I turn and run my flashlight over a wooden table. Tools and knives hang neatly on a pegboard on the wall over it. There’s a hammer sitting on the edge of the table, as though someone forgot to put it away. There’s a sink next to the table, gray with age, stained with dark smudges, and there’s a drain in the floor nearby.

Chase coughs and staggers back. “I think this is where the hunters brought their game.” He holds his hand over his mouth and mumbles. “My grandfather used to hunt. We had to have venison or rabbit whenever we visited him. He had a friend who processed meat, and he took me to the guy’s place once. That’s why I’m such a wuss around blood. I was eight. The smell made me sick, and I puked up my lunch.”

Goose bumps rise on my arms. There’s something on the floor next to the table. A spilled box of nails. “Looks like Dr. Bradley might’ve dropped the nails when he finished with the window. Wonder why he left them all over the floor?” I get down on my hands and knees and wave the flashlight beam under the table. “Look at this, Chase.”

He crouches beside me. “Is that blood?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“Maybe it’s from animals.”

“Maybe.” I sit back on my haunches and rub the back of my neck, thinking. “But what if Dr. Bradley bent down to pick up the nails and saw something that made him forget all about putting away his tools or cleaning up the glass in the attic.”

“He would’ve needed a flashlight to look under the table to see the blood, Rita. Why would he have bothered when the nails were in plain sight?”

“Maybe he didn’t see the blood. Maybe he saw something else.”

“The necklace?”

“Could be. Then he saw the initials and put two and two together.” I take a deep breath. “Let’s see where those doors go.”

The metal doors are rusted, and the windows are covered in grime. But when I try the lock, it gives way easily enough. The light and air feel fresh as I step out into the snow. We’re a stone’s throw from the river here, and across a small bridge lies the blue tent.

* * *

The forensics team has sent a couple of people to check out the basement, and Chase and I return to the living room.

Mrs. Bradley looks toward us when she hears us approach. “Is it her? The missing woman?”

“We can’t say until the body’s positively identified.”

Mrs. Bradley nods, her mouth clenched like a child who’s trying not to cry. “Why would someone bury her here? The killer must’ve passed the house and dropped the necklace. I bet Jay found it in the yard.”

“Could be.”