But was he their Bridge Killer?

“Current on his property taxes,” Ray had muttered. “No one can find any other photos of him online. I find that to be suspicious.”

“I don’t have photos of me online,” stated Mason.

“Have you looked?” asked Ray.

“No, but I haven’t put anything up.”

Ray tapped on his phone. “If I look at Google, there’s a half dozen of you from that press conference at Christmas.”

Mason nearly drove off the road. “What?”

“And more from the Coed Hunter case. Hey, here’s one of both of us!” He held his phone out to Mason.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t show me while I’m driving. How do I get rid of those?”

“Beats me.”

Mason put the photos out of his head as he stepped out of his car, leaving his headlights on in the dark. He grabbed a heavy jacket out of the backseat, swearing at the rain. The two deputies headed his way, and he glanced around. The area was isolated. Nothing but fir trees. He would have driven right past the driveway if the county cars hadn’t been present. Two tiny red reflectors on metal poles marked the edges of the driveway. If you missed the turn, you’d end up in the drainage ditch along the road. He squinted down the driveway. It curved into the woods and vanished. No buildings were visible.

No FBI SWAT team yet, either.

Shit.

The deputies approached, their flashlights shining on Mason and Ray, clear plastic rain gear covering their uniforms and hats, and introduced themselves. “We’ve been here forty-five minutes,” said the taller one. “No one’s come or left.”

“Did you go up the driveway?” Mason asked.

The deputies glanced at each other. “We were told not to. We were told to wait for the FBI—they didn’t say anything about OSP being involved.”

Mason grimaced. “Task force. We’re deep in it with the FBI on this case.” He glanced at Ray. “How far out is their SWAT team?”

“They say at least twenty more minutes.”

“Has Zander reached the other location yet?”

“Not yet.”

Mason figured Zander’s drive was a bit longer, but at least part of it would be on the freeway.

The four men looked at each other.

“What are you expecting to find up there?” asked the second deputy. He reminded Mason of a thin Jack Black.

“Not sure. Either we’re going to wake up a hardworking painter who plans to be on a jobsite at seven A.M., or we’re going to find the Bridge Killer with his latest victims.”

“Holy shit!” Jack Black took a step backward. “They didn’t tell us nothing. The last time we sat on a house and waited for the FBI, it was for a guy who was selling secondhand child porn videos on the Internet. They knocked on his door, and he walked out with his tail between his legs. A fucking sick wimp.”

In the dim light and rain, Mason could see the excitement in the deputies’ eyes. “We’re gonna wait until SWAT gets here,” he told the men. Beside him, Ray shuffled his feet. Mason eyed him. “What?”

Ray glanced up the driveway. “We could take a look. I’ve got the Google map of the area. I know where the house and two outbuildings are. There’s one close to the driveway just after that curve, then the house, and then a large building farther back behind the house.”

Mason stared at him, adrenaline pounding in his head.

Just look.

If Ava’s not here, we need to get to Sandy and meet Zander.

“Dammit,” Mason muttered. He looked at the deputies. “You been here before? Any calls to this place?”

“None. Completely quiet. We get called to a place about a half mile from here at least once a month, but this guy has never made a peep.”

Mason looked up the driveway again. A faint glow around the curve told him the property at least had some lighting. “Okay.” He pointed at Jack Black. “You come with us and your buddy can wait for the FBI. Ears and eyes open.” He raised a brow at Ray, who grinned, knowing he’d planted the idea in Mason’s brain.

“Won’t hurt to do a quick recon,” Mason said. “Can you dim your flashlight a bit? We’ll take ours but leave them off for now.” The deputy put his fingers over the face of his flashlight, cutting its output by 75 percent.

The three of them trudged up the packed-dirt driveway. Gravel crackled occasionally under their feet but the woods were mostly silent. The rain fell in a heavy mist that soaked everything without the noise of a pounding storm. The deputy’s dim light showed them where to put their feet. Mason wished the moon were out.

Listening and watching carefully, they moved to the edge of the driveway as it curved around and brought them in view of the buildings. The deputy switched off his light. Ray’s summary had been correct. A spotlight over the door of the first outbuilding lit up the area, and a small ranch-style house sat fifty yards away. Three pale outdoor lights shone from the home. Mason moved to the outbuilding and down the side facing away from the house. He stepped to a window and peeked inside. The deputy flicked on his flashlight and illuminated the inside. A John Deere tractor, at least fifty big white paint buckets in neat rows, and a dozen ladders filled the building.

No Ava.

Mason looked carefully, checking for cupboards or anywhere else to hide a person.

“Looks clear,” said the deputy.

They moved toward the end of the building and peered around, eyeing the house. It was quiet. Mason wondered if the outbuilding behind the house was used as a garage where Beadle parked his two business vans. He gestured for the deputy to shine his dim light on the ground between the house and the building holding the tractor. The ground was flattened by tire tracks that led around to the back of the house and the second outbuilding. “Let’s look in the second building.”