped at a red light, scanning in all directions. A woman pushed a stroller through a crosswalk, a pair of fit runners checked their watches while jogging in place. The residents of Bainbridge Island looked happy that, after the worst summer storm in a decade, things were slowly returning to normal. But Chad was nowhere to be seen.

Then he saw her. Not Chad. Cupcake. She sat in the back seat of a red Buick and… David scanned to the driver’s seat. The driver wore black sunglasses and a Seahawks hat, but his shit-eating smirk gave him away. It was Chad.

He’d been in the line of cars waiting at the light. The Buick was an older model, maybe from the nineties, and not his style at all, David thought. After sneaking out on foot, he’d either boosted or borrowed it.

David raised a hand to shield his face as Chad drove by. He let two more cars pass, then turned right to pick up his tail.

Following three cars back, careful not to alert Chad to his presence, David considered what he was doing. He’d meant what he’d said to Austin. At times he felt as though someone lived inside him and was trying to destroy him. Someone who watched David get sober a couple times, watched him take fewer risks at work, watched him have weeks or even months during which he was a good father, a good husband. And that someone always did what he could to tear it all down.

Traffic on the island had picked up a little, now that the storm had passed. Crews were out working on power lines and chainsawing fallen trees that had been pushed off the roads. David saw an elderly couple walking arm-in-arm, the kind that might be seventy but looked fifty, with shiny silver hair and taut skin. A young couple were walking on the grass, swatting a pickleball back and forth, presumably on their way to or from a court.

“The idyllic island is perfect for both the retired couple interested in golf and fine dining, and the young tech entrepreneur who needs easy access to Seattle.” He spoke to himself while turning onto Winslow Way and entered the little downtown area, lined with restaurants and stores. “Not to mention the excellent schools, parks, and other recreational activities for families.”

He didn’t know how he’d become such a sarcastic bastard. The truth was, this was a lovely town. Was he simply addicted to the energy of New York City? The size, the darkness, the teeming masses?

Maybe Austin was on to something. Maybe David and Miranda needed a dramatic change, a move across the country. Hey, he thought, the Bainbridge Island police force is hiring. He could talk to Lucy. He’d probably have to start at a lower salary, but…

He gave up on the thought as a blue truck ahead of him pulled into the parking lot of a large grocery store, leaving him only one car behind Chad’s red Buick.

David stayed well behind as they made their way out of the downtown and into a residential neighborhood, then turned west on Wyatt Way. He had gotten a feel for the island and knew they were nearing its center.

Actually, he realized, he’d been on this exact road before. They were heading in the direction of Stone’s house. Why would Chad be going to Stone’s house, unless he was returning to remove evidence or… but no. He’d know that there could still be police there.

Chad was a fool, but he wasn’t stupid.

Chad turned left on Blakely, heading South. They were approaching Stone’s driveway, marked with a gorgeous wooden sign, and… wait. He’d been wrong. Chad drove right past the driveway to Stone’s house.

He slowed, almost to a stop, and pulled over, idling the way people do when looking at directions or checking their phones. Had he noticed the police cruiser behind him?

David threw on a pair of sunglasses he found sitting in the cupholder and passed the idling Buick, scratching his cheek to shield his face as he did. Chad didn’t look up.

David drove slowly, checking the rearview mirror. Chad made a u-turn, then disappeared into a hidden road just past the sign for Stone’s business.

David followed. The road Chad had turned down was a one-lane mudpuddle about fifty yards past the entry to Stone’s home and business. It cut out at an angle between overgrown blackberry bushes, making it almost impossible to see from the road.

Slowly, David followed. The road was muddy but passable, weaving back and forth so he couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead at any point.

Finally, he came to a clearing.

Stopping in the road, he saw Stone’s old barn—the one they’d checked briefly during their interview with the woodworker. Chad’s car was parked out front along with a white sedan. The white sedan. A wooden door on the side of the barn was swinging shut.

He’d been right. Chad wasn’t the killer, but he’d been working with him. Had hired him.

David checked his phone. Two missed calls from Austin appeared. Must’ve come in when he was out of range. Eyes dancing between the barn and his phone, he popped off a quick text to Austin.

Tailed Chad to Stone’s house. Not the main place. Just past the turn there’s a hidden road. I guess it’s an alternate route to Stone’s main barn. Get here ASAP.

He wanted to follow Chad, but he had to be smart. He’d wait for Austin.

He tried calling, but the signal wouldn’t connect, though the text appeared to have sent.

Eyes on the barn, he waited. One minute, two minutes.

He checked the phone. Nothing.

Three minutes.

He was breathing fast. To calm himself, he recited lines of poetry in his head. Yeats. Frost. Even Shakespeare.

Five minutes had passed.

And that’s when he heard the screams.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE SCREAMS DEMANDED ATTENTION. Austin or no, David was going in.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Cupcake, David thought. Perhaps David had tied her up somewhere before heading in.

He got out of the car, leaving the door open to avoid making a sound.

Not that anyone inside the barn would have heard him. The screams were loud, gruesome, and coming from at least two people. One was a woman, the other a man. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the man might be Chad.

He crept along the side of the barn, looking for a window. Without a weapon, he needed to at least see what he was dealing with. He found a metal spike, the kind used on old railroads. He’d seen similar ones in Stone’s finishing shed and figured he repurposed them for his projects. Positioning it in his hand, he crept up to the window and peered in.

The cavernous barn had gone quiet, and he didn’t see anyone. Only large standing tools like a table saw in the center of the barn and…

He heard the high-pitched, whirring whine of a drill.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Noooooooooooo.

Simultaneous screams. The first a man’s voice. The second a woman’s.

He couldn’t see where they were coming from. They were likely in a corner of the barn.

He crouched down, set the spike on the ground and texted his old friend.

I’m going in.

“Now you’re like Jesus,” Joshua said. “In the Catholic tradition, there is a debate about the correct number. Many say four, though often it’s depicted as three to represent the Holy Trinity.” He studied Chad’s bloody hand, which he’d just stuck to a post with a 4-inch screw. “I think one will do the trick for our purposes.”

Danielle’s scream had been loud, piercing, but he liked to think of it as her sins, her crimes against God, against his father and himself, escaping from her body. His father had told him that punishment was never simply punishment. It was a service to those being punished. To teach them.

Chad was certainly learning his lesson.

Joshua stared at the rich, handsome man, who seemed to be coming in and out of consciousness. “Are you beginning to understand why what you did was wrong?”

Chad didn’t respond, so he turned to Danielle. She’d tried to cover her ears when he started the drill, but he’d ripped her hands away, promising to kill everyone in the barn if she didn’t listen. “Are you beginning to understand, Danielle?”

“I understand that you’re as sick as your father.”

Joshua shook his head. “We’ve come to the time of deciding, Danielle. These three lovers are still alive. Each has been punished for their sins.” He scanned the barn, confirming this. Greg had lost a finger and received a nail in his leg, Chad had now been screwed to a post, and Francesca… Oh, since taking a single finger he’d forgotten about Francesca. He’d been so wrapped up in singing with Danielle, he’d forgotten to punish her again.

She’d passed out long ago, but he could wake her up.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

WHY THE HELL wasn’t David picking up? Austin had called him twice and even pulled over to send him a text. On the island, like in Hansville, sometimes texts went through even when calls were going straight to voicemail.

He’d driven down the streets David mentioned multiple times, veered down side streets and checked the driveways of many of the houses in the area. Nothing.

Turning onto Winslow Way, the little downtown was bustling. Eager shoppers and diners were out and about after being pent up for days. People walked dogs and pushed strollers. Brian had told him that, online, the island was gripped with fear about the killings. From the look of the town, a good number of people weren’t worried at all. Which made sense. Brian and Drew had released a statement from the Bainbridge Police Department stating that the killings and kidnappings appeared highly targeted, not random. That gave most people the feeling of a get-out-of-jail-free card.

