Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
W ard pulled onto the shoulder of a two-lane cow trail that edged along a sliver of Lake Champlain and killed the engine. They’d driven as far east as they could get without leaving New York and entering Vermont, unless they wanted to go for a swim. In the twilight, he couldn’t see a damn thing except trees, the bend in the road, and the rolling drop to the water.
They were about a hundred miles from Albany, and three miles west of Princess Point. Population: 1,203. Home to people who clearly didn’t like other people around.
Civilization had given up here, leaving the countryside abandoned except for farmland and fishing cabins. What the Industrial Revolution had given, time and technology had taken away.
Why the hell had Hume brought Della here?
Ward moved to the back of the van. “Princess Point? Really?”
“Ironic, I know. Maybe he was making a statement?” Spencer pointed at the main monitor where he’d circled an area in red. “According to the data dump from our stop earlier, she’s within this five mile area. If she’d moved outside of that range, she’d have pinged off towers here, here, and here.” Spencer pointed at distant locations on the map. “The fact that she didn’t indicates that she’s stopped moving. That retro gas station had fiber optic cable, so the data’s solid. At least, up until we pulled it anyway. I love the oil and gas industry.”
“Five miles of empty countryside is a hell of a lot of ground to cover, Spence.” Ward raked his hands through his hair. “So why are we sitting still?”
Spencer shifted to another monitor. This one featured miniature towers with colored rings around them. “These three towers provide reasonably good triangulation. The infrastructure here has been improved over the last five years to allow for remote work, which is the primary source of income.”
“Spence…the point?”
Spencer turned to face him. “The point is that the signal didn’t drop. It was cut off. I think he’s stopped for the night and they’ve gone inside a structure that includes thick building material that blocks the signal, like concrete or steel or even insulated glass if it’s industrial strength. Or…”
“Or…,” he prompted.
Spencer took a deep breath. "Or he’s discovered that the necklace is a tracker. Like Annie said, he’s crazy, but not stupid, and he does have skills with electronics. What would he do then?”
“Hell.” Ward let out a frustrated growl. “He could have tied it to a dog or a deer. He could have pitched it into the river or left it in a trash can or tossed it into the bed of a truck at a rest stop and that person has now made it home, put the truck in the garage. If any of that happened, Hume’s onto us. He’s gone off-grid, and we’re screwed.”
“I can rule out the dog or deer scenario at least. The movements would have slowed and become erratic. That didn’t happen. I have to admit, transferring the necklace to someone else’s vehicle makes the most logical sense.” Spencer glanced away.
Ward closed his eyes. “It all boils down to one question: Does Hume know the necklace is a tracker?”
Spencer leaned back in his chair. “There’s no way to know for sure.”
“No. There isn’t.” Ward leaned against the console and stared at the monitor. “So we assume the necklace is intact and still with Della.”
It was the only scenario he could live with.
“And we all know what ‘assume’ means.” Spencer shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of moving forward without any data sets to rely on.
“It’s the only lead we have.” Ward fought to keep his tone firm and neutral and his growing restless anxiety squashed under practicalities: Do the job. Follow the steps. Don’t think about what might be happening to her. “Besides, the simple answer is usually the right one. He’d just nabbed his prize. He was excited. Feeling superior. He finally has what he wants, and now he’s executing his plan.”
Ward paced the short distance to the back of the van. “He didn’t think through anything other than getting away from me and tucking her in somewhere safe. He’s had this route planned for a long time, but I don’t think he planned on her being tagged. So he stopped at his hidey hole for the night, or hell it might be his final destination. That’s why the signal cut off. What’s around here?”
Spencer spun to face another monitor and tapped on the keyboard. “That’s why I had you pull over.”
A series of red dots populated the map. Spencer gestured at them. “These are all the structures that might be what we’re looking for, if we assume a number of factors. Princess Point is a very small town. There’s a grocery store, a bar, and a post office. No schools. Kids bus to the next town over. There’s a few places to stay…one tiny motel, one apartment building that’s only two stories, and two mobile home parks. Otherwise, it’s small single-family homes. We can eliminate the motel and the mobile homes because they wouldn’t stop the signal.”
Three dots disappeared.
Ward snorted. “Well, that narrowed it down.”
“Actually, it did, if you consider how many individual rooms we won’t need to search.”
Ward studied the dots and forced his thoughts to wander into the muck that made up the stalker’s mind. “He wouldn’t take Della anywhere near town, even one that small. They’d be seen. If she’s still knocked out, that would draw attention. If she’s not…she’d be making a hell of a lot of noise. Either way they get noticed.”
“Agreed,” Spencer pressed a few buttons, and all but two dots vanished.
Spencer pointed to one northeast of town. “This land was part of a big farm, though the original house was destroyed in a fire and the fields haven’t been worked in years. There’s still several structures remaining, including a barn for livestock and a larger warehouse, probably for the heavy equipment. All of it would block cell signals.”
Ward studied the satellite image. “It’s hard to tell scope from an overhead shot like this. What’s the other location?”
“An abandoned silk mill. That’s why we stopped here. It’s ahead, on the left. It’s old school, built with thick layers of brick, and still filled with all the old equipment. There’s all kinds of photos of it online. Apparently, photographers like to spend the day shooting in there. They all complain about the lack of cell coverage.”
“Huh.” Ward considered it. The overhead shot showed a large brick building being reclaimed by nature. The extended drive curved around a group of trees. He doubted it could be seen from the road. “It’s isolated enough, but if it’s a place people often visit…”
“There hasn’t been a meetup in several months,” Spencer said. “At least, not an official one. It would be listed because the owner charges an entry fee.”
“Owner.” He thought about it. “What about the farm? Who owns that? Do they rent it out?”
“The land was sold to a developer ten years ago, but they never did anything with it. They’re probably waiting for the surrounding area to support more housing.”
Ward snorted. “Or the apocalypse.”
The buildings weren’t set as far back as the silk mill. They could be seen from the road.
Still.
A spark of possibility flared to life in Ward’s gut. It was remote, but not so distant that Hume couldn’t bring in supplies without too much effort. There were no houses in the immediate area. No nosy neighbors. The road wasn’t a main artery, and the empty land on all sides meant less traffic.
“I’m leaning toward the farm, but since we’re here, I might as well take a closer look at the mill. Sit tight. This won’t take long.”
He pulled out an earpiece and inserted it. “Test, test.”
Spencer gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll do a deeper dive on the farm.”
Ward climbed out the back of the van and shut the door. It was dark. No traffic. He caught a glimpse of a deer in the trees on the other side of the road. It watched him, curious, as he double-timed it down the road and around the bend.
It didn’t take long to reach the drive that served the abandoned mill. Vehicle tracks had worn the gravel down to a dull finish and kept weeds at bay, but none of the tracks were fresh. He studied the building from the shadows, just in case Hume was in there watching.
Part of the roof had collapsed. The steps leading to the truck dock looked weathered and beaten. The front door still seemed solid, but the whole building gave off an air of depressed resentment. This place used to be important. It used to provide value and paychecks. Now…there was nothing here but crickets and crumbling brick.
He scanned the area one more time. No scuff marks from dragged feet. No hint of lights. No electric pole at all, that he could see. That meant no running water. No security other than battery powered. The unstable roof would make the whole place unsafe.
The psycho thought he’d finally managed to take his true love. He’d want to impress her. This was a woman he’d left flowers and love letters.
No way he’d bring her to an old, abandoned factory. It wasn’t—his brain cramped—romantic.
They were in the wrong place.