Then—just wait for me. The house on Abel Hill Lane had not been on the search log—and it was not a registered address. It had no street number. He’d promised to run the utility searches first thing this morning, then take her back to Laguna to get her car. Then they would go to town hall. He said he would help her get through the red tape, whatever that meant. How much red tape could there be in Hastings? It was one parcel. Still, she’d promised to wait and go with him. They would find out who owned the place. Call them, ask about the night of the storm. They couldn’t search it without a warrant, but they could stop by. Knock on the door.

Still, Nic couldn’t sit around and do nothing all morning. Town hall was two miles down the road. She had no car. Roger Booth was here, right in front of her.

“It’s a tall, barbed wire fence,” she said, breaking her promise to Reyes. “And I think it belongs to the neighboring property—maybe one of the old plants.”

Booth’s face lit up then. He seemed happy to be entertaining someone in his apartment, and Nic felt a wave of pity.

“Oh—yes!” he said then. “I’m so silly! I remember now—my father speaking about this years ago. Not about the fence, exactly, but the investors who bought the land and old buildings from Ross Pharma—they were planning to make it some kind of mental facility for criminals, but they never got the permits they needed. The whole town fought it. I remember him saying he’d never let Hastings turn into a prison town. Their property must back right up to mine deep in the woods.”

“And you didn’t think of this when I asked you before?” It seemed very strange to Nic—how many fences could there be in this town? And how did he not know who owned the neighboring land?

Booth appeared to be embarrassed. “I . . . I’m not sure. You were going for a run in my woods and that made me nervous . . .”

He had looked nervous then. And now as well.

“Do they still own the property?”

Booth shrugged, set down his teacup. “I think they do. It’s never been for sale. They probably keep it for a tax write-off.”

“There’s a house on that property—with a driveway running down to Abel Hill Lane. But it’s not a registered address. Do you know anything about it?”

“The foreman who kept the grounds had a house. That must be it. Probably ran the separate driveway for some privacy. I heard it was kind of strange. A ranch but with a porch and false roof so it looks like a farm house from the front. I think they started a renovation but then didn’t finish after the permits for the facility were blocked.”