“I’m coming in,” she says. She needs to think, needs to see it mapped out in front of her, not just hear words over the phone. She always works better with a visual.

They set up a situation room with a map of the woods and photos from the house, including the pool of blood and the spatter found on the cabinets and ceiling. Kateri finds Joel Hurt in there, mimicking the swing of an ax, looking in front of and behind him and up at the ceiling, and making notes with small yellow Post-its on the photos.

“They were victims of a crime before,” Hurt says without saying hello.

“When?” Kateri asks.

Hurt takes a black-and-white picture of Pearl from years ago and tacks it up.

“Sixteen years ago,” he says. “Her husband—Shannon’s father, Park Jenkins—burned the house down with them in it.”

“Where’s Park?” Kateri asks.

“Clinton.” He puts Park’s mug shot next to Pearl. His brow is heavy, his eyes deep set, and his mouth a hard line.

“And Shannon’s record?” Kateri asks.

“Doesn’t have one,” Hurt says. “The only picture I have is from his ninth-grade yearbook.” He sticks it to the board next to Pearl’s. He’s a pretty boy with a heart-shaped face, blond hair in his eyes, shy looking. He’s not smiling. He looks mildly alarmed. “This was five years ago,” Hurt says. “Didn’t graduate. Works at the diner in town.”

A male tech leans into the room. “Detective Hurt,” he says. “No footage on the TV.”

“None?” Hurt says.

“It’s rigged like a baby monitor, sir. Nothing is recorded. You can only watch.”

“Fuck,” Hurt says. Then, “Well, they’re all pointed outside the house anyway. Nothing was watching what was going on inside.” He puts his hands on his hips and turns to Kateri. “The Hub Diner closes at three,” he says. “Shannon Jenkins at least needs to be questioned.”

Kateri looks at her watch. It’s just past two. “I’ll go,” she says.

“He’s clearly not making anything of himself,” Hurt says. “Something tells me apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

They part ways. Hurt goes back into the woods to join the team, who continue to comb through the rocks and trees, and Kateri drives into town to see if she can catch Shannon Jenkins at work. At the very least, she needs to break the news to him. She may need him to identify a body. She might have to arrest him.

The Hub sits right in the middle of town, where Center Street curves south toward the river and becomes Route 23. Just past that, the land is cordoned off for new luxury condos and giant houses that seem geared toward someone else entirely. Professionals looking for a winter retreat, a lodge, a mountain getaway from the slush of the city. Out-of-towners who think of the snow as picturesque.

The diner is empty, getting ready to close. She leaves her car haphazardly taking up space in the lot and hurries in to see if Shannon is still there.