Brook's fingers tightened around the steering wheel as the rental SUV drifted slightly on the snow-packed road. She scanned the desolate fields on either side of the two-lane road to ensure no wildlife was in danger of suddenly crossing out in front of her.
“Did you know that Harrowick used to have one of the highest per-capita incomes in the state?” Sylvie asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them for the last twenty miles. She held her tablet in her lap. “When the steel mill closed in the early nineties, three-quarters of the population moved out of the area.”
A battered pickup truck approached from the opposite direction. It was only the third vehicle to pass them since they’d left the interstate over an hour ago.
“The population is down to barely a thousand now.” Sylvie scrolled through the article as she reached for her water bottle. “Now? The median income is thirty percent below the state average. Half the storefronts on Main Street are vacant.”
“I feel for them,” Brook replied as they passed by what used to be a barn. All that was left were two charred and splintered walls and half a roof. “Work your entire life, build a home, a community, and then it all evaporates practically overnight. It’s devastating, isn’t it?”
Brook reached for the vent, aiming the thin slats so that warm air flowed over her fingers. According to the numbers displayed on the dashboard, it was only twenty-three degrees outside.
“Theo and Bit are over an hour behind us. Do we want to drive into town to load up on groceries or wait for them?”
“I say we wait for them. By the way, the hardware shop doubles as the grocery store,” Sylvie replied before powering down her tablet. She leaned forward and slipped the device into one of several tote bags that she’d brought with her on the drive. “I’m sure we’re already the talk of the town. Four strangers renting out the only campground in the area is bound to stir up interest.”
After deciding to take the Hartmans on as clients, the team spent days reviewing the relevant files provided to them by the Bureau. There wasn’t much she would change about Toby’s profile, and she agreed with his initial assessment that the first victim was most likely personal, as was the case in most investigations. Such an analysis was the reason they had chosen Harrowick, Ohio, to begin their investigation.
Heather Moore had been the unsub’s first victim.
She had been born and raised in Harrowick. An elementary school art teacher who had purchased her first home at the tender age of twenty-five. Deep roots in the community, spending her Sunday mornings at church and dinner with her parents.
The answers to her murder were buried in this small town.
“Arden made sure not to mention Heather Moore when booking the reservations.” Brook glanced down at the GPS as they got closer to the turn-off. “Eugene Bernard, the owner of the cabins, was surprised that a group would want to rent out four cabins in the middle of winter, especially since most of his business is hunters in the fall and hikers in the spring and summer. We have the element of surprise on our side, but we need to make it count.”
“Since we’re waiting until tomorrow to grab some groceries, would you please text Theo and make sure they stop to get takeout before exiting the highway?”
“What? You don’t want to live off chips, cookies, and Skittles for the next twenty-four hours?” Sylvie flashed a smile before reaching for her phone. She quickly composed a text and hit send, a whooshing sound completing the process. “I read online that these cabins are on generators during the winter. Basic, but clean.”
“How's your service?”
“Two bars.” Sylvie set her phone in her lap. “It'll get worse the closer we get to the cabins. Bit's going to have a meltdown.”
“Good thing he’s bringing the satellite equipment.” The isolation in and around this area was profound, made even more acute by the skeletal trees lining the roadside. Brook lifted a finger from the steering wheel, pointing toward a faded wooden sign that hung at an angle. The carved letters had once been painted red, though most of the color had long since peeledaway, leaving only traces in the deepest grooves: BERNARD'S CABINS. “We’re here.”
Brook signaled out of habit, though there wasn't another vehicle in sight, and turned left onto a narrow lane. The vehicle swayed as the uneven surface challenged the suspension, snow crunching underneath the tires.
The road narrowed further, forcing Brook to slow their pace to a crawl. Once they had driven about seventy or eighty yards, a small clearing materialized, revealing a cluster of log cabins. Thin trails of smoke rose from four of the chimneys, dissipating into the overcast sky.
Brook slowed the SUV to a stop in what appeared to be a makeshift parking area covered in trampled snow. The visible tracks weren’t from vehicles, though. She guessed the majority were left behind by snowmobiles.
“They are definitely smaller in person,” Sylvie muttered in disappointment as she reached into the backseat for their jackets. She laid Brook’s over the console before slipping her arms into the sleeves of hers. “What time are we scheduled to meet with Mr. Bernard?”
“Arden told him that we’d arrive between two and three,” Brook replied as she cut the engine. She glanced at her watch. “We’re right on time.”
The cabins were basically plain, square structures. No porches, no frills. Just tight log frames with pitched roofs that carried their load of white. Each one had a solitary window in front, faint light glowing behind the frosted panes.
The snow before them was pristine except for the fresh tracks of a snowmobile that cut clean lines through the clearing, evidence of recent movement where otherwise everything seemed eerily still. Beyond the cabins, the forest loomed, its bare trees jutting upward. They pressed in close, as if guarding their treasure.
Sylvie pulled her leather gloves from her pocket as Brook took her time putting on her jacket. She wanted to zip the front shut before getting out of the SUV, but she also wanted easy access to her weapon.Pushing her door open, she grimaced when the cold air rushed in to replace the artificial warmth of the heater. The bitter cold stung her cheeks and immediately penetrated her clothes. She didn’t hesitate to reach for the zipper.
She slammed the door shut, but the sound was diminished by the constant hum of generators. As she studied the cabins, she realized that they formed a perfect half-moon around what appeared to be a central fire pit.
Brook slid her hands into her jacket pockets as she scanned the immediate area. For a brief moment, she thought maybe the generators’ hums had changed frequency, but it turned out to be the engine of a snowmobile approaching from the North.
The rider came to a full stop, turned off the machine, but took his time dismounting. He lifted his ski goggles, revealing his age to be in his late sixties.
Eugene Bernard.
