We’d only worked one case together so far, but we’d laid claim to our respective methods. When it came to investigating, Tim was organized and practical, while I tended to get creative. Take a different view.

“Explain the poster, then. The weird picture of Trey. The message on the back.”

Tim chewed his lower lip. “I’ll admit it’s strange.”

“Bram wants me to work this case,” I said. “It’s all a game to him, and he wants me to play it.”

Two loud, deep voices boomed in the next room, and we turned in the direction of the sound. Through the window in the door I could see Sol and Bogle marking up the whiteboard with a timeline of Trey’s disappearance and a list of potential suspects. The latter was woefully lacking.

“This is just so different,” Tim went on. “Bram’s crimes are against women.”

“The crimes we know about.”

“Right,” he conceded, “but why would he take a kid? Why leave this?” He reached for the poster once more, and flipped it over to display the note on the back. “‘Wanna play?’ That could mean anything. It could have been written by anyone. If I run with this, and we’re way off base, we’ve wasted valuable time. How can you be positive this is our guy?”

Tim was frustrated, and he had every right to be. He was the lead investigator on Trey’s case, and I was asking him to take a wild presumption on faith. I hadn’t given him enough information to support a theory that any halfway decent detective would see as ill conceived. But explaining the message would require me to explain a whole lot more, and I couldn’t throw open the doors to that part of my life.

“Because,” I said desperately. That’s how it is with us, how it’s always been. Trey Hayes is another one of Bram’s manufactured mysteries. “He’s trying to draw me out. You know what happened in New York. He wasn’t ready to let me go.”

I raked my hands across my scalp and said, “I don’t know his end game, but this is his way of reengaging me. The note’s an invitation. The opening bid. He took Trey, and I think I’m supposed to figure out why.”

Another sigh. “Let’s say you’re right. Where do we go from here?”

“I know some things about Bram now, beyond the Swanton connection. All those stories he told me while holding me hostage? There might be something there. A clue.”

Tim didn’t answer right away. When he did, he dragged his body upright in his chair and reached for his iPhone. “Look,” he said simply, placing the device in my hand. A sick feeling ballooned up inside me. He’d pulled up Trey’s most recent school photograph, but in this picture, the kid’s smile was real. “I was out there all day. Me and Mac, Sol and Bogle, the castle staff—we searched all over. We’ve talked to Trey’s parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, his best friend at school, and his worst enemy, a little jerk who torments Trey about his height. Nobody knows anything.” Tim dropped his head back and closed his eyes as the cruel reality of the situation set in. “Trey’s been missing close to eight hours. The temperature’s gonna drop to twenty-five degrees tonight.” When he lifted his head, he gave it a weary shake. “Just tell me what you think we should do.”