Tara knew it was very unlikely that either of them survived, given the amount of blood. The crime scene was eerily similar to the others. Nothing else was left behind—no tent, no clothing, nothing. The only object that remained was a fire pit, but nothing more.

She walked toward it and she could see where stakes were pulled from the ground. They were four holes perfectly spaced apart, creating the four corners of a square. It was where the tent was most likely placed the night before, and she knew it was the killer who had taken it, along with everything else.

But there was still one thing left to see that could set the crime scene apart.

“Where’s the compass?” Tara asked.

Officer Dane’s eyes turned toward a tree in the distance, where Sheriff Brady stood speaking with another officer.

Moments later Tara and Warren stood by their side, staring at the tree they were discussing. It was perfectly identical to the other scenes. The words they never leave carved in jagged strides, the sun, setting or rising, and of course, the compass, perfectly placed upon a low-hanging branch—so strategically that they wouldn’t miss it.

But as Tara looked at the compass needle—the one detail she thought would set them apart—she was surprised to see it pointing south, the same direction as the second compass they found.

“I’m guessing it’s stuck too?” she asked. “The needle, I mean.”

Sheriff Brady nodded. It was just as Tara expected. But something else suddenly occurred to her.

“Who else would use four-wheelers on this trail, besides law enforcement?” Tara asked as she looked at each one of the officers.

“Well, the Mid-Atlantic trail crew often uses them,” Sheriff Brady said. “They’re in charge of trail upkeep. Oftentimes volunteers will use them.” She then stopped to think a moment. “And I suppose hunters once in a while, although they’re really not supposed to be driving them on here, but of course some do anyway.”

The same thought she had earlier rang in her mind, that the killer had some reason for targeting the Appalachian Trail. She hadn’t even thought about volunteers, who would have a deep knowledge of the trail and access to four-wheelers.

“Can we get a list of volunteers who have access to them?” Tara asked.

Sure,” Sheriff Brady responded.

Tara turned to Warren. “In the meantime, I think we’ll need a bigger map.”

***

Tara stood with Warren in a room at the police station. She rolled out a large map of the Appalachian Trail and flattened it out on the table in front of her. Warren stared down at it briefly, and then handed her the compass in its evidence bag. They had just gotten it back from the forensics lab, where it had been dusted for prints, but, as Tara assumed, there weren’t any.

She held it up to the light, the silver compass needle shimmering as it persistently pointed south. They had already marked where the other crime scenes were on the map, drawing an arrow from each point in the direction that the compass at that scene showed. And after Warren marked the one they just found, she looked down at the map, taking it in as a whole.