“He didn’t commit suicide,” I said. “I had a hard time believing Tiffany would, but I absolutely cannot believe Cody did. The guy has the survival instincts of a barracuda. He’d never flip out, kill Jesse, kill the guard, then kill himself. Someone just wants to make it look as if he did.”

I headed for the door. “We need to find him.”

THE BIG SET of doors did indeed lead onto the sawmill floor—a huge open space filled with crap. Not crap, I guess. Machinery mostly. Here and there were blank spaces, as if those pieces had been sold. The remainder looked as if it dated from the sawmill’s opening.

Rooms were easy to search systematically while keeping an eye on the exit. This would be like searching an open forest, treacherous terrain filled with ambush spots.

“I’m going to cast my sensing spell,” I whispered.

Adam hesitated, then nodded.

The problem was knowing whether the spell was coming back negative because nothing was there or because it was shorting out. I could pick up faint pulses, though—rats, cats, or other critters. When I faced east, I caught the distant signs of a human-sized presence.

I pointed and nodded. Adam let out a sigh of relief. However much he’d been grumbling, he had been concerned about Jesse. Just more concerned about me.

I only hoped it was Jesse, and not the person who’d killed Cody and the guard.

I let Adam take the lead. He carefully picked his way past the machinery, avoiding stepping on any debris and announcing his presence.

As we passed a saw, blades covered, I heard the scuffle of a shoe on the concrete and spun, hands flying up in a spell. It failed. Someone knocked me to the ground. I caught a whiff of overwhelming BO.

Before I could fight back, Adam hauled the figure off me. Another stink filled the air—burning fabric. Adam threw my attacker aside. I leaped to my feet. There lay a middle-aged guy in a jacket so filthy I couldn’t guess at the color. Same went for the guy’s hair, and even the guy himself.

He scuttled back, gaze fixed on Adam looming over him.

“This is my spot,” the man whined. “Randy promised he wouldn’t give it to anyone else.”

I directed Adam’s attention to a nest of rags and boxes in the corner. Adam swore under his breath and reached into his back pocket.

“Is Randy the security guard?” I asked the homeless guy.

He nodded, still watching Adam.

“When did you last see him?” I asked.

“Yesterday. He brought me a sandwich.”

Adam plucked out a twenty and handed it to the guy. “We’ve been looking for a friend of ours who came in here. Have you seen anyone today?”