CHAPTER TWENTY
Riley’s headlights cut through the gathering darkness as she pulled into the Westminster police station parking lot.
Ann Marie had been quiet during the hour-long drive from Bundydale, apparently giving Riley time to think—too much time, perhaps.
She felt closer to understanding Tony Bartlett’s twisted mind, but her speculations about the coordinates Timothy Lancaster had provided were useless without more information from a local who knew the area well.
The police station was smaller than Riley had expected, a brick building that looked like it had been constructed in the seventies and hadn’t been significantly updated since.
When the two agents went inside, a middle-aged man with graying hair and the solid build of someone who’d spent decades in uniform looked up from behind the front desk. His badge read “Sergeant Davis.”
“Can I help you folks?” he asked, eyeing them with the wariness of a small-town cop.
Riley pulled out her credentials. “Special Agent Riley Paige, FBI. This is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer. We’re here to see Chief Autrey.”
The sergeant’s demeanor changed instantly, a mix of respect and curiosity replacing his caution. “The chief mentioned you’d be coming by. Let me get him for you.”
As the sergeant disappeared down a hallway, the station’s front door swung open again. Captain Travis Hodge strode in, his familiar presence comforting to Riley in this unfamiliar territory.
“Made good time,” Hodge said by way of greeting. “Traffic was light.”
Before Riley could respond, a broad-shouldered man with a close-cropped haircut emerged from the back. He moved with the purposeful strides of someone who’d spent his life in authority, but his face held the lines of a man who’d seen his share of darkness.
“Captain Hodge,” he said, extending his hand. “Been too long.”
“Bruce,” Hodge replied, shaking his hand firmly. “Appreciate you making time for us.”
Chief Autrey turned to Riley and Ann Marie. “I’m Chief Bruce Autrey. Welcome to Westminster.”
Riley took his measure as they exchanged handshakes and introductions.
Autrey struck her as the type who knew his jurisdiction like the back of his hand – the kind of cop who could tell you which families had feuds going back generations and which teenagers were likely to cause trouble on Saturday nights.
“Does the name Tony Bartlett mean anything to you?” Riley asked.
“Sure does,” Autrey said. “Why do you ask.”
“We think he might be responsible for the murders near Talomaska Crossing and Bundydale, and also the attempt on Corey McLaughlin’s life.”
Something flickered across Autrey’s face – sadness, perhaps. “Let’s talk in my office,” he said, gesturing for them to follow.
The chief’s office was spartan but personal – citations on the walls, a few family photos, a well-worn leather chair behind a desk stacked with manila folders. He closed the door behind them and gestured to the chairs.
“The Bartlett twins,” he said, settling into his seat. “Yeah, I knew them. They lived in Bundydale for about two years while they were in middle school. Their dad worked for the Department of Transportation – Carl Bartlett. Good man, worked hard. The boys were... unusual.”
“Unusual how?” Ann Marie asked.
Autrey leaned back in his chair. “Smart. Too smart, maybe. Always finishing each other’s sentences, always with their heads together like they were planning something. They weren’t bad kids, mind you. Just... intense. Always testing boundaries, seeing what they could get away with.”
Riley studied Autrey’s face. “Did you stay in touch with them after they moved away?”
“No, but I heard things. Carl Bartlett died while the boys were in college. Cancer, I think. Then Jay died in that climbing accident.” He shook his head. “Damn shame.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to Tony after his brother’s death?” Ann Marie asked.
“No idea at all.”
Riley decided to take a chance on asking about the location she’d gotten from Timothy Lancaster. “Chief Autrey, were the twins at all connected with a place near here called Quayle Hill?”
“Yes, the Bartlett boys liked that place,” Autrey said, his voice taking on a new edge of concern.
“There’s an old fire lookout tower on the summit.
Been abandoned for decades. County keeps talking about tearing it down, but never gets around to it.
” He paused, eyes narrowing. “The Bartlett twins used to hike out there all the time. They’d climb the tower, even though it wasn’t safe.
We caught them a few times, warned them off. They always went back.”
The connection was forming – a significant place from Tony’s youth, somewhere he shared with his dead twin. Somewhere he might want to return to as part of twisted ritual.
“Now that you’re here, how can I help you?” Autrey asked. “I can take you all up to the site where Corey McLaughlin was attacked. It’s about fifteen minutes from here, just off Route 221.”
Hodge leaned forward. “I think that can wait for morning.”
“Right now,” Riley added, “I’d like to check out Quayle Hill before we lose all daylight.”
