When she said nothing more, he continued. “We’re still waiting to get a time of death, but we have a window. His vehicle was parked at the trailhead within that time frame. We’re looking for evidence. Blood. Murder weapon.”

“A cabin,” she said.

“A cabin?”

“Yes. We’ve hiked about three quarters of a mile, according to my watch, but if we keep going for the full mile, the cabin should be just over a half mile off trail to the northwest.”

He paused to look at her.

“What? You act as if you’re surprised to learn that I actually do have something to contribute.”

“No, it’s not that.” Sure. Maybe it was.

“Right. But we can’t know if he hiked this trail or headed for that cabin.”

“Was he having an affair? Was he blackmailing someone or being blackmailed? The list goes on.”

“I think you were right when you said you had the feeling it’s complicated. A plane crashes. Jim reports seeing the plane, and even makes his way to the downed plane—it was on a forest road, so he could have driven there. Within hours, Jim is murdered.”

“And the pilot flees his hospital room.”

“Wait.” He thought he spotted a cabin through the trees, though it wasn’t easy to see. If he took even one step, it was gone again. “There it is.”

Jack stepped off the trail and over tree trunks and fallen branches into an area carpeted with pine needles.

“The cabin is part of the forest service’s Recreation Residence Program,” she said, “otherwise known as ‘cabin in the woods.’ In this case, the cabin is isolated.”

“I’m not following you.”

“The cabins are special use permit issued for twenty years at a time for personal use.” Terra pushed on toward the cabin, and Jack kept pace.

At the door, she said, “Let’s see if anyone is home.”

He pressed his palm against his weapon and knocked on the door. “Detective Tanner and Special Agent Connors here. We’d like to ask some questions.”

No one responded.

They hiked around the cabin. Curtains prevented them from seeing inside. At the back, a curtain hung at an angle, revealing a portion of the inside of the cabin.

Terra gasped. “Wait a minute.”

She moved to the door and tried it, but it was locked.

“What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“Shelves. Mostly empty. But I spotted a couple of Native American artifacts, pots actually, so contraband . . . probable cause.”

“They could be completely legal,” he said.

“Granted. They could be. But someone was murdered, and the artifacts are tucked away here in an isolated cabin, so I’m leaning toward illegal.”

He produced the key he’d found on the floor at Jim’s house. “We need to know what it’s for.”

He stuck it in and unlocked the door.