His phone rang and he shot a look at the caller-ID. It was Samantha.

“Hello?”

“I’ve got some info on that song, and on the extended family Danielle left behind when she left the Progeny.”

Austin took a right, heading up a slight hill past a gym and a small movie theater. “I’m listening.”

“The d—”

The call dropped and Austin redialed.

Samantha picked up immediately and continued. “The dad is definitely dead. I mean, unless he pulled off the greatest fake of his own death ever, that dude is dead. Of the sons, Danielle’s former step-sons, one took his own life soon after his dad died, one is in a mental institution and—”

“Did you confirm that?”

“Yes,” Samantha said. “I spoke with a nurse last night. Not our guy. Twin girls who still live near their former compound in Eastern Washington. They seem to have ended up somewhat normal and are all over Instagram. They’re not still Progeny members, but they seem to be starting their own version.”

“Own version of what?” Austin scanned the parking lot of a little business park, then the library. Nothing.

“Of the cult. They have a website and everything. The vibe is like Progeny mixed with feminism. Basically, they are the actual descendants of Jesus and the only ones who can interpret his message. Send twenty bucks to their PayPal account and they will direct message you a prayer.”

“I’m confused,” Austin said. “I thought Christ was celibate.”

“Not according to fringe Jesus bloodline theorists.”

Danielle had mentioned this, but it hadn’t fully struck Austin until this moment. “They believe he has real descendants?”

“Yes, and that they are those descendants. Mark Dreggs, specifically, and anyone related to him.”

Austin sighed as he turned left and drove past the high school, weaving through the parking lot, where a couple branches and a metal sign lay on the ground. “But they’re—”

“Not your guys, yeah. They were doing an Instagram Live video two nights ago from Eastern Washington. Location tag checked out. Only like nine viewers, but they say with the internet there’s now an audience for literally everything.”

Austin didn’t understand location tags especially well, but he knew Samantha did. If she said they were in Eastern Washington, then they were.

“There are various cousins and hangers-on, but I think you’re looking for the youngest son, Joshua. His picture was in the file I sent you, but I’m sending you a more recent one.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Age twenty-five, lives in Seattle in a small apartment. No white sedan registered in his name, but he’s in the area, whereabouts unaccounted for. Wait, hold on…”

“Samantha?”

Apparently she’d set the phone down because he heard her speaking with someone else. He pulled over to check his texts, to make sure he hadn’t missed any.

David still wasn’t getting back to him.

He cursed him under his breath, wishing he’d never made him part of this case. Even though they were stuck on the island, Austin should have seen that he was falling apart, that he’d do something beyond reckless this time.

Then again, it was possible he was tailing Chad somewhere with no reception.

“Austin, I’ve got something.” Samantha was back and sounded excited.

“Hit me.”

“The song you mentioned. Take Me Home Country Roads. My intern—did you know I have an intern now?—anyway, doesn’t matter. My intern just finished a scrub of Joshua Dreggs’ online presence. There isn’t much there, but he has a mostly dormant Reddit account. A year ago he posted a list of his most listened to songs on Spotify. Mostly 80s and 90s soft rock, Christian rock, and folk. Number one with a bullet? John Denver’s Take Me Home Country Roads.”

Austin gave the steering wheel a squeeze. “Then he’s our guy for sure.”

He thanked her and ended the call, then glanced down at the photo she’d texted. It was from a few years ago. A profile picture on a now-defunct social media site that had been archived. He was a normal looking twenty-something with curly brown hair and a severe facial expression, like he was thinking hard, or angry at the world. Still, there was nothing remarkable about it.

As he stared into the face of Joshua Dreggs, a new text dinged from David.

I’m going in.

Austin began angrily replying, then thought better of it and called. Straight to voicemail.

Then another text arrived.

Tailed Chad to Stone’s house. Not the main place. Just past the turn there’s a hidden road. I guess it’s an alternate route to Stone’s main barn. Get here ASAP.

Austin assumed that the first text had been sent after the second one, but they’d arrived at the same time when David got a signal for half a second.

He peeled into the road, foot heavy on the gas.

He was only five minutes from Stone’s house.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

WHEN THE MAN came into view, David knew exactly what he had to do. He was maybe twenty-five years old and looked quite a bit like the photos of Mark Dreggs David had seen online. Must be his son, David thought, and in his mind he started thinking of him as Dreggs Junior. He’d passed through the center of the barn twice. The first time his hands had been empty, the second time he’d been carrying some sort of electric hand saw.

David crouched down again, listening to the birds and the gentle breeze, which rustled the leaves on a small stand of apple trees nearby. He had no choice.

Creeping back to the door where Chad had entered, he positioned the stake in his hand. He waited, listening to his breaths. The moment the grating sound of the saw began, he pushed through the door into the barn. It screeched, but likely not loud enough to be heard over the saw.

The barn was dark, mostly shadowed, with a soft light streaming through the one window. In the far corner, he saw the man, saw in hand, standing over a woman. It was Francesca, the Italian woman they’d interviewed at the winery.

Glancing right, he saw Chad, his hand bloody, collapsed next to a wooden post. Near him, Danielle looked alert, her head tilted toward him. Likely she’d heard the door creak.

He took three quiet steps, hoping to catch him by surprise. Francesca’s eyes moved to him and the man spun suddenly, wielding the saw, which was cordless.

Everything went still for a moment.

Then, spike in hand, he charged.

Dreggs Junior waved the saw at him wildly, pressing the trigger and causing the blades to let out a screeching metallic grinding. The decision came in an instant: give up part of the body to gain position and end this thing quickly.

Angling his shoulder, he rushed Dreggs, trying to deflect any blow from the saw. It worked. The saw connected with his shoulder, but the blade slowed while ripping through his shirt. Swinging wildly, he thrust the stake at the man’s side. It didn’t connect, but it was enough to get him to leap to the side and drop the saw.

Now it was a fair fight.

Tossing the spike aside, David held up his fists like he was going to box, then suddenly rushed again, smashing Dreggs Junior back into a workbench. Hand tools tumbled and crashed off in all directions.

Then he felt a sharp jolt of pain through his groin. Dreggs Junior had kneed him.

Dropping to his knees, he managed to pull Dreggs Junior down with him, rolling on top of him and connecting with a vicious elbow across his jaw. They rolled across the damp ground of the barn floor, jockeying for position, no one able to gain the upper hand.

Finally, David managed to pin him.

Pressing his wrists into the dirt, he cast around wildly. “Chad, throw me that rope.”

In the chaos, a rope and a few tools had been knocked within reach of Chad.

Dreggs Junior tried to kick out of the pin, but David managed to stay on top of him. Barely. “Chad! Help!”

Chad reached for something, but not a rope. A small knife had ended up on the ground near Chad and he was trying to pick it up with his feet to cut his hand free of the duct tape that had been used to attach it to a post. David noticed in horror that Chad’s other hand appeared to have been nailed or screwed to another post.

“Chad! Rope! Kick it over.”

The distraction was long enough to allow Dreggs Junior to gain leverage, arching his back and flipping David over onto his side. He expected a blow to come next, but it didn’t come.

Instead, Dregs Junior reached for something. Not one of the tools. He reached behind his back and…

David recognized the movement before he saw it. It was the rapid swing of an arm unholstering a gun from the lower back.

Pop.

The realization that he’d been shot in the stomach came before he felt any pain.

Dreggs Junior stood over him, panting, dirty and bloody, gun now aimed at his head. “You shouldn’t have come here. You’ve ruined everything.”

His voice was like cold rain.

David tried to cover his belly, to hold in the blood.

He stared into a void beyond Dreggs and smiled. “I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.” He felt his body cooling as he lost more and more blood. “Austin.”

