Nausea rolled through her stomach.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started. “Let’s take him to the bridge and let him bleed into the water. He can burn there, too.” He grabbed her upper arms and gave her a gentle shake until she looked at him. He seemed to stare right through her, as if he were focused on an object three feet behind her head.

So that’s what evil looks like.

“We can do this together and don’t need to hide here. This needs to be done where people can see and learn what kind of man he was.” Tears ran down his face. “They need to know you were an innocent.”

Ava didn’t speak. Her lips burned, and she had no words.

This is your chance to reach him.

“Roy?” she whispered.

His face went blank. “I’m Troy.” Red started at his neck and swept over his face. “Do you not know who I am?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. Whipping scissors out of a pocket, he hacked at her hair. He threw the handful behind him and shouted again. “Who am I?”

“Troy, yes,” she said frantically. “My lips are numb from the tape.” She infused her gaze with sincerity as fear narrowed her vision.

His color returned to normal and he stood, staring at the few strands of her hair that stuck to his fingers. He brushed them off his hands.

“I’ll get the van ready.” He stood, avoiding her gaze, and went over to Derrick.

Ava shut her eyes, feeling faint.

Now what?

“We have a few interviews from the camps,” Detective Jensen Kenner stated. “We went to both camps near the recovery site and interviewed the employees. Everyone at Meadow Springs Camp liked Colleen Mallery. Claimed she was a sweet girl. She’d just graduated from OSU with a history degree but didn’t have a job lined up, and she was thinking about getting her master’s. I guess there wasn’t a big job market for history majors at that time.”

“I doubt there is today,” said Mason. He dug through the box. “Nothing else on the camp interviews? All these employee interviews say the same thing. Colleen was seen during dinner, she wasn’t needed again until breakfast the next morning, and that she typically vanished for a few hours to read and relax after dinner. No one thought she was seeing a boyfriend?”

Kenner shook his head. “No romantic interests, according to the other employees and family.”

“How come no one interviewed the students?” Ray asked.

“We did . . . to a degree. There were two hundred kids there. We asked for anyone to come forward who’d seen Colleen after dinner that night or anything suspicious. We had no takers.”

Mason flipped open a folder. “Here’s what I wanted to see.” He’d found the huge roster of the kids attending rocket camp at Meadow Springs, and he ran his finger down the names. He scrolled six rows and stopped as the name jumped out at him.

Troy.

Just like Jayne said on the phone.

Found you.

Wait. The name directly underneath was also a Troy. He started to count.

“Shit. There’re eight Troys on this list. What the hell? Didn’t people have any imagination when naming their kids back then?” Frustration overwhelmed him. Their killer’s name was on that list; he was certain of that fact.

“You think it was one of the kids?” Kenner asked, disbelief on his face. “They were children.”

“This camp went up to age eighteen,” said Mason, studying the list, spotting Carson Scott’s, Aaron King’s, and Joe Upton’s names. “I knew it.” He tipped the list for Zander and Ray to see. “They’re all on here.”

“Eighteen is plenty old enough to kill,” said Zander.

“But . . . this particular murder . . .” Kenner trailed off, shaking his head. “This was horrific.”

“I agree,” said Mason. “And I’ve seen three similar cases in the last week. I’d like to prevent the next. We need to pare down this list and do it damn fast.”

“Eliminate the younger kids,” suggested Zander. “The age range started at thirteen, right? Chances are a thirteen-year-old didn’t hang out with three boys heading into their senior year.”

“This doesn’t list ages.”

“Are there any photos?” asked Ray. “Any candid shots or group shots from the camp? We saw his profile and build today. Maybe we could see a resemblance.”

“There should be some general photos in there,” said Kenner. “I remember seeing group shots, but they aren’t labeled with names.”

Mason found eight black-and-white eight-by-ten photographs that looked like they’d been developed in a home darkroom. Three were from the second camp in the area, but the other five were labeled MEADOW SPRINGS. They were formal group shots, ones where the kids lined up in rows with a board that stated the camp name and year. The first was all staff, but the rest were grouped and labeled by age. He held the one of the seventeen-to-eighteen-year-olds close to his nose as he studied the small faces. The quality wasn’t great.

“Hang on.” Kenner stepped out of the room.

Ray and Zander peered over his shoulders. “He’s in there somewhere,” said Ray.

“But there’re no names,” countered Zander. “We already know his face. We need a last name.”

“Call the camp,” said Mason. “See if they still have old records. Maybe theirs are broken down by ages. Maybe they have some photos with identifications.”