One Last Step Sarah Sutton (i read books TXT) 📖

them to follow him as they moved toward a group of forensic analysts scanning the ground. When close, it was apparent what they were all looking at as Tara watched one analyst place a bloody leaf into an evidence bag. She looked down toward the ground where they blanketed the forest floor.

“This was what we first spotted,” Officer Dane said. “Where he got one of the victims.”

He then walked a bit deeper into the woods, a few feet away, until he pointed down again to a streak of blood. “We think he got the other one here,” he added as he traced the air with his finger, gesturing to the trail of blood in front of them.

Tara knew it was very unlikely that either of them survived, given the amount of blood. The crime scene was eerily similar to the others. Nothing else was left behind—no tent, no clothing, nothing. The only object that remained was a fire pit, but nothing more.

She walked toward it and she could see where stakes were pulled from the ground. They were four holes perfectly spaced apart, creating the four corners of a square. It was where the tent was most likely placed the night before, and she knew it was the killer who had taken it, along with everything else.

But there was still one thing left to see that could set the crime scene apart.

“Where’s the compass?” Tara asked.

Officer Dane’s eyes turned toward a tree in the distance, where Sheriff Brady stood speaking with another officer.

Moments later Tara and Warren stood by their side, staring at the tree they were discussing. It was perfectly identical to the other scenes. The words they never leave carved in jagged strides, the sun, setting or rising, and of course, the compass, perfectly placed upon a low-hanging branch—so strategically that they wouldn’t miss it.

But as Tara looked at the compass needle—the one detail she thought would set them apart—she was surprised to see it pointing south, the same direction as the second compass they found.

“I’m guessing it’s stuck too?” she asked. “The needle, I mean.”

Sheriff Brady nodded. It was just as Tara expected. But something else suddenly occurred to her.

“Who else would use four-wheelers on this trail, besides law enforcement?” Tara asked as she looked at each one of the officers.

“Well, the Mid-Atlantic trail crew often uses them,” Sheriff Brady said. “They’re in charge of trail upkeep. Oftentimes volunteers will use them.” She then stopped to think a moment. “And I suppose hunters once in a while, although they’re really not supposed to be driving them on here, but of course some do anyway.”

The same thought she had earlier rang in her mind, that the killer had some reason for targeting the Appalachian Trail. She hadn’t even thought about volunteers, who would have a deep knowledge of the trail and access to four-wheelers.

“Can we get a list of volunteers who have access to them?” Tara asked.

Sure,” Sheriff Brady responded.

Tara turned to Warren. “In the meantime, I think we’ll need a bigger map.”

***

Tara stood with Warren in a room at the police station. She rolled out a large map of the Appalachian Trail and flattened it out on the table in front of her. Warren stared down at it briefly, and then handed her the compass in its evidence bag. They had just gotten it back from the forensics lab, where it had been dusted for prints, but, as Tara assumed, there weren’t any.

She held it up to the light, the silver compass needle shimmering as it persistently pointed south. They had already marked where the other crime scenes were on the map, drawing an arrow from each point in the direction that the compass at that scene showed. And after Warren marked the one they just found, she looked down at the map, taking it in as a whole.

They stood there in silence, before Tara finally raised her head.

“I think our original theory was right,” she confirmed. “I think it’s pointing to where the killer will strike next.”

It made perfect sense to her. The first two victims, the couple, who went missing by Hanover, New Hampshire—the compass pointed north from that crime scene. And north, Tara confirmed, was where the third victim was found on the porch. At that crime scene, the compass pointed south, which was where they stood moments earlier on the trail, south of the second crime scene. And if Tara’s theory were right, the killer would strike south, yet again.

Warren sighed, “I agree,” he finally said. “But we need to be careful.” He paused. “You never know if a killer is just trying to throw us off.”

Tara mulled his words over in her head. It wasn’t something she had seriously considered before. What if, she thought, the killer was doing this purposely—making them think they knew something, making them think they were ahead of him, only to toy with them and do something drastic later? It was a thought that suddenly made her feel uneasy. She knew this killer was smart, but was he smart enough to outsmart them?

Suddenly, Sheriff Brady stood in the doorframe, interrupting Tara’s train of thought. She stood with reading glasses now at the tip of her nose and she tilted her head downward to see above them.

“We have a list for you of the Mid-Atlantic trail crew,” she said and then turned for them to follow.

Tara and Warren followed her into her office and took a seat across the desk from her. She swiveled in her chair, reached for a piece of paper behind her, and placed it down on her desk in front of them. She pushed the list toward them.

“My officers narrowed it down by those who volunteer in the area and who’ve had access to four-wheelers,” she confirmed.

Tara reached for it and looked it over, but was quickly disappointed when she saw the length.

“There’s over twenty names on this list,” she said as she looked up from it. Knowing they had little time,