He should have waited for his friend.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

AUSTIN PASSED the sign for Stone’s business, eyes dancing from side to side, looking for the road David said would be there. He didn’t see a road, but he saw a car.

The car.

A white sedan peeled out onto the road, taking a sharp left and speeding away from him. The driver had curly brown hair and, unless he was mistaken, that was Danielle in the passenger seat.

Instinctively, he pressed the gas to begin pursuit. Then it hit him.

Where was David? Where were the others?

For an agonizing moment, he slowed, watching the white sedan peel around a curve and disappear. As badly as he wanted to follow, he knew the better judgment was to check on the others.

Brian and Officer Johnson were already on their way over. They weren’t far behind and they had weapons. They’d be in a better position to bring down Dreggs. Austin tapped and then spoke into his phone. “White sedan. Dreggs and Danielle headed in your direction.”

He sent Brian the text, hoping it would get through.

Pulling a quick u-turn, he found the hidden dirt road between the blackberry bushes and sped down it, his truck bumping over divots and splashing through mud. He saw Brian’s police cruiser parked in front of Stone’s barn.

The door was open.

Oh no.

The feeling that something was beyond wrong landed in his gut as he hopped out of his truck. He tasted something he could only describe as freezer burned cheese.

He stopped in the doorway. He saw Francesca first. While headed in the direction of her seemingly lifeless body, he saw Chad, who appeared to be nailed to a post. But he was alive.

Francesca stirred at the sound of footsteps.

“What the hell happened here?” Austin managed.

Francesca cradled a bleeding hand in her lap. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” The words seemed to function to reassure and comfort herself more than declare wellbeing.

Greg sat in the dirt, eyes blank. But at least he was sitting upright.

“Help me. Get me off of this thing.” Chad called out, his voice panicked.

Austin moved towards Chad. Then his eyes landed on David, lying on the dirt floor, hands covering his stomach. There was a lot of blood.

Too much blood.

Austin ran across the barn and dropped to his knees. “David. What happened? What’s the wound?”

“He was shot,” Chad said.

His friends’ eyes flicked open, then closed. “I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.”

“David! Stay here.”

He touched his shoulder, casting his eyes about wildly for something clean to press into the wound. He saw a bag of rags on a table and sprinted over, grabbing a handful of them.

When he returned, David had gone still.

He was dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“HELP US!” Chad screamed. “Damnit, help us!”

Austin didn’t know how long he’d been sitting with the body, or where his mind had gone. He thought it had only been thirty seconds, maybe a minute.

But in that time he’d traveled to Miranda’s front stoop, a first floor apartment in a triplex in Brooklyn. In his mind, he’d told her what happened to David and watched her break down before fighting to hold it together for her children.

Austin shook his head and stood, taking in the scene of horror around him. Staggering through a haze of grief, he found Francesca and cut the duct tape with the blade of an old hand saw.

Then to Greg, whose face was expressionless, his skin pale. He had a dirty, bloody paper towel wrapped around his hand. Austin wasn’t yet ready to find out what that meant.

Finally, there was Chad.

As he approached, Chad’s eyes were wide, his feet wriggling. One hand had been duct taped to a post, the other drilled straight through with a long screw.

“The drill is right there,” Chad said, urgently as Austin cut his duct-taped hand free.

“I shouldn’t move you until the paramedics are here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chad said, now using his free hand to feel around the one that had been drilled.

“Don’t yank,” Austin said. “And I don’t want to reverse the screw because significant blood loss could begin the moment I do. You will likely pass out. We need to wait.”

“But—”

Austin spun on him, fist clenched. “Stop talking,” he growled. He didn’t yet know what had happened, how David had been killed. But he knew that if Chad had stayed home as he’d been ordered to do, as he’d said he would, David never wouldn’t have entered this barn. He stepped back, taking a breath. “I’m not going to say anything, do anything, I might regret. For your safety, I won’t be taking out that screw until paramedics are here.”

He heard a car pull up outside, two doors slam. It was Brian and Officer Johnson.

Austin met Chad’s eyes, ignoring the pain and fear he saw there. “The second you are free, after you’ve been bandaged up, you and I are going to have a serious talk.”

Brian rushed in first, followed by Officer Johnson. “We’ve got paramedics right behind us,” Brian said. Then, seeing the full horror of the scene. “Oh, God.” He raced to the corner, vomiting into a bucket.

Austin returned to David’s body, knelt, and slowly closed his eyelids. He found a sheet covering a small tractor in the back of the barn, yanked it off, and used it to cover David’s body.

Then he went outside, collapsed onto the ground, and let the tears come.

An hour passed. Maybe two.

Paramedics took Francesca, Greg, and Chad to urgent care. Brian took a statement from Austin. He also told him that Chad claimed to have gone to the barn to save Danielle. Apparently Joshua Dreggs had texted him from her phone, luring him out. Cupcake had been found as well, tied to a tree a hundred yards away.

An evidence team arrived to photograph and fingerprint the scene.

Austin walked a few laps around the barn and even took a call from Lucy, who told him how sorry she was and demanded he stay near his phone. She had a meeting with Sheriff Daniels and would need to speak with him again.

During all of it, he wasn’t there. His body was present, but he’d checked out.

He relived memories of David, both good and bad. The Yankees game during which David had gotten drunk and run on the field, only to be tackled by security but somehow talk his way out of an arrest. The case Austin had led to track down Lorraine D’Antonia in New York City, on which David had played a key role. The times David had showed up hungover and Austin had covered for him. Those memories brought waves of guilt. Had Austin enabled him? Was he partially responsible for his drinking because he didn’t push him harder to get sober?

Mostly, he was trying to figure out what he’d say to Miranda.

His phone rang and, again, it was Lucy’s number. “Hi,” he said weakly.

“It’s Lucy, and Sheriff Daniels is here as well. We’d be there, but the bridge is still another couple hours away, from what we’re hearing. Let me say again how sorry I am about David.”

Austin didn’t reply.

“He never should have been involved,” Sheriff Daniels said. “He never… Austin, I’m sorry, too, I know he was your friend. This thing… Lucy never should have let this happen. We’re in a world of hurt right now. We’re talking lawsuits from his widow, investigations, cross-jurisdictional crap from every direction. I…” He sighed. He seemed worried in a way he’d never been before.

Austin couldn’t be made to care. “Blame me,” Austin said. “I should have known he wasn’t…” He didn’t bother finishing the thought. What did it matter anyway? All the blame, all the words, all the woulda-coulda-shouldas in the world wouldn’t bring David back.

“It seems to always fall on me to be the insensitive one,” Daniels said, “but, let me say this as clearly as I can: Austin, you are not to go a step further on this case. Am I clear?”

Austin said nothing.

“A member of the NYPD is dead in our jurisdiction, not to mention the disaster of this case in general. You’re done. Austin, are you hearing me?”

“I’m hearing you,” Austin said, letting his head fall back and taking in the rich green trees and blue sky above him.

“And do you agree?” Lucy asked. “Even if you could continue on this, you shouldn’t. For your own health. You need to take a while to grieve.”

“Understood,” Austin said.

There was a long pause, then Lucy said. “Go back to the B and B. Get some sleep. We’ll be the first over the bridge when it opens. Jimmy and I will take it from here.”

Austin ended the call and stared at his phone for a long time.

Then, slowly, his fingers shaking, he found Miranda’s number in his contacts and called her.

Holding the phone to his ear, he listened to the tone, hoping she wouldn’t pick up.

But she did. After three rings, she did. “Austin, surprised to hear from you. What kind of mess has David gotten himself into this time?”

“Miranda.” Austin’s voice caught in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes. “Miranda. There’s something I need to tell you.”

PART 3

THE CLEARING

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AUSTIN DROVE through the streets of Winslow, passing by the cozy homes and quaint shops, before reaching the harbor. He stopped there, staring at the boats. He could just make out some of the taller buildings across the water in Seattle.

