Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(59)

She emerged a minute later and jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the bathroom. “The bath is stocked with rubber duckies and No More Tangles. Upstairs looks like kids’ space.”

“Agreed. Let’s go back downstairs.” Lance walked through the downstairs bedrooms, looking for anything that could belong to Brian—like a computer—but he found nothing personal. Towels and sheets were stacked in the linen closets. The bathrooms had plenty of soap and toothpaste.

“Maybe they rent out the cabin.” Morgan led the way back to the front rooms. She went to the window in the living area and scanned the front yard. Seemingly satisfied that no one was coming, she wandered around the living room, opening drawers.

Lance poked through some envelopes and papers stacked on the counter. “These bills are addressed to Robert Springer, Brian’s brother.”

“Lance,” Morgan called softly.

She stood in an empty spot in front of the TV. Her body was too still, her eyes cast down at the floor.

When Lance had first walked through the cabin, he’d been focused on looking for people. He’d glanced over the couch long enough to see that no one was hiding there. But now he registered details. The coffee table had been moved aside.

“What is it?” As he walked closer, he could see a wooden chair on its side in the middle of the space.

“Dark stains on the floor.”

Lance crossed the floor to stand next to her. “Where?”

She pointed.

Lance squatted to examine the spots more closely. He pulled his penlight from his pocket and shone it on the floor. The stains were dark red on the honey-colored pine.

“Blood,” Morgan said.

“That would be my guess.” Though he couldn’t be sure without a rapid stain ID kit.

“It looks like someone wiped up the liquid but didn’t bother trying to clean the floor.” Lance crouched. There were at least three stains on the wood. The police would likely find more with a spray of luminol and a black light. Lengths of rope were scattered around the chair, as if someone had been bound.

He stood. “Someone was tied to the chair.”

“And tortured in some way,” Morgan said. After a short pause, she added, “Paul was shot in the belly. Maybe that was torture as well.”

“Maybe.” Lance pictured the body in the morgue. “That teenage boy who was pulled from the lake was beaten before he was killed.”

Morgan crossed her arms. “The killer wanted information. He’s looking for something.”

“Or someone.” Lance stared at the bloodstains. “I don’t like the odds of this victim still being alive.”

“Paul was shot in the head. The boy in the morgue was shot in the head. If our killer is consistent, whoever was tortured here would have met the same fate.” Morgan’s head turned toward the kitchen window and its view of the lake. “He’s already dumped one body in the water.”

Lance photographed the bloodstain, then walked the rest of the room and found several more spots. Marks on the floor caught his attention. Faint scrapes formed two parallel lines. Heel marks. He followed them to the back door in the kitchen, snapping pictures all the way. “Someone dragged a body through the kitchen. I’m going outside to see if I can find tracks. See if you can find any more blood inside.”

Morgan opened her tote bag and produced a flashlight. She shone it on the floor and began moving the beam in a grid pattern across the room.

Lance went out onto a large deck. The deck was well worn, and at the base of the steps, he found matching drag marks in the mud. He followed them as they sloped to the lake and traveled onto the dock that extended over the water. At the end of the dock, where a loose rope suggested a boat had been tied, was a long dark stain.

Blood.

It stained the bottom of a piling and cleat, as if someone had tried to grab the dock to keep from being dragged onto a boat. Lance looked out over the water. The cabin was on the south shore. From this viewpoint, the water seemed endless. He’d been to Lake George to hike, camp, and a few years ago, to compete in a triathlon. Long and narrow, the lake was over thirty miles long and up to two miles wide. Its maximum depth was two hundred feet. The killer could have tossed the victim overboard anywhere. They didn’t even know if the person was alive or dead. If a body was weighted down and dumped somewhere in the lake, it would be damned hard to find.

As he backtracked to the cabin, he took pictures of the drag trail.

Alarm prickled when he didn’t see Morgan in the kitchen or living room. “Morgan?”

“Here.” Her head appeared above the couch. “I found something.”

“What is it?” Lance walked closer.

Morgan was crouched low, her flashlight pointing under an end table. Her head tilted. Her breath caught, and the color drained from her face. “Oh, my God. It’s a finger.”

Lance hurried closer. Her skin grayed. She rocked back on her heels and covered her mouth. He moved her aside and took her place. The finger lay on its side. “The severed end looks neatly clipped off. He used something sharp.”

Morgan shuddered and got to her feet. “I’m going outside for a minute.”

Lance took pictures of the bloodstains and finger. The flash went off, illuminating another finger next to the leg of the sofa. It looked like a pinkie. He examined the first finger a second time. Slightly longer than the pinkie, it was probably a ring finger. Lance checked under the rest of the furniture, then stood.