As he studied the picture of the young camp kids he thought about the unseen participant. The photographer. “Who would have taken this picture?”
Dr. Leland shook his head. “I have no idea.”
He dialed Greer’s number and was frustrated when it went to an answering machine. She was busy. But she needed to answer her phone. He listened to her succinct message and was about to ask his question when he heard a click and a breathless, “Bragg.”
He turned away from the doctor. “You sound out of breath. You all right?”
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m a little crazed right now.”
He imagined her in her vineyard sweatshirt, snug jeans, and boots. She’d be covered in dust and sweat by now but still the thought of her made him hard. “Greer, who took the picture of you and the other kids at Shady Grove?”
A pause. “I think his name was Jack.”
“Jack.”
“Yeah. Jack. He was there before me but I didn’t have any details about him. He kept to himself.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll call soon.”
“Be careful.” The simply spoken words caught him off guard. He couldn’t remember anyone saying those words to him.
“Will do.” He hung up and faced the doctor. “I’m looking for the kid that took this picture. His name might have been Jack.”
The doctor hesitated.
“The more you work with me, the more I’ll work to keep this out of the media. Jack would have been here a dozen years ago.”
The doctor nodded and turned to his computer, plugging in the dates and the name. He hit SEARCH and waited for several seconds before he shrugged. “We had a Jack Jenkins here that summer. According to his records he tried to kill himself after his sister died.”
“When did he leave the camp?”
“Late August that same year.”
“Do you have any other information on him? Forwarding address? Family address?”
“I have his father’s address.” The doctor hesitated. “I’m going to have to contact the family for permission. I cannot just release information. You specified the people in Ms. Templeton’s pod.”
“I need anyone there that summer.”
“I’m addressing the names in your search warrant. Jack Jenkins’s name was not listed.”
Bragg clenched and released his jaw. “I’ll have a warrant in twenty-four hours.”
“If it gets out our former residents were murdered, we’ll be ruined.”
“That’s out of my control.”
The doctor stood, his fists clenched at his side. “It is within your control. You can keep this quiet.”
“I’m not one of your fancy rich clients who values privacy at all costs. I’ll shout all the details of the case from the rooftop if it means I can solve this case.”
“You’ll ruin us.”
“I don’t care.”
Bragg left the doctor angry and sullen. In his car he called Winchester. “Are you headed north to find Michael?”
“I’m on the road and about fifteen minutes away.”
“He’s the only kid in the pod unaccounted for. I also found out the kid who took the picture’s name was Jack Jenkins. I’m calling the magistrate now for a search warrant. Call me when you have details.”
“Will do.” He rang off.
When he hung up he called Mitch. “Bragg.”
“Where are you?”
“The vineyard.” In the background he could hear the puppy barking. “What’s up?”
“I need for you to keep an eye on Greer.”
The sound of the dog barking faded as if Mitch moved away from him so he could hear better. “Is there some kind of trouble?”
He cut in and out of traffic. “I think there might be. I’ve a bad feeling we’re running out of time.”
“Do you have details?” Mitch’s clipped tone told Bragg his nephew’s marine training had kicked into gear.
“There is someone out there who is targeting people from Greer’s past. I think she might be next. Keep a close eye on her. Someone comes around that doesn’t smell right, I want to know about it.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thanks. I know I can count on you.”
“Who are you thinking about?” she said.
“You.”
Jackson drove down the dusty road away from the mountain cabin. His gaze on the road, his hands tightened on the wheel. Blood was splattered on his shirt and hands, but he’d not stopped to wipe it off. He had a schedule to keep.
“Why?” It always pleased her when she was in his thoughts.
“You were shouting in my ear when I raised the gun. I couldn’t hear myself think. You need to know when to shut up.”
“I only tell you what you need to hear. And you need to hurry up. I’d bet money the cops see the pattern and are on their way up here.”
He pressed his foot into the accelerator. “I can’t think when you’re shouting in my ear. He nearly got the gun from me.”
“But he didn’t. You shot him right in the face.”
“It won’t look like a suicide.”
“Deal with it.”
Jackson, angry and resentful, grew silent and sullen. For many miles he didn’t say a word, focusing only on putting distance between the cabin and his truck.
He was running again. Always running. Since that day. And she had been chasing him since.
“What are you thinking?” she said, breaking the silence.
“That day.”
“By the pool?”
He spotted a produce delivery truck headed in the opposite direction on the road. He eased up on the gas and relaxed his grip on the wheel. “I remember.”
That sunny afternoon he’d found her by the pool sunning. He’d had no intention of hurting her. He’d only wanted to talk . . . to tell her his deepest thoughts. She’d sat up blurry-eyed and confused as he’d sat on the edge of her chaise. At first he couldn’t find the words. Fear came naturally to him, and he was now afraid. But he’d been tired of hiding his feelings and so he’d told her.
Instead of acceptance, her narrowing gaze possessed a dark loathing. She’d called him a pig and told him to leave her alone.
At first the rejection had left him frozen with pain and unable to move, but as she kept calling him names, hurt had turned to anger and then rage.
He didn’t remember what happened next. The events blurred by adrenaline. When his mind cleared he realized he’d dragged her to the pool and had held her face under the water until she’d drowned.
“Ah, the dark and dangerous moment?” she cooed. “You’re thinking about it again.”
“Yes.”
“And you wonder yet again how you could have killed me—someone you loved so much.”
“Yes.” Panic washed over him as he remembered how cold and still her body had felt in his arms.
Slowly the shock had ebbed and he thought in terms
of his own survival. What if someone had heard her rant? His heart thrumming in his chest, he’d quickly released her body and climbed out of the pool. He’d gone to his room, stripped, and toweled off. Dressing, he took his wet clothes and tossed them in the laundry hamper.
He slid behind the wheel of his car and drove. It was all he could think to do. Later he’d try to recall what had led to his rage, but he couldn’t. As hard as he tried to imagine the moment he’d snapped, he couldn’t summon it.
When he’d arrived home, he’d wanted to retreat to his room and hide under the quilts on his bed. But his father had been waiting for him, his face white and angry. Behind him his younger sister had stood teary-eyed and quaking. As he studied his little sister’s face, he’d had the idea she somehow knew what he’d done to their other sister. But with his father standing there staring at him, he feigned shock when he heard of Meg’s death.
For an instant, Jack thought he could convince the old man of his innocence. He had always been good at pretending and making people believe. Then he noticed the videotapes from the security cameras. His father had seen. He knew.
He had been terrified.
“Dad was so mad at you,” she said, pleased. “And the more you denied it, the madder he got.”
As his little sister had stared at him from behind their father, the old man had backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip in two.
The moment Jack had stopped talking to his father, Meg had begun talking to him. She’d spoken only in whispers at first and for many years he’d been able to ignore her. But in recent years, her voice had grown louder and louder. There were days when he thought her talking would drive him insane.
The old man’s edict had been clear and strangely unavoidable. Jack would go to the Shady Grove treatment facility for therapy until the old man decided he should be released. They’d concocted a story so no one knew the truth . . . that Jack had murdered his sister during an attempted rape.
Jack had refused. He declared that he wasn’t sick or broken like the poor losers dumped at Shady Grove. He had no desire to die or hurt himself. Sure he’d lost his temper and Meg had paid a price, but he was fine. It wouldn’t happen again. He promised. He swore.