The storm had passed, but the water was still choppier than normal. Small waves crashed against the docks and the wind blew steadily, though gently. He rolled down the window. The smell of the salty sea was strong and it mixed with the smell of the rain and damp pine trees.

Miranda had said little. She hadn’t berated him, hadn’t cried, hadn’t asked many questions. He was pretty sure she’d been in shock, though her words seemed anything but shocked. It was as though she’d been expecting the news. When she ended the call, she’d promised to be back in touch later that day, then said, “You knew him as well as anyone, Austin. You knew he had a death wish. He wouldn’t have called it that, but you knew it as well as I did.”

Austin continued driving, following winding roads, passing through the tall forests that surrounded the island, and discovering a dozen neighborhoods he’d never seen. He passed strawberry fields that had been mauled by the storm. He let the cool air blow freely through the car, the smell of the damp pine trees and ripened strawberries strong, the moisture in the air thick.

Staring at the boats, he couldn’t help but wonder, where had Joshua taken Danielle? Was she even still alive? Austin hadn’t let himself think all the way through what diabolical evil he’d had planned to perpetrate in that barn, but one thing was clear: David had interrupted him part of the way through.

The bridge was still down, but perhaps the ferries were still running. Perhaps…

Though he’d been ordered to step away from the case, he called Lucy, who picked up right away. “How ya holding up?” she asked.

“Are the ferries running yet? Just want to make sure someone is watching them.”

She sighed. “Seriously, go back to the B and B. I cannot speak to you about this case anymore. And it’s not just Daniels being a jerk. He’s right.”

“Just tell me that someone has eyes on the ferry.”

“We don’t have anyone to put eyes on the ferry. Security has been alerted, both to the white sedan and Joshua Dregg and Danielle, but every officer is spoken for and I really don’t think—”

“Then stop the ferries from running. He’s still on the island, but I have to think that—”

“Austin! You’re not thinking at all.” She let out a long breath. “People have been on the island for days. We can’t stop the ferries. There are medical emergencies, appointments in Seattle. Kids stuck at summer camps without their parents. People need to get to the city. Ferry security is looking out for Dreggs, and I have a Seattle PD crew coming over on one of their own boats to help with the search. An officer is staked out at the arrival dock, too.”

Austin ended the call. She’d done all she could, he knew.

He also knew he should go back to the B and B and try to sleep.

He peeled out and headed for the ferry.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew whatever it was was a bad idea.

Exactly what David would have wanted.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“REMEMBER the summer days on the farm?” Joshua asked. “When dad used to sing that John Denver song, Take Me Home, Country Roads?” He laughed. “Man couldn’t carry a tune, but he still had the voice of an angel.”

Danielle didn’t respond. She couldn’t. When he’d abandoned the white sedan after leaving the barn, he duct-taped her mouth closed.

Now, for over an hour, they’d been sitting in the woods not more than a mile from Stone’s property.

Half a dozen posts in the Bainbridge Island Facebook group had celebrated that the ferries were starting back up again. It would only be a few minutes now.

He’d changed clothes and now wore light blue overalls and a Mariners cap pulled down low. He hated sunglasses and didn’t need them in the shade of the evergreens, but he wore them anyway.

He’d even brought clothes for Danielle. Not a wedding dress. That wasn’t part of their tradition. Instead, he brought the simple white farm dress his own mother had worn when she married his father.

At gunpoint, she’d put it on.

“Have you had a change of heart yet, my love?”

He peeled the tape away from the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said. “I just want to be somewhere safe.”

He studied her face, wishing he could look into her eyes to judge her intent. It was the first time she hadn’t spat at him, so maybe she was coming around to the idea.

He knew she was.

“Soon,” he said, “we will be. In ten minutes we will walk through the woods, through a playground and onto the ferry. It’s free going from here to Seattle, so we won’t need tickets. They’ll be looking for us, for me. Do you understand?”

“I won’t say anything. I know the ferries well. We can just go into the bathroom and hide. Or the top deck.”

“Good,” he said, “good idea.” He ripped the duct tape the rest of the way off. “And do you know what will happen if you scream, if you run? Well, you wouldn’t run, couldn’t run.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ll shoot me.”

“I will. And do you know what will happen if police try to arrest me?”

“You’ll shoot me.”

A gentle breeze blew the scent of fresh pine across their faces. “That’s right.”

“Do you know where my father married my mother?”

This caught her by surprise, as he knew it would. She shook her head.

“On a boat,” he said. “I wasn’t there, of course.” He laughed, but she didn’t.

“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice had a slight edge to it, but overall, she seemed to be softening up to him, accepting the situation for what it was.

“Well, Danielle, I have a little surprise for you.”

Danielle felt the ground change from the soft pine needles and dirt of the forest floor to pavement. They’d hit the sidewalk near the ferry.

The wind blew and the birds chirped and Joshua—once her son-in-law now her captor—led her along toward the ferry. She didn’t have her walking cane, he’d made sure of that, but walking arm-in-arm they looked like any young couple heading back to the city after a pleasant visit to Bainbridge Island.

One thing she couldn’t stop thinking: why hadn’t she told the officers about Joshua humming that tune when she was in the port-a-potty? She’d thought she’d heard it, then thought she’d imagined it. If only she’d known it was real, had talked it through, she might have known it was him all along. He’d always loved that song, as had her ex-husband.

Her mind was spinning, taking her in a hundred directions at once. She’d never even considered that Joshua could be behind the killings, and yet… if she’d only allowed herself to hear that tune fully, to tell the police…

They walked on, thirty steps, then sixty, then ninety. Sometimes she counted steps in thirties just to occupy her mind and map the terrain. Then, a flight of stairs, the chatter of people around them. Then a different floor, metal, with a little give, but scratchy when scuffed with a shoe. She recognized the sandpaper-covered walkway that led onto the ferry.

When Joshua told her he planned to marry her, she’d been disgusted. And when he’d told her that he’d already remarried one of his father’s three wives, she was shocked. Marianne, her name was. She was her ex-husband’s second wife, maybe fifteen years older than Danielle. She’d been the quiet type, obedient beyond belief, and always wore denim dresses. She once told Danielle she only ever wore blue. She could hear her cheerful voice. “Blue on blue on blue is my color scheme. Just like the first mother of the children of Jesus.”

It was odd, as loathsome as she found Joshua, there was a part of her—a part she knew was broken and wrong, was traumatized and not to be listened to—that longed for the simplicity and comfort he promised.

She’d marry him, he said, then return to Eastern Washington where together they would rebuild the community. As much as she hated the idea, somehow it seemed inevitable. Just as the prayers had returned to her lips so easily that night as she listened to Doogie’s torture, there was something familiar about this.

Something that, despite being wrong in every way, seemed right.

“We’re near the snack bar,” Joshua said, breaking her revelry. “Let’s go to the car level and hide in the bathroom. I know you’re comfortable hiding in bathrooms, my dear. Now, be as quiet as you were the first night I came to rescue you. Good woman.”

“You knew I was in there? Why didn’t you take me that first night?”

Joshua was quiet, then he squeezed her hand. “I knew this had to be a process. You had to hear the suffering of your friends. The devil took his time wriggling into your heart. I knew it would take a few days to get him out.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

AUSTIN DOUBLE PARKED in the taxi loading area and raced down the walkway. He could tell the ferry was about to leave because there was no line.

“Last one on the boat is a rotten egg,” a jolly looking ferry worker in a yellow vest said. “You got lucky!”

Austin made it onto the deck, then held up a photo of Dregg in front of the ferry worker’s face. “Seen this guy?”

“I… no… are you with the police?”

“Sort of,” Austin said.

“They said to keep an eye out for a young man and woman, but the boat was packed. Everyone is itching to get off the island.”

