Page 17

A freezing wind whipped through the parking lot of the Somerset Motel in Meyersdale, Pennsylvania, where Stella had passed a fitful night’s rest next to Hagen, who’d slept like a sloth.

The field on the other side of the empty street was as bare and flat as a hockey rink.

Frost still lay thick over the ground in the midmorning, and she wondered if the sun would be warm enough to melt the ice should it ever emerge.

Not that the clouds looked like they’d clear. They lay as thick and heavy over the hilltops as wet cotton.

She stomped her feet and dug her hands deeper into her pockets. “Should be here by now.”

Hagen checked his watch. They’d been waiting nearly twenty minutes. “They’re from the Pittsburgh office. That’s a pretty long drive. Cut them some slack.”

“It’s ninety minutes away. I’m not giving them any slack. Not when I’m freezing my ass off.”

“We could go back inside.”

Stella hunched her shoulders but didn’t move.

They’d spent the night in what must’ve been the cheapest motel in the state.

The carpets in the room had been paced half to death.

The windows rattled. And the air stank of dampness, mold, mildew, manure, and something acrid Stella hadn’t been able to identify and didn’t want to.

The wind outside might’ve been frigid, but at least it was fresh.

Hagen lifted his chin. “Here they are.”

A black Ford Explorer turned off the main road and bounced over the frozen potholes in the parking lot. It parked in front of them, and the passenger door popped open. The special agent who looked like James Dean, Lucas Sullivan, stuck his gelled head out and told them to hop in.

Stella led Hagen into the back seat and was pleased to find that the temperature inside was almost tropical.

The driver, Special Agent Journey Russo, swiveled to face them while Hagen pulled on his seat belt.

“Sorry we’re late. Lots of ice on the road. Had to take it slow.”

Stella came close to forgiving her.

In real life, Journey looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties.

She sat tall in her seat—if Stella had to guess, she’d judge Journey’s height to be about five-seven.

Without her jacket on, Journey had a slender, athletic physique, shoulder-length dark-brown hair, and fair skin.

Her eyes were dark blue, almost indigo. And despite Journey’s friendly demeanor, she had an intimidating edge to her, a quality that suggested a profound toughness.

People had told Stella that she gave off the same impression.

She liked Journey immediately.

Hagen made the introductions on their end as Stella held her hands in front of the warm air flowing from the vent. They pulled slowly away from the motel.

Journey eyed Stella in the rearview mirror. “We’re glad to have you here. We just got through with a major case against a cult, so we know how difficult they can be. ”

“Hopefully, this one won’t take years.” Lucas shifted in his seat.

“I think you’re going to have to figure things out faster this time, Sullivan.”

Lucas gave his partner a side-eye, and Stella smiled. The two obviously trusted each other.

“This one’s not on me.” Lucas turned in his seat and pointed back and forth between Stella and Hagen. “You two started it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Stella snorted a laugh.

Hagen pounded a fist into his palm. “And we’re going to end it.”

“Having you here is like having a head start. So that’s a plus.” Lucas turned back and faced the windshield.

The fields rolled on beside the SUV, an endless carpet of frozen earth. Stella pulled her hands into her coat sleeves. “Well, we’ll certainly be happy when we finally put these assholes away. Where are we headed?”

Journey’s gaze flicked back to the mirror. “The crime scene. I figured that’s where you’d want to begin.”

Stella nodded. Crime scenes always carried memories of lives lost. Every shadow hid something dark. But the scene was, in fact, the first place she wanted to see.

They drove on through the farmland. Stella tried to imagine what the fields looked like in spring, when the white dusting that covered the mud was replaced by green shoots.

Magical, she decided. Magical and warm and colorful.

After about twenty minutes, Journey turned up a track made of rutted, frozen mud. The empty fields stretched away on either side. Stella was grateful for the Explorer’s four-wheel drive and off-road suspension, even as the vehicle rocked from side to side.

Journey pulled up outside a small wooden barn. The structure wasn’t much to look at. Bare boards. A high roof. The remains of red paint, long faded.

