Mason shook his head, but Ray spoke up first. “No, we have to keep open the possibility that two people could have the same black tattoos. Maybe they’re associated with each other. Maybe some sort of private, sick club.”

Brody snorted.

Mason agreed with Brody’s sentiment, but he knew better than to jump to conclusions. “We know it’s unlikely to be two different people, but we won’t rule it out. Yet. I’ve passed the Polaroids and drawing to a detective in the gang unit. No one knows more about tattoos than this guy. And if nothing jumps out at him from the images, then he knows who to ask and where to look.”

“I doubt it’s gang related,” Brody argued. “We’re talking about a white guy with tattoos from twenty years ago. To me that makes the tattoos sound more military related or foreign.”

Mason nodded. “Agreed. Obviously this guy isn’t a gangbanger, but the people who work with them are our tattoo experts. They’ll know where to turn next. It’s our best lead so far.”

“Why would someone leave something so incriminating as pictures in that place?” Jamie asked. “You said you haven’t found fingerprints anywhere, but you found photos? That doesn’t sound like the same person. This”—Jamie paused, eyebrows narrowing—“crook…murderer…isn’t being consistent if they’re not leaving fingerprints but are leaving pictures.”

“Agreed,” Lusco said. “We might be dealing with more than one person.”

“Someone else had to take the pictures,” Brody added.

“One of the other kids could have been behind the camera.” As Mason spoke, he saw Brody imperceptibly flinch. “Not willingly, of course,” he added.

Jamie’s face flushed. “I’ve seen a lot of child abuse in my position. I do what I do because I want to help kids better their lives. Nothing makes me sicker than a defenseless kid.” She met Mason’s gaze straight on. “My brother was horribly abused, and I’ve sat back, thinking I was letting him heal and doing the right thing by not pushing for answers. It was how my parents handled him, and I continued it. Now I think it’s time for him to actively help. The man who attacked me could still be hurting kids. I don’t care if my brother claims he remembers nothing, I’m gonna drag him to every therapist and hypnotist in the country until he gives you something to help find who killed those children, before this person hurts more.”

She turned to Brody. “I’m ready to go with you to find Chris.”

It was evening by the time Jamie and Michael drove into the outskirts of the dry, beige town of Demming, Oregon. The trip east had taken six hours, and Michael drove the entire stretch. Jamie had offered to take a shift, but he’d turned her down.

“I get antsy if I’m sitting in the passenger seat. Driving helps me focus.”

Their conversation had been minimal. If Michael wasn’t on the phone with an editor or co-worker, his music was blasting through the SUV. His taste was eclectic, ranging from traditional rap to the most heart-stirring classical she’d ever heard. She’d relaxed and simply let him drive, taking the time to study his profile and the world outside.

The scenery changed as they moved east. Dryer, browner, flatter. Once they’d left the Portland metropolitan area and passed through the Cascade Mountain Range, it was as if they’d entered a different state. More pickup trucks, longer stretches between towns, and less greenery. The fir trees were few and far between, while the cowboy hats grew in number. Gun racks started to appear in the back windows of the pickup trucks. Bumper stickers told politicians to keep their change to themselves and keep their laws off their guns.

They were now on the red side of the blue-voting state. By the square mile, the east side of the state was nearly twice as big as the west, but much lower in population and income. Oregon was a state divided in half by the Cascade Mountains, economics, and politics.

Jamie suddenly craved a handcrafted iced cappuccino and knew she wasn’t going to find one. The self-service machines at 7-Eleven didn’t count.

“The sheriff is expecting us, right?” she asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t tell him exactly when we’d get in. We’ll stop at his office in Demming, see if he’s available to talk a bit. He wants to give me better directions out to your brother’s. I guess it’s hard to find. Also cautioned me to not sneak up on anyone. People in these remote areas have a tendency to shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Chris wouldn’t do that.”

Michael raised a brow at her. “He’s hiding from something. That’s the only reason for a man to live like he does and not introduce his son to his sister.”

Jamie looked out her window. The words stung deep. “He doesn’t like to be around people. After he recovered…he avoided everyone. He has burn scars on his face.”

“I’ve known plenty of people with disfigurations who operate just fine.”

Jamie was silent for a few moments. “What were you doing that day?”

Michael didn’t ask what day she meant.

She saw him swallow hard and then run a hand across his forehead. He kept his gaze forward on the road.

“I’d stayed home sick from school. I knew there was a field trip to the state capitol building scheduled that day, and to me nothing was more boring.” He snorted. “Daniel was pumped. He had a freaky fascination with politics.”