“Is this the first boat?”

He nodded. “First and best. Yes sir, you’re riding the Wenatchee.”

Austin ducked under the low door into the main compartment. The ferries around Seattle were a major part of the transportation and economy, and were large. This one held around 200 cars and up to 2,500 people, though even on a crowded day like today, there were plenty of empty seats.

He walked slowly through the cabin and past the snack bar, studying every face in line.

It was strange seeing so many people at once.

He checked the whole cabin, then took the stairs up to the roof deck, which was much more empty. Even on a lovely summer day, there were often only twenty or thirty people up here, and today was no different. In minutes, he’d determined that they weren’t there.

Then he had an idea. He’d thought there was no way Dreggs would be stupid enough to try to get his car onto the ferry, but it was worth a shot.

He hurried down the three flights to the parking levels, which were packed with cars. After walking down each aisle of the bottom level, he made his way up the ramp on the left side, then the right. No white sedans.

The ferry was large enough that it was definitely possible to miss someone, and he decided that’s what had happened. He’d try again, starting with the main cabin.

If they were on the ferry, he’d find them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” Joshua asked. “You couldn’t read the sign but did you know we’re riding the Wenatchee? My darling, we’re sailing home on a boat named after our home. Do you want to know the surprise?” His voice was so much like his father’s. Her ex-husband’s.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice light and pleasant.

They’d been standing in the bathroom for ten minutes. There had been a knock about five minutes ago, but, as instructed, Danielle had told the person outside that she was cramping and would be a while. Presumably the person had gone to the big restrooms in the cabin above.

“You’re going to marry me,” he said. “Right here. Right now.”

His arm was still looped through hers, and the smell reminded her a bit of Murden Cove with an overlay of some cleaning chemicals. “In the bathroom?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She squeezed his arm warmly. “Joshua, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” His voice was hopeful, childlike.

“You were right all along. Leaving the Progeny, leaving the farm, it was the greatest mistake of my life. Perhaps the greatest mistake of anyone’s life ever. All the harm I caused.” She paused. “Hearing Doogie scream, hearing Greg scream, hearing Chad scream… I don’t know. It’s like their pain somehow washed away my sins. I’m ready to marry you.”

Joshua was quiet a long time, then said. “I’m so glad. Your sister wife will be as well.”

“Does she know I’m joining?’

“No, she knows nothing, but she’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“I have only one request, Joshua.”

He leaned down, whispering in her ear, “What is it?”

“It smells bad in here. We can’t have our greatest moment sullied. The top deck, out in the open air, is usually abandoned. Just people taking selfies with Seattle in the background. It’s windy, but lovely.”

“We’d be seen walking up there.”

“The elevator goes all the way from the car garage to the top of the Wenatchee. If I remember right, the elevator is right near the bathroom.”

He was quiet a long time. Thinking.

“Please, my love, let’s honor your father, my husband before you, who has passed on to you the warm blood of Jesus. We must celebrate our reunion under God’s great sky.”

CHAPTER FORTY

AUSTIN HAD GIVEN UP. He’d been wrong. Four laps around the ferry, meeting every eye, checking every potential hiding spot.

Sitting on the roof deck, a cold sandwich in one hand, a hot coffee in the other, all the fatigue hit him at one.

He felt the grief following close on its heels and he took a big bite of the sandwich to stave it off.

What had he missed? Where hadn’t he checked?

The only things he could think of were the trunks of cars. He imagined Joshua and Danielle boarding the ferry, walking straight past the jolly security guard, likely wearing some disguises, and heading to the car garage. Could they have stolen someone’s keys or slipped into a car that had been left open? No, not likely.

Then it hit him. There were bathrooms on the car level. He’d never used them, but he’d walked by them. Perhaps they were…

Wait.

A woman in a cream-colored dress stepped into view on the other end of the deck, arm in arm with a man who, like the woman, was standing at the railing. Their backs were to him, but he didn’t think he’d seen them during his laps around the passenger deck.

He set the sandwich and the coffee on the bench and stood, slowly creeping forward, careful to keep himself partially hidden behind the metal poles that held up the huge canopy.

He came to the spot where the large canopy ended, opening to about thirty feet of the wide open deck. The Space Needle loomed large and he could make out the heads of passengers on the giant sightseeing ferris wheel near the city’s shore. Seattle looked to be only ten minutes away.

A breeze caught the woman’s hair and she reached for it, fussing it back into place. That’s when he knew it was Danielle. Something in the way she moved was uniquely her.

He stood frozen, torn between two competing ideas. On the one hand, they weren’t struggling. She didn’t seem to be in any imminent danger. If Lucy was right, police were waiting at the dock in Seattle. Maybe they’d be able to apprehend him. Then again, in the crush of people hurrying off the boat, Joshua could get away. Or, even worse, open fire into the crowd.

David had been shot in the stomach with a single round. No gun had been found in the barn. That meant that, despite the idyllic-looking scene playing out before him, Joshua was dangerous.

He knew what he had to do.

Walking slowly, arms out in front of him, palms open, he approached. The sun was hot on his forehead, the wind blowing his hair wildly.

He stopped about five yards away and used the gentlest voice he could muster. “Joshua. Danielle. Please turn around.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

JOSHUA RELEASED his arm from Danielle’s and spun, pulling his gun in the same motion. Holding it close by his side, it was largely shielded by his jacket. Just visible enough that Austin knew it was there.

“You don’t need to do that,” Danielle said. “Is that Austin?”

“It’s me,” Austin said.

“I recognized your voice.” Then she slid her arm through Joshua’s and spoke to him. “It’s okay, my love. He’s a good guy. He’ll understand.”

“He’s here to take you away from me,” Joshua said angrily.

Austin held up both hands reassuringly. “I’m not. I only want to make sure Danielle is safe.”

“I am,” Danielle said, and her smile was enough to convince him it was true. She leaned in and whispered something in Joshua’s ear, which made him lower the gun slightly.

Danielle said, “Austin, remember when you interviewed me. You asked me for every detail. Everything I heard. I left something out. That night, as I huddled in the port-a-potty, I heard Joshua humming a tune.”

When she paused, Austin said, “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

“How’d you know that?” Joshua spat.

“Relax, my love,” Danielle said. “There’s nothing he can do to stop us now.” She turned back to Austin. “On some level, I might have known it was him all along. I heard it and didn’t hear it. Heard it and convinced myself I hadn’t. Heard it and blocked it out.”

“You were traumatized,” Austin said. “It makes sense that your mind was playing tricks on you.”

“That’s my point,” Danielle said, and her voice had grown soft and far away, an air of mysticism creeping in. “It was God, teaching me, forcing me to wallow in my sins. He wanted me to reconnect with my family, and now I have. We’re going to be married.” She hugged Joshua close.

Austin stood, stunned.

Joshua’s gun was still at his side, but tucked close to his jacket.

Danielle’s face was radiant and full of joy. “And you will be our witness.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

AUSTIN INCHED CLOSER, watching the scene unfold with a growing revulsion. He’d come to think of the initial killings at the horror at Murden Cove, but somehow, this was even worse.

“I’m sorry I ever resisted,” Danielle told Joshua. “I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry for what I did to the Progeny, to your great father. Our Jesus in the real real real.” She tilted her head back slightly, as though looking into his eyes. “To you, Joshua. Can you ever forgive me?”

He released his grip on her forearm, but the gun was still under his jacket in his other hand. “I already have, but it is not my forgiveness you need. It’s God’s. And it will take time.”

Danielle’s lips were a tight line. “I know. And I’m prepared to prove that I’ve repented. This will only be a first step.”

Austin glanced behind him, where a few tourists took photos of Seattle, others chatted in a small group, and still others sat scrolling aimlessly on their phones.