Stella stepped out of the cab. The cold wind hit her like a slap. She hunched her neck in to her shoulders. “Know what this thing’s used for now?”

Journey slammed the vehicle door behind her and left the engine running—a law enforcement habit.

“It was used for storage. It’s been empty for a while.

The place is owned by the victim’s father.

Gideon Caine. This is his land. Lucas and I spoke to some of the locals in town.

They said youngsters sometimes drive out here to smoke marijuana and screw around.

But only in the summer. Said they’ve never had anything like this happen before. ”

Stella lifted the police tape in front of the door and followed Journey and Lucas inside.

She stopped in the entrance, remembering the pictures SAC Kelly Tysen had shared during their meeting.

The body was gone. But the beam from which the corpse had hung stretched beneath the roof.

A slight wear on the timber revealed where the rope had rubbed.

Directly beneath the beam, blood stained the floor to form a dark, circular patch. Broad swipes disrupted the puddle, where the stain lay thinner on the ground.

Hagen stopped at the edge of the area, his hands in his pockets. “Looks like the killer tried to spread the blood around. Draw himself a nice, neat circle.”

Lucas nodded. “Forensics was here yesterday. And they agreed with you. They found fingerprints in the blood, which suggests the unsub pushed the stuff around with his hands. Must’ve made a heck of a mess.”

“Not to state the obvious here, but I’m guessing no one saw someone run out of here with blood up to his elbows?”

“Time of death was close to midnight last Friday night. There’s no one around here for three, four miles even during daytime.

And forensics took samples from a puddle out back.

They think the unsub rinsed himself off before fleeing the scene.

” Lucas pointed to a plank that ran along the back wall.

“They also took pictures of those things.”

Stella circled around the stain on the floor to the back of the barn. Whoever this monster was had scratched a series of cuneiforms into the wooden wall. The marks didn’t look new. The wood had already darkened in places.

“Forensics say how long these have been there?”

“I wondered that too. They weren’t sure. Guessed a week or more. Maybe longer for some. Before the killing anyway.”

Stella didn’t respond right away. She took out her phone and brought up the images of Charlie Caine’s body, then held her phone at arm’s length in front of the beam. The screen filled the space beneath the rafters.

The naked corpse hung upside down, blood frozen mid-drip from the fingertips. Just like Laurence Gill, Mark Tully, and Patrick Marrion. The same signature.

She zoomed in on the marks on the victim’s back.

They were the same as the scratches carved into the wall.

The unsub had started with wood, then moved on to flesh.

His attempts were rougher than the writing she’d seen on Laurence Gill and on the walls in Nashville, like the spread of a bad rumor that grew cruder with each telling.

She lowered her phone. “Yeah. As we said during the conference call, these are the same marks we found on the other victims. The expert, Dr. Guy Lacross, translated them for us. ‘Only blood will redeem the world. Redemption is coming soon.’”

Hagen finished examining the wall and walked around the barn, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Did we find out what the victim was doing here?”

Journey shook her head. “Not really. Charlie Caine has been helping his father out on the farm since he got out of the Army. But his dad said he’d have had no reason to come out to the barn this time of year. Or that time of night.”

“There was something here.” Hagen dropped to his haunches next to the wall. “The dust has been disturbed. Forensics take anything from here?”

“Not as far as I know.” Journey joined him. She squatted beside Hagen. “Maybe the place isn’t as disused as it looks.”

Stella and Lucas peered over their shoulders. On the floor was a rectangular patch, slightly paler than the rest of the wood. Something had indeed been removed recently.

Journey rose smoothly. “That’s all there is to see here. If you’re ready, we’ll take you to the victim’s dad.”

Hagen pushed himself to his feet. “Sounds like a plan.”

Stella held back as they filed out of the barn and back to the SUV, then took out her phone again. She brought up the picture of Charlie Caine’s corpse, the skin bloody and pale. Past the picture and through the doorway, the ground was frozen white and the gray sky void of color.

For a moment, she could believe what the killer had believed. That the end of the world was coming.