It felt as if the woods were swallowing her voice. There was no response. May stepped back and looked around, feeling a rising sense of anxiety. She had to see if there was anybody home. Someone could be hiding inside and not coming to the door.
There was no sign of a car in the driveway, although the garage was firmly closed, so she edged past the house, looking for a back door or a window she could peer through.
There! She saw something move. A curtain, perhaps. But the fabric was far too dark to see through. May stepped closer, her eyes narrowed, now intent on finding out if anyone was there.
She knew that if this man was the killer, then there was a strong possibility she was being watched, and that he was hiding inside, waiting for her to give up and go away.
But she couldn't find a way in or see any sign of him. She tapped on the back door, loudly, and called again. "Anyone in?"
She waited and listened, but now there was nothing to be heard but the distant sound of birds and insects. No human sounds at all. Walking around the rest of the house, May finally saw what she was looking for—a partly open window. The curtain had been blown aside by the draft, and there was a chink of glass where she could peer in.
Checking behind her first, in case anyone was watching from those thick, impenetrable woods, May peered through the glass. She could make out a dark kitchen, with a solid-looking, wooden table. On it, metal glinted. What was there?
That was a knife sharpener, she saw, her stomach clenching. It was the only visible tool on the table at all. It was a large piece of equipment that looked to be a good quality item.
There was also a list, tacked to the wall.
What was on that list? Wishing it was closer, and that the interior of this cottage wasn't so dark, May squinted in, trying to make out what it said.
She couldn't.
How she wished that she could break in, reach through that window, open it, and search this strange, quiet, and dark house. But she couldn't. She didn't have a warrant or sufficient cause. Not even Kerry, with the FBI, would have sufficient cause to enter this man's home without his permission.
But, from outside, May could still do what she could, and she realized she had one extra tool that might—literally—help her shed some light on the situation. She had a flashlight.
She took her flashlight off her belt and shone it in the window.
Now, she could see the list clearly enough that she could make out some of what was on the first line. Looking carefully, she was sure that the name "Blair" was written there, and May felt a coldness within her, because if she was right, and these clues were adding up in the way she thought they were, then this was the man's killing list. It was his list of victims.
And then, May's heart accelerated even more. She might not be able to make out all the names—the rest of the writing was simply too small and in too much shadow—but the flashlight allowed her to see that there were four names written there.
Four names?
And only three victims so far?
May thought back over what had happened, what they'd discovered at the scene, and what she'd learned from Molly Blair.
And then, she felt ice water flood her veins because she knew, beyond a doubt, who the fourth name was. She felt self-blame descend, so sudden and strong that she literally gasped, because now she was terrified that she'd worked it out too late.
Finally, she had realized what the killer was planning and what his agenda was. Of course, this was what he was aiming for. May dreaded she would not be in time to stop him.
But she had to be! Somehow, she had to stop what she feared was going to happen soon, if it hadn't already, as afternoon drew toward evening.
She grabbed her phone off her belt, adrenaline spiking as she turned and hotfooted it to the car. She was going to call Owen, but before she could dial his number, the phone began to ring, and it was him.
"Owen, I need help! Urgently," she gabbled, as she grabbed her car door and jumped inside.
"What is it, May? Are you in danger?" Owen sounded as stressed as she'd ever heard him.
"No. I'm not in danger. This is Lucas Zane’s house, I'm sure of it, but there's nobody here. I've worked out where he is, Owen. And if we're not fast enough to stop him, he's going to kill again and destroy Molly Blair's life forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
"What do you mean? Who is this person?" May could hear Owen's voice was taut with anxiety. And as he spoke, she picked up in his voice that he realized for himself, as she'd thought he would do.
"Oh, no! It's Ron! It's Ron Shepstone, it must be."
"Yes. That's what I figured out just now as well," May said, ice seeming to cascade down her spine.
