Sutton finished searching Spiker, and then opened the back door on the driver’s side of the cruiser.

“I’d like you to wait in the back until my colleagues arrive,” she said.

Spiker got in.

After Cass grudgingly cooperated, Sutton patted and searched her.

“I don’t like this one bit. We’ve done nothing wrong,” Cass said, removing cash, keys, and tissues from her pocket, and placing them on the hood.

Sutton then put Cass in the back seat with Spiker. The SUV’s front and back were divided by a clear shield; the rear doors could not be opened from the inside.

Spiker and Cass were now in custody.

Two police vehicles arrived, and Sutton opened her front passenger door. She collected her tablet, and studied the reports on Spiker and Samantha Moore.

“Mr. Spiker,” Sutton said, raising her voice, “under the terms of your parole, we’re permitted to conduct a warrantless search of your vehicle for contraband. Should you be in possession of any contraband, that would be a violation of the conditions of your release. Do you understand?”

Spiker nodded.

From inside the cruiser, Spiker and Cass watched. After a brief huddle, the two newly arrived male troopers pulled on gloves and began searching the camper, while Sutton continued studying her tablet.

Cass turned to Spiker.

“What did you do, Gibby? Before we left our camp you told me you did something you shouldna’ done. What did you do?”

Gibby was silent.

Cass dropped her voice. “Did you take something from the graves?”

Both of them remained silent, watching Sutton working on the hood. Her hands still gloved, she poked through the contents of their pockets, tapping descriptions into her tablet. Cass noticed Gibby swallow hard when the trooper came to the washcloth, unfolding it to reveal the treasures he’d found with his metal detector.

A watch, rings, spectacles, and old coins.

When Sutton unfolded the final corner of the cloth, she came upon one item and froze.

CHAPTER 52

Somewhere in the Northeast Kingdom, Vermont

Gripping the stun gun with its flashlight, Byyle went down the ladder.

About 10 feet from the bottom, he stopped. He combed the light across the cavernous area, on guard against a possible assault with a rock.

He saw nothing unusual.

The cot was heaped with blankets and sleeping bags.

She must be asleep. Good. She won’t have the chance to fight.

He moved quickly to the bottom, braced to incapacitate and then sedate her with the syringe kit in his pocket. Tightening his grip on the stun gun, he pulled back the blankets.

The cot was empty.

Byyle’s stomach lurched. Immediately pivoting, he scanned the empty pit. He raked the light clockwise, then counterclockwise, again and again, seeing but not believing.

All signs of captivity were there—the empty cot, the portable toilet, the stationary bike, the supplies, heaps of soiled clothes, the plywood floor with tarpaulin.

But no captive.