Carlyle pulled a small black digital camera from his pocket and, circling the site, took two dozen pictures.
“The log’s gone,” Marshall said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Carlyle wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Not so fast. There’s one more thing. Where was he hiding? You don’t just come all this way, spend a couple of hours preparing a trap, and take a cab home.”
“What are you saying?” Marshall said.
“You’re not going to like this.”
“I haven’t liked anything you’ve ever told me, so it can’t get any worse.”
“The killer needed six or seven hours to get here, drop the tree, and disappear before we came down Cedar that morning. He had to lay over someplace.”
“He stayed out here after we left?” Nash said.
“How else could he do it?” Pushing aside branches, Carlyle walked back and forth along the chute. “There’s another thing. You know how pyromaniacs like to watch their buildings burn to the ground? It’s like that with some criminals.”
“Jesus,” Betts said. “Are you saying he stayed here and watched Blake die?”
“It’s more than likely.”
“What do you do,” Marshall said, “lay in bed at night and dream up these sick ideas?”
Betts clenched his fists. “Are you telling me this asshole has a place somewhere out here?”
“And could be around here right now?” Nash said.
Carlyle took a couple of steps toward the Hudson, turned, and walked back to where they were standing. “I think we should fan out, within earshot of each other, and walk a thousand yards out from the river. You’ve each got a whistle. Use it if you find anything.”
The four men turned away from the Hudson and began slogging through the snow. Carlyle, on the upstream end of the uneven line, stared straight in front of him. Quickly losing sight of the others, he could hear little besides the sound of his own labored breathing. Perspiring heavily, he wiped sweat from his eyes.
Several minutes later, Carlyle heard a series of sharp blasts, like the pinging of a nuclear submarine homing in on a target. Following the sound, he made his way through the woods to his left and found Nash, with Betts and Marshall next to him, standing in front of a small cabin.
Weathered gray boards covered the derelict structure. It had a single window in the front wall and a brick chimney projecting through a partially collapsed gray metal roof. Four stairs led up to a porch. A cane rocker hemorrhaging green mold stood next to a front door covered in peeling red paint.
Nash turned when he heard Carlyle walk up behind him. “How’d you know we’d find this?”
“There were hundreds, maybe thousands of these structures all over the backcountry. Loggers driving horse-drawn sleds couldn’t leave the woods every night. It stands to reason our guy found one of them around here.”
Betts began to make his way up the stairs. “What are we waiting for? Let’s look inside.”
Carlyle reached out a hand to stop him. “Stay away from that door, it could be booby-trapped.”
“There’s nothing but a rusting goddamn hasp.” Betts planted his foot on the door and drove it off its hinges.
“If you keep destroying evidence,” Carlyle said, “we’ll never catch the guy.”
Betts started through the door. “We’re here. Might as well have a quick peek.”
Carlyle followed Betts up the stairs. “For Christ’s sake, go in slowly.”
The cabin looked like it hadn’t been used since Teddy Roosevelt hiked through these woods a century ago. An inch of mouse droppings lay on the floor. Green and white mold covered an eight-foot-long plank table, several wood and canvas chairs, and four bunk beds along one wall. A cast-iron stove, its vent pipe lying in pieces on the floor, sat in the center of the room.
Betts moved toward the table and leaned over to read a single sheet of paper that had been taped to its surface. His shoulders sagged. “Come over here. But don’t get too near me.”
When Carlyle edged close, Betts lifted the note from the table and handed it back to him. “What do I do now?”
I warned you to leave me alone but you didn’t listen. You’re standing on a pressure-sensitive detonator attached to three sticks of dynamite