And that wasn’t all. While there might have been no evidence of a loft from the front of the house, the entire area under the roof had been extensively converted. It was bright and white, with two distinct, paneled spaces consisting of a room immediately to my left and an office area to my right. The latter had a large desk and five filing units—two four-drawer and three of the shorter two-drawer ones—and a comfortable-looking sofa. Hamberly obviously hadn’t gotten any of those up that ladder, so there had to be a secondary access point somewhere else.

“Anything else of interest?” Jackson asked.

“You could say that.”

I climbed into the loft and waited until he did the same.

“Whoa,” he said. “Hamberly was certainly intent on keeping something secret.”

“And from the look of it, neither PIT nor the cops have been up here to investigate. That strikes me as odd.”

“Not really. Not given Hamberly was the victim of the Aswang and involved with Junior rather than Senior—at least as far as anyone was aware.” He waved a hand to the left. “I’ll tackle the room.”

His footsteps echoed on the wooden flooring, smothering the sound of mine as I walked across to the desk. There were several folders sitting in an in-tray, each one bearing someone’s name. I picked up the top one and flipped it open. The images that greeted me had my eyebrows rising, if only because they were of Hamberly and someone who wasn’t Rosen Junior in sexually explicit positions. The man might not have looked like much, but he certainly had an imagination, if these photos were anything to go by.

I checked out the rest of the folders; while each one contained a different man with Hamberly, many were not only sexually explicit, but also veered heavily into BDSM, piss play, and even some erotic asphyxiation.

“Hamberly’s been photographing his conquests,” I said. “Some of these images are . . . interesting, to say the least.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Jackson said. “But this is where he’s processing them—it’s a fully kitted-out photo lab.”

“Well, he certainly wouldn’t be getting these images printed down at the local office supply place, let me tell you.”

A door creaked. “There’s also a small photography studio set up behind the lab. The setup looks professional.”

I put the folders back and walked over to the first of the taller cabinets. It wasn’t locked, but the number was so familiar, I stared at it for several seconds before it actually registered.

It seemed I was wrong, and Jackson had been right.

Wilson did have something to do with Hamberly, because I’d just found the lock that matched the second damn key.

CHAPTER 11

I grabbed the key from my bag and shoved it into the lock, just to be doubly sure. It turned. “Houston, we have found the cabinet.”

“What?”