Joshua beamed, the bright sun reddening his pasty white face. “I, Joshua Dreggs take you, Danielle Davis, to be my second lawfully wedded wife, in accordance with the word of our Lord. I promise to love you, honor you, and cherish you as our Lord commanded in Ephesians 5:25. I accept you as my submissive and devoted wife, and I vow to uphold the laws set forth in The Word of the Progeny, following the example of my father, who was the blood of Jesus before me, and of Abraham, who obeyed the Lord's commands even when they tested his faith. I acknowledge your place in our union is to obey me, and I vow to use my authority to protect and provide for you, as our Lord instructed in 1 Peter 3:7.”

Austin had a stunning view of the sapphire waters of the Puget Sound. Surrounded by lush green islands and the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic mountains. The sun sparkled off the water, reflecting the blues and greens of the bay. The air was filled with the smell of salt water and the sounds of seagulls and the ferry's engine. The bright sunshine and the gentle rocking of the boat would have been so peaceful, so relaxing in any other circumstances. And yet all he saw was a sick and twisted ritual that made his stomach turn. He wondered what David would have thought.

Danielle wiped a tear and smiled at Joshua as though her heart had finally found the joy it had been seeking her whole life. She seemed to have her role memorized, and Austin couldn’t help but wonder whether she had used the exact words less than a decade ago with Joshua’s father.

“I, Danielle Davis, take you, Joshua Dreggs, to be my lawfully wedded husband, as our Lord has ordained. I promise to love and honor you, as our Lord commanded in Ephesians 5:33. I accept you as my one and only guiding husband, and I vow to obey the laws of Progeny, as Ruth was obedient to her husband even when it meant going against her own desires. I acknowledge your place is to be the head of our household, and I vow to be a faithful and obedient wife, as Sarah was to her husband Abraham.”

Austin’s stomach twisted. The Danielle he’d known was gone, transformed into a mousey, subservient woman whose only joy was submitting to a vile murderer. She’d admitted during their interview that when Doogie was being tortured, she’d reverted back to the prayers of the Progeny, even after spending years rejecting and denouncing them. Now she was all the way back, her trauma and habits and terror all coalescing into a decision she felt she had to make.

He’d grown aware of a small crowd gathered well behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Joshua pulled a small box out of his pocket. Fumbling with the box with his free hand, he finally got it open. The sunlight hit the gold wedding band. He put the box back in his pocket, then slid the ring onto Danielle’s outstretched finger.

“With the power given to me by God and his son Jesus, and passed to me by his descendant, my father, I now pronounce us man and wife,” he said. He reached an arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss, which she gave freely, even passionately.

After a long kiss, Danielle turned and put a hand on the railing, pointing to the city skyline as though she could see it, and whispering something to her new husband.

He put a hand on the railing as well, the gun still in the other, tucked under his jacket.

Danielle dropped suddenly to her knees as though she were falling into prayer. Her hands quickly moved from a prayer pose to grabbing at Joshua’s calves. Then, with the force of a gymnast or a powerlifter doing a single epic squat at the gym, she pulled him off his feet.

Letting out a scream that made the seagulls take off from the ferry, she shoved Joshua over the railing.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AUSTIN DIDN’T SEE the fall. But he sure as hell heard it.

Joshua landed two stories below with a sickening thud, accompanied by the crash of glass. A half second later, a car alarm blared.

Austin ran to the railing and looked down. Strangely, there was no blood. But Joshua had landed head first on the windshield of a Black Mercedes, his neck twisted at a sickening angle. The rest of his body was on its side on the roof of the car.

A ferry worker in a yellow vest below was shouting something into her radio. Five or ten people had leapt out of their cars to see what happened. One woman was snapping pictures, an old man in a Vietnam Veteran hat was crying. A young couple stood, arm-in-arm, just staring at the lifeless body.

Austin looked up at Danielle, whose face was shaking. She couldn’t see him, but for the first time he thought he truly saw her. Blind since birth, raised in an abusive cult and married off as a teenager, she’d survived a trip to hell and back.

But it hadn’t made her weak. It had made her angry. And smart. Some, like DMJ, showed their anger, ran with their emotions, and let it control them.

Danielle had concealed it.

Her face grew still. “Is he dead?”

“He’s dead.”

“He landed on a car?”

Austin looked down again, nodding, then remembered she couldn’t see his nod. “Yeah. It’s a drop-off. Maybe thirty feet.”

“I know. I’ve ridden the ferry a lot. I always research the physical layout of a place as much as possible. And it was only a few days ago Doogie and I were here. Doogie…”

She put both hands on the railing, as though steadying herself.

The sun was bright, flashing off the water like a million tiny stars had been strewn across the Sound. They were about to dock in Seattle, the tall buildings and the waterfront Ferris Wheel clear and bright against the blue sky.

“Will I get in trouble?” she asked.

For the first time, Austin considered this. Hearing movement behind him, he turned to see a woman approach. She’d been standing with a small group of onlookers, who’d been twenty yards behind him on the side of the upper deck. She held a cellphone and it was pointed at Danielle.

“I got everything on camera,” she said. “Why’d you…” She looked at Austin. “Did you see what she did?”

It occurred to him that this woman didn’t know the whole story, didn’t know any of it. She’d been too far away to hear anything that was said between Danielle and Joshua. Probably hadn’t seen him holding the gun. To her, it would have looked like a young couple holding hands on the deck of the ferry until the young woman threw her husband over the railing.

It would have looked like murder.

“I’m with the police,” Austin said, angling his body between them.

“Then why aren’t you arresting her?” Walking backwards, camera still trained on Danielle, the woman moved to the railing and looked down, allowing the phone to follow her eyes to Joshua’s body below. “He’s… Is he dead? That was… that was murder.”

Danielle said nothing.

The ferry bounced against the dock. Austin could see a pair of Seattle police officers waiting. A sick feeling landed in his stomach. Just the utter bleakness of it all. All the victims, then David, then this. Now Danielle, the first victim in this seemingly never-ending ordeal, would have to defend herself again.

Maybe in court. But certainly, as the woman with the camera had already demonstrated, in the court of public opinion.

“You don’t know the whole story,” Austin said. “Get your camera out of here. That guy was the killer who’s been loose on Bainbridge Island.”

The woman lowered her camera. She looked down again. “That guy? He was the Murderous Menace of Murden Cove? I just read a Tweet about it. He’s the one who…” she swallowed hard, then lowered her eyes and slowly walked back to her group of friends.

Austin had silenced her, but he knew as well as anyone that the video on her phone would find a way out into the world.

He stood next to Danielle, put an arm around her. “There’s a recording.”

“Can you take it from her?” Her voice was matter-of-fact, not pleading. She’d already made the calculation that no matter what came next, it was worth it.

“I cannot.”

“Do you understand why I did what I did?”

“I do. And I don’t blame you. He killed my friend, and many of yours. I wish I could have done what you did.” He thought for a moment. “One of the things about being in the NYPD, being a detective, was that every day I came across people who truly deserved to die. People who made my heart burn with anger, with a desire for revenge. And it was my job not to take it. To arrest them, then let the courts do their job.”

“And did they do it?”

Austin considered this. He wished he could say an unequivocal yes, but that would be a lie. “That’s a fair question with a complicated answer that deserves more energy than I’m able to give at the moment.”

“All I know,” Danielle said, “is that sometimes guys like Joshua Dreggs get off on technicalities, on procedural screw ups. Sometimes people commit heinous crimes, then walk free even though everyone knows they did it. I’ve suffered enough at the hands of this cult. It wasn’t enough to run the hell away from it. This time it was him or me.”

Austin couldn’t argue. He’d seen evil caught and then be set free on many occasions.

She turned to Austin as though she could see him. “I think I did the right thing.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

AUSTIN STARED down at his cellphone sitting on the table, a dull ache slowly creeping through his body. He’d spoken with David’s wife every day for the last week, but the most recent call had been the hardest. They’d just finalized funeral arrangements. Austin would be heading back to New York City early next week.

