Page 82 of Darkwater Lane

“The arson investigator says a timer was used on the incendiary device. I’m afraid I’ll need your whereabouts for more than just last night.”

I press my fingers to my forehead. I think about the hours Sam has spent away from home. The late night last week. Not that I think he had anything to do with this, but filling in the gaps of hiswhereabouts won’t be easy. “We’ll have to discuss that with our lawyer and get back to you on that.”

“We also found partial human remains.”

He says it so bluntly that it catches me completely off guard. “What?”

“Human remains,” he says again.

The words leave me speechless. I instantly think about my kids, but obviously, it can’t be either of them. They’re both in the barn. I saw Sam this morning, so clearly, they’re not his remains.

With a clawing panic, I think:Vee. She treated our house like her own. She had her own key, her own alarm code. She also had her own apartment, but that never stopped her from staying over half the time. She preferred the water pressure at our house.

I press my fingers to my eyes. What if the landlord still hadn’t changed the locks? Vee wouldn’t care that we’d been kicked off the lease. If the house was empty, she’d consider it an invitation to do whatever she wanted.

“Hold on,” I tell Gutierrez.

I lower the phone from my ear and immediately pull up Vee on my location app. She’s at the tattoo shop. Still, she could have just left her phone there after work. I text her.

Gwen

I need to know you’re okay.

Three dots appear, indicating she’s typing. I nearly collapse with relief.

Vee

Whatsup Ms P?

Gwen

Nothing. It’s okay.

Vee

Nice to know yourparanoia hasn’t worn off;)

I return to the call with Gutierrez. “My family’s safe. Have you checked in with the landlord? Maybe he was there or already rented the place out?”

“I’m sorry, I can understand the confusion. You misunderstand. The remains aren’t recent,” he clarifies. “Whoever they belonged to has been dead for a while. The only thing left were bones.”

And then, suddenly, I know who the body must belong to: Melvin Royal.

“Melvin,” I say, my voice barely audible.

A shudder rolls through me. Was it possible his body was in the house while we were still living there? Surely not. Surely, it was left by whoever set the fire. I swallow the bile clawing at the back of my throat.

“We’ll run DNA to confirm, but that’s our working theory.” He pauses for a second. “You came to that conclusion awfully quickly. Took our lab a couple of hours to hunt down old prison X-rays. Care to explain how you figured it out so fast?”

Because it’s the only answer that makes sense. Who else could it be? This is a message. Just like the bones at the sickos’ murders.

This time, the message feels more personal. It’s not just a bone, but most of Melvin’s entire fucking body.

“You found one of Melvin’s bones on Varrus, didn’t you?” His death has to be connected. There’s no way it’s not.

If he’s surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. “We did. Shoved down his throat. Likely before he died, according to the autopsy report.”

I press a hand to my neck, trying not to imagine what that must have been like for him. He may have been a despicable man at the end of his life, but that doesn’t mean he should have been tortured before being killed.