He was meant to be on the move. Perhaps he was married to the job, but if that was true, no one could ever accuse him of unfaithfulness. A couple of loops along the same mountain paths where the killer had been lurking. Maybe he’d get lucky tonight.

CHAPTER NINE

Ilse reached for her old, dumb flip phone on the nightstand, unable to fall asleep—haunted by Hilda Mueller. Haunted by the postcard. Maybe she should call Dr. Mitchell—someone else. She shifted on her bed, but the moment her fingers made contact, the phone buzzed and she jerked with a surprised yelp.

Her hand retracted automatically, and she stared the buzzing phone, swallowing hard. She reached out trembling fingers in the dark of her old lake house, and took the phone in hand. Lifting it slowly, she answered, “Hello?”

“Dr. Beck?” said a voice on the other line.

Ilse went still. Samantha again. Her new client. She felt another jolt of selfish thinking. Samantha’s case was too much, triggering Ilse’s own memories. Maybe she ought to drop her as a client.

No. She couldn’t. That wasn’t what Mitchell would have taught. It wasn’t what Ilse knew was right.

“Hello? Ms. Wright?” Ilse said, keeping her tone even, calm. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yes. Sorry, Dr. Beck. Is this a bad time?”

Ilse hesitated. She glanced around the room, ignoring the postcard. Then she got up and moved out into the hall, walking slowly with bare feet against the wooden floorboards toward the glass patio.

“No, no, of course not,” Ilse said, softly. “How can I help?”

“I—I’ve been remembering things. I did what you said. I read about the murder yesterday. There’s been a second one, Dr. Beck. A second!” Samantha’s voice creaked suddenly, and a whimper crept into her voice, which she swallowed back with a big gulping breath.

“Yes, I heard about it on the radio,” Ilse replied quietly. “I didn’t mean for you to go reading about it on your own. It was just an attempt to jog memories. It might not be wise to keep—”

“But it worked!” Samantha said, excited on the other end.

For a moment, Ilse frowned. She thought she could hear the sound of crunching footsteps through the phone. The sound of labored breathing.

“Are you at your home?” Ilse asked.

Samantha brushed off the comment with a grunt. “Couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk. But look, Dr. Beck. I—I think I may have remembered where I was kept!” The excitement in her voice was palpable.

Ilse reached the glass patio facing the lake. She stared through the dark trees beneath the night sky. Her eyes fixed on the gloomy water. Another wave of rolling mist had spread across the lake, filtering through the trees to marry the lake homes in shadow.

“Where you were kept? When you were abducted?”

“Yes, Dr. Beck! I saw it briefly. It was a memory where I felt so scared. So very, very scared! But I allowed it to play out. There was an old, abandoned shack. I think it was on a farm, Dr. Beck! I saw a farm. Are there any farms near Seattle?”