Archie’s mind was reeling. Had Gretchen really engineered a police search of the island in order to drive the killer back to where he’d stashed the weapon?

Gretchen’s attention was back on the screen. She lifted a finger and beckoned him without looking. “Come, darling,” she said.

He went to her, beads of broken glass crunching lightly under his feet. The light from the computer gave her white dress a gentian glow. As he stepped beside her he saw that the laptop screen showed another video feed with the same telltale time stamp at the bottom. More surveillance footage. It took Archie a moment to puzzle out what he was seeing—tree trunks, low bushes, rocky earth. An outdoor light nearby provided just enough illumination to make out grainy shapes, but no real clarity.

“I accessed the island’s security cameras,” Gretchen explained. “I had to adjust the angle of one of the cameras. This spot wasn’t visible originally. Luckily it all looks the same, so I don’t think anyone on Jack’s crack security detail has noticed yet.”

Archie studied the muddy black-and-white images on the screen. “Where is this?” he asked.

“Behind the boathouse,” Gretchen said.

“You saw this man lead the victim into the boathouse, and then dispose of her body and bury the knife there?” Archie asked, making sure he understood. If she was right, then there would be evidence on the knife. If the killer had buried it right away, he wouldn’t have had time to clean it up. It would have Lisa Watson’s blood on it. It might even have the killer’s prints. Archie needed to get to that knife. He needed to call Henry. He turned toward the door. But before he could move, Gretchen stepped in front of him.

For a moment, Archie had forgotten.

“Look,” Archie said, trying to make her understand. “We can’t ID him from the video,” he explained. “It’s too dark, and it certainly isn’t admissible. If he does come back for the knife, I want to be there to witness it. We might not even need him, if I can recover the knife and get it to the lab.”

She gave him a sympathetic frown. Then her blue cape fluttered.

Archie felt a flash of pain and a pressure in his abdomen. He looked down. Gretchen’s fist was pressed against his belly, her fingers around the handle of a scalpel. The blade was inside him, below his left rib cage. The blade could be an inch long or six inches. However long it was, she’d driven it into him up to the hilt.

“Remember why you’re here,” she said fiercely. Her left eye twitched. “I’ll kill your little pigeon if you’re not nice to me.”