“And I’d prefer to speak with McLaughlin tonight, if possible,” Hodge added. “Strike while his memory’s fresh.”
“I can take you to McLaughlin,” Autrey told Hodge. “He lives out on Crestview Drive. Good man, still pretty shaken up.”
He turned to Riley and Ann Marie, then pulled out a county map from his desk drawer. He spread it on the desk surface, tracing a thin line up the side of a green-shaded area.
“Here’s Quayle Hill,” he said, tapping the map.
“There’s an access road – not much more than a dirt track, really – that maintenance vehicles use to get up to the tower.
You can drive most of the way, but it gets rough near the top.
” He looked up at Riley with serious eyes.
“Be careful up there. The tower itself isn’t stable anymore.
And keep in mind, it will soon be really dark out there. ”
“We’ll be careful,” Riley assured him.
“Also, I take it the three of you will be spending the night here in Westminster” Autrey said, scribbling an address on a sticky note. “Here’s a motel about a mile from here – the Pineview. Nothing fancy, but it’s clean. I’ve already called ahead, they’re expecting you.”
“Appreciate that,” Hodge said.
As they wrapped up, Autrey pulled on his jacket. “Ready to head out?” he asked Hodge.
Hodge turned to Riley. “I’ll meet you back at the motel, fill you in on whatever McLaughlin has to say.”
Riley watched as Hodge and Autrey headed out, leaving her and Ann Marie alone in the office. She folded Autrey’s map and tucked it into her pocket.
“Ready to climb a hill?” she asked Ann Marie.
“Why not?” Ann Marie replied.
*
The access road to Quayle Hill was exactly as Autrey had described it—little more than a dirt track carved into the hillside, rutted and overgrown in places where nature was reclaiming what humans had abandoned.
Riley’s sedan handled the terrain well enough, even though the road was rougher as they climbed higher.
The trees thinned as they approached the summit, revealing glimpses of the valley below. Westminster looked small from up here, its lights just beginning to twinkle in the gathering dusk.
The fire lookout tower came into view as they rounded the final curve. It was perhaps 100 feet altogether, Made up of rusted metal and winding stairs with a small metal hut at the top. Warning signs declaring “DANGER - NO TRESPASSING” hung from its base, their red lettering faded to a dull pink.
Riley parked in a small clearing about fifty yards from the tower and cut the engine.
“Looks like it could collapse any minute,” Ann Marie said, eyeing the structure warily as they got out of the car.
Riley retrieved her flashlight from the glove compartment. “Stay close. And watch your step.”
The ground around the tower was uneven, scattered with fallen branches and debris.
Riley swept her flashlight in a wide arc, taking in every detail.
The beam caught something that made her pause—a disturbance in the soil about fifteen feet from the tower’s base.
The earth looked fresher there, recently turned.
“Ann Marie,” she called softly. “Over here.”
The younger agent joined her, her own flashlight adding to the illumination. Together, they approached the disturbed area.
There was a rectangular hole in the ground
It was unmistakable—a shallow grave, roughly six feet long and three feet wide, recently dug and lying empty. No attempt had been made to disguise the site or make it blend with the surrounding ground.
Riley crouched beside it. “He dug this for Corey McLaughlin,” she said, “but McLaughlin got away.”
Ann Marie knelt on the opposite side, her face solemn in the harsh beam of the flashlight. “We need to treat this place as a crime scene.”
“We’ll get Autrey to do that,” Riley replied. “He can get a proper team up here at first light.”
As she stood, Riley felt it—faint but familiar—a sensation that had served her so well over the years.
She walked slowly around the grave, letting the impressions come.
“He and Jay used to climb that tower,” she said, her gaze drawn upward to the precarious structure. “It was their place. Their sanctuary.”
“And he planned to bring a victim here,” Ann Marie said. “Why? To share it with him?”
Riley shook her head. “Not to share it. To consecrate it. Each body he buries is an offering.” She paused, the pieces falling into place.
The wind picked up, sending a shiver through the tower’s frame. A metallic groan echoed across the hilltop, as if the structure itself was responding to Riley’s words. The sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Where do you suppose he is now?” Ann Marie muttered, looking up at the tower, a black silhouette against the indigo sky. Complete darkness had fallen while they worked, the only illumination coming from their flashlights. “I guess we can’t be sure he’s not …”
“Up there tonight?” Riley finished for her. “I don’t think so, but if that was his favorite place, I do need to go there.”
They were both silent for a moment, then Ann Marie said, “Let’s go.”