He’d heard that grief was sometimes delayed, that the momentum of action could carry a person for days until finally the reality of a death hit them all at once. If that was true, he’d just been hit. Not by grief, but by an overwhelming sense of nothingness. A dull pain that felt like it had settled in on him like a cloud that would never lift.

It was nine o’clock at night, midnight back east where Miranda was probably crying herself to sleep. The café was empty and Austin could hear the clang of dishes as the kitchen staff finished up the last of the work for the evening. It was their first day back open, and the place had been packed.

Even the presence of Run, his corgi who lay curled up on the floor at his feet, did little to soothe him.

The bell on the door to his store rang and Samantha walked in, carrying a laptop case. Austin stood. He’d completely forgotten that she was coming.

He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes. “H- hey, Samantha, I—”

“Umm… Is now still a good time?”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just…”

“I heard about your friend, I… I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Austin said. “Let’s… yeah, let’s do this.” He took a seat back at the table by the window and offered Samantha a chair.

She looked around suspiciously. “You don’t want to go somewhere private?”

“No one here except for the last of the kitchen crew and they can’t hear us back there.”

She nodded and pulled a thin silver laptop out of the case.

“You want a soda, or coffee or anything?” Austin asked.

“I’m good.” She opened the laptop.

He’d told Samantha all about the USB drive David brought from New York and she’d promised to find a way to parse all the documents.

“You heard about all the new AI’s being released?” Samantha asked.

“A little.” Austin scooched his chair over to have a better view of her screen. “Brian, the Bainbridge officer we were working with last week, he told me a little. Still don’t get it, but I have a feeling I don’t need to get it.”

She smiled. “No, you don’t. So here’s the short version. The USB drive was every single file the NYPD and the FBI have on the Namgung crime family. This is a decades-long investigation involving dozens of murders, dozens of corruption cases, hundreds of sources and witnesses. To put this in perspective: the number of pages of documents in this one file is more than Kitsap County Sheriff’s office has generated in the last two years combined.”

The dullness Austin had been feeling was being squeezed out by curiosity. As bad as he felt, something inside him could never withstand the lure of new information on an important case. “And please tell me that we’re not going to have to actually read it all.”

“We are not. Long story short, we’ve been testing a new AI that specializes in pattern recognition using predictive text.”

Austin shook his head. “In English?”

“It can figure out what is important faster than if we had a dozen people reading full-time for a month.”

“And?”

“Lemme show you.” She selected a file called Photographs. “I had the program place every single file that contained an image into a separate folder. Stake-out photos, mugshots, surveillance photos, and so on.” She dragged the folder into a blank window on her computer. “This thing will examine the photos and spit out an analysis based on parameters I’ve set.”

Austin watched, confused but confident she knew what she was talking about. Moments later, a document popped up labeled Report. File: Photographs.

Samantha scrolled down and Austin saw that it had added names, dates of birth and other information to each photo. “It uses facial recognition to match the photos in the file with public records and everything that’s ever been put on the Internet. Then once it has a name, it summarizes the information paired with that name in the other documents I’ve already run through the program.”

Austin scanned the list. “Amazing. That would have taken a team of researchers days. Maybe weeks.”

Samantha nodded. “Lemme get to the point. You already know this is a giant investigation, sweeping in scope. I checked public records, and some things have leaked. It’s no secret that the FBI and NYPD have been investigating the Namgungs for a long time. But look at this.” She opened another folder and clicked on a file called Outliers. She angled the computer towards Austin, who scrolled through the one-page document.

It was a list of names and places, as well as the names of a couple brands of handguns and some street names for various drugs like fentanyl and heroin.

Austin couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Ignore everything but the names,” Samantha said.

The names on the list were Christopher Palini, Gretchen Voohrees, Jorge Diaz Lopez, and Jackson Baker, III. He didn’t recognize any of them.

“The AI picked out those four names as breaking patterns within this trove of documents.”

Austin was confused. “The people broke patterns in the documents?”

“They didn’t do anything. But the documents should have more references to them than they do. You see, thousands of instances of names have been redacted, covered up, to protect sources, to protect undercover officers. I trained this AI to look for outliers, and those are your outliers.”

Austin shrugged. “I still don’t know what this means.”

“You said that the key was to find elements within the NYPD or FBI who might be working within the Namgung crime family. The ones who might have gotten word about Michael Lee and had him killed.” She pointed at the screen. “Those four people are the four you want to take a closer look at.”

Austin stared at the names, consigning them to memory. “So, let me get this straight. All these documents, all these pages, and you trained the AI to tell you the four people who aren’t in them?”

Samantha shook her head, a little frustrated. Austin couldn’t help but feel like he was her grandpa and she was explaining how to use the remote control on his new TV. “They’re in the files. Their names are there. I trained the AI to read the files like a smart person, a smart team of people. To figure out what was redacted and why. To read between the lines, figure out what was being hidden.

Austin didn’t fully understand.

He didn’t need to.

Christopher Palini, Gretchen Voohrees, Jorge Diaz Lopez, and Jackson Baker, III.

He had their names. That was something.

It was enough to keep him going.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

THE TAPING of New Day for King 5 NBC took place in a small TV studio only a few blocks from the ferry terminal in downtown Seattle. Austin waited in the green room, tossing a balled-up piece of paper for Run, who dutifully returned it each time.

“We coulda brought a ball, you know,” Anna said.

“Forgot,” Austin said. Despite trying to play it cool, the longer he sat there, the more nervous he got.

Anna had agreed to come with him to talk him through the interview process and fill him in about the show’s host. She’d assured him that New Day was not the type of show that would hit him with hardball questions or go into too much detail. It was a local morning show for Seattle residents, and Austin would be treated like a hero as he recounted the story of solving the triple homicide on Bainbridge Island.

He’d always avoided being in the news himself, and the truth was, very few cases warranted it. But he’d agreed to the interview because Lucy had asked him to do it. “Anything we can do to put a good face on our department as we fight for budget increases,” she’d said. “And, it could go a long way with Sheriff Daniels.”

His only condition was that he’d been allowed to bring Run, who Anna would watch during the actual interview, which was to last no more than ten minutes. The whole thing felt a little surreal.

A ten-minute segment in between ads for cars and cereal and laundry detergent, in which he was supposed to answer questions about the hunt for Joshua Dreggs, about David, about how he’d helped solve the most gruesome crime in the history of Bainbridge Island. And yet, he knew he couldn’t really get into it. He’d have to use words like “horrifying” and “appalling” rather than describe what he’d seen in detail.

The power tools. The severed hand of Doogie.

The victims face down in the mud as rain beat down on their bodies.

The old barn. Francesca tied to a saw.

And David, holding his stomach as he died.

Not to mention the fact that he was no hero. He’d failed, and no one had gotten out of this case undamaged.

He braced himself, trying to find a version of himself that would hold together for the interview.

“You okay?” Anna asked. “You look, I don’t know. Far away.”

Austin looked up at her. Run had gone still, staring up at him like she knew something was wrong. Or maybe she was just waiting for him to throw the ball of paper again.

“Sometimes… I don’t know.” He sighed. “I moved three thousand miles from New York City because I’d had enough of this job. Because I thought I could pretend not to know that people like Joshua Dreggs exist. That I could pretend that people like the Holiday Baby Butcher don’t exist. I’d make burgers with bacon jam and special waffle sandwiches. Throw sticks on the beach for Run, sell bait and beer and…” he trailed off.

“And now you’re back, right in the middle, and it’s all worse than ever.”

He looked up. “And it got my friend killed. If I’d… if he’d… he and I were supposed to be fishing. Having a beer on the beach.”

