Huck walked down the river a little way to another completely iced-over spot, hefted the ax, and swung it at the ice. He did so several times until he’d created the right-sized opening.
Laurel recorded him and moved closer, shivering in the freezing cold, her eyelashes feeling iced over. She leaned down to ensure the entire hole appeared onscreen. “Those indents are too wide and far apart.” Disappointment clashed through her.
Huck nodded. “I know. I tried to hack closer and then farther away from each hit, but I’m not seeing the same pattern.”
“I’m not either, but we’ll compare. What if we used a smaller ax?”
“Maybe,” Huck said doubtfully. “I can acquire one later today.”
They then tested the sledgehammer, the smaller hammer, and finally, the screwdriver. Nothing created holes similar to those used to drown the victims. The indentations were too far apart and not symmetrical enough.
Laurel stopped recording and leaned against a bare tree, her feet numb. “I can’t believe none of those worked.”
“Perhaps the smaller ax? We need something sharp that will create even cuts.”
She tried to think through what she remembered from each scene. “How do you get an even distribution of cut marks if you’re hacking at ice?”
Huck’s head jerked up. “Wait a minute—I have an idea. Do you want to come inside?”
She looked back toward the trail and couldn’t imagine trudging down it again. “How about I stay here with Aeneas and you hurry?”
“Good plan.” He grabbed the various weapons and moved into a jog. “Stay, Aeneas,” he said.
Aeneas yipped happily, standing by Laurel in his heavy coat with even his ears covered.
“Thanks,” she said.
Aeneas nudged her leg and then moved over to sniff at the various holes in the ice. The wind died down, leaving the area silently frozen. Craggy rocks jutted up from the river through the ice, showing a dangerous path from one bank to the other. Laurel trembled and tried to force warmth to her extremities.
Huck soon appeared, running easily along the trail, his hands empty.
“You didn’t bring anything?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, I did.” He looked down at his boots.
She glanced down to see a rubber webbing over the top of his boots and buckled around the back. “What is that?”
He lifted his boot. “I’m wearing crampons.”
She stared at the steel spikes extending from his boots. “Crampons?”
“Yeah,” Huck said. “We use them for walking across ice and up glaciers or icy mountains to rescue people. I didn’t even think of these.”
She’d seen climbers using them on a documentary set in Iceland. “Aren’t they made to grip the ice?”
“Yeah.” Huck walked toward an untouched ice field over the river. “Keep in mind, all of these kills have been near the shore where the ice isn’t as thick. They haven’t been in the middle of a body of water.”
He gingerly stepped onto the ice, easily keeping his balance.
She drew out her phone to record him.
He lifted one powerful leg and smashed it down on the ice. It cracked but didn’t break. “Huh,” he murmured. Then he started jumping up and down with both feet. One foot crashed through, and he leaned back, immediately kicking and stomping hard to form a circle. Then he stepped off the ice.
Laurel gasped and moved closer, making sure to capture the entire area before zeroing in on the hole. “That’s it,” she whispered. “The cuts are symmetrical and deep.” She looked up at him. “That took a lot of strength and power.”
“And anger,” he said. “I could see somebody in a frenzy doing this.”
She gulped and backed away from the dangerous hole in the ice. “So can I.” So the killer used crampons with the first and third murder, but not the second. Was he unprepared for some reason?