A perky assistant who looked no more than nineteen poked her head into the green room. “Ten minutes, Mr. Austin. Has our makeup person been…” she studied Austin’s face. “Yes, good. Water? Coffee? No? Okay great.” And with that she was gone. She hadn’t actually waited to hear if Austin wanted a drink.

“And the world just keeps turning,” Austin said. “To that assistant, Joshua Dreggs, what he did, and the victims: Doogie, Michael, all of them, it’s just content to fill space between commercials.” He shook his head. “And you know what? If Danielle is charged with a crime for pushing Joshua, they’ll do a segment on that. They’ve already done one on the video.” The producer had already asked Austin if he could put the show in touch with Danielle. He’d declined, but they would find a way to reach her.

Anna said, “You think she’ll be charged?”

Austin considered this. “I was the closest witness. I’ve already said that she had every reason to fear for her life. That it was justifiable as self defense.” He shook his head. “But you’ve seen the video. If you don’t know the whole story, it could look a lot like murder.”

“Well, count me as one on team Danielle.”

“Me, too.”

“What about the others? Chad, Greg, Francesca?” Austin had filled her in on much of the story. She had promised not to write about it, and she’d been a good listener.

“They’ll all heal, at least physically. By the way.” He pulled out his phone, found the photo he’d taken in Chad’s car, and handed it to her. “That’s a list of people Chad Buckminster is bribing in order to get zoning approval for his development on Bainbridge. I think someone might be after him, too. A competitor, a business rival. Hell, dude might owe the mob money for all I know. I hope you’ll look into it.”

She studied it for a moment, then handed it back. “Okay?”

Anna was a very good reporter. Armed with that information and time to dig, who knew what she'd unearth? “I’m not gonna be happy for a long time,” Austin said, “but it would give me a little satisfaction to see a front-page article about his schemes.”

She smiled.

“I promised not to show anyone the picture,” he said, “but feel free to take the names.”

She was already jotting them down in her notebook. When she’d finished, Anna picked up Run and sat on the couch next to Austin. “Things are messed up, to be sure. I’m not going to try to cheer you up. I know when you get on camera you’ll be great. Something will kick in and you’ll be professional. But here’s the thing.” Run licked his hand as Anna continued. “The storm has passed. The sun is out. Your dog loves you.” She paused, leaned in, and began, one by one, to pick off a multitude of hairs that Run had left on his shirt. “And you have a chance to explain to a million or so viewers what happened. You can make the case for Danielle.”

Austin said nothing. He knew she was right, but something in him didn’t want to admit it.

Suddenly she snapped her fingers right in front of his face. “Hey! You’re wallowing.”

He looked at her. Of course, she was right. Danielle was the real victim here. She was the only victim he could still help. And every victim deserved his best.

He pet Run, smiled gravely, and stood.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “And thanks.”

There was something about her, something he’d felt but never fully been able to articulate in the past. Like she had a relentless optimism, maybe she’d been born with it or maybe it was born of necessity being a single mom and having to work like hell to make ends meet.

The door popped open and the assistant waved him out. Before he walked out, he reached out and squeezed Anna’s hand. “I appreciate you,” he said. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to try that date again.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled. And something about her smile told him that, this time, the date might actually work out.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ON THE LAST Saturday of July, Austin sat in the little church in Hansville, waiting for Danielle. The church was closed, but Pastor Johnson let Austin come in during the off days, just to sit. He’d agreed to let Danielle come as well.

He heard a door open and Pastor Johnson’s warm voice greeting her as he led her in.

She sat next to Austin and handed him a small recycled cardboard punnet of strawberries. “For you. From the island. They lost a lot of strawberries due to the storm but the ones that were left are the best I’ve ever tasted. I heard your interview. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“How did you get here?” Austin asked.

“Francesca is outside. She came with me but doesn’t want to come into the church.” She chuckled. “Afraid she’ll get struck down if she crosses the threshold.”

“What about you?” Austin asked. “When I invited you out to Hansville, I figured you might want to have a glass of wine at my café, or a stroll on the beach.”

She smiled, reaching into her purse. “Stone’s funeral was yesterday. His mother gave me this.” She handed Austin the elaborate cross. “He came to this church, you know.”

“He told me,” Austin said, examining the cross.

“I don’t know. I just thought it might be nice to see it. I’m gonna miss him.”

Austin patted her hand and gave her back the cross.

“There’s good news,” she said. “Seattle PD finished their examination of the video, of your statements and other witness statements. Self defense. They’re saying it was self-defense and refusing to press charges.”

Austin’s shoulders dropped. “That’s great news.”

“I’m gonna get to travel. Not gonna be the same as it would have been, but I’ve always wanted to travel.”

They sat then for a long time in silence. Austin loved this little church because something about the smell triggered his synesthesia and brought Fiona back. Eyes closed, he ran through memories or, more accurately, impressions. Little moments when he and Fiona and David had been together. A plate of fries at a Greek Diner. An NYPD party at which David and Fiona had done tequila shots. The tastes paired perfectly as the juice of the sweetest strawberries he’d ever tasted rolled across his tongue.

Finally, Danielle said, “Austin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks.”

“I know that David did, but did you ever read Moby Dick?”

“No, but I remember you and David talking about it, or referencing it.”

“He seemed like a smart guy.”

Austin considered this. “He was, in some ways.” He paused. “But what made you ask that?”

“Just sitting here. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how people seek, and how people find meaning. Some of us go after it like Ahab went after Moby Dick. Some are looking for it in religion, some in science, some in relationships. Doogie looked for it in mathematics, in coding. He thought he could save the world with the AI he planned to build.” She turned, raising her voice, though only slightly. “He wanted to decrease human work by half, freeing up humanity to make art, to find God, to fall in love. He wanted to put every ounce of lifeblood into his project. And, I knew that he would have, which is one reason among many why I wouldn’t have married him.” Her voice quivered. “I’ve been struggling to understand why I went back to my religious roots. Did it mean that I shouldn’t have left the faith? That thought really consumed me. I had to let go of all of it. Everyone is out there chasing their own whales.”

Austin didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t object to anything she was saying, but the truth was, since Fiona died, he hadn’t found much meaning anywhere. He’d had moments of joy, sure, but they’d been brief sparks in an endless darkness. If he was chasing anything, it wasn’t a whale, it was a ghost.

Meaning? That was something far, far away.

And yet, something she’d said resonated with him in a way he couldn't articulate.

“You know what I thought just before I threw that bastard overboard?” Danielle asked quietly.

“What’s that?”

“I’m done hunting.” She sat upright. “I chose to be the whale.”

They sat for a long time, neither speaking, and in the silence, something inside Austin changed. Remembering David and his infomercial voice, his references to books Austin had never read, his drinking and his recklessness, his profound gifts and terrible struggles, Austin decided something.

Even if he couldn’t find meaning, he might be able to create his own. Meaning wasn’t out there looking for him, it was hidden in the smallest moments. Like this one with Danielle. He didn’t need to hunt it like Ahab. He just needed to recognize it when it showed up.

Fighting with and hunting meaning is what David had done.

Fiona had once told Austin she wished he was ten percent more like David. More free. More spontaneous. More fun.

She’d been joking, of course, but there was some truth behind the joke. David’s wildness, spontaneity, humor, and drunken exuberance had been appealing, to be sure, but it would never be Austin’s style. He needed to find happiness close to home, find meaning where he could.

In this church.

Behind the stove in his café.

On the beach with Run.

Maybe on a date with Anna.

He’d set his anchor and moored his soul near the mild shores of the Salish Sea. He decided there was no better place than right here to find meaning, to find peace.

–The End–

In the next Thomas Austin book—The Terror in the Emerald City—terrorists take over an entire stadium during a football game, leaving Thomas Austin with twenty-four hours to stop a massacre.

Table of Contents

The Gathering

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

The Storm

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

The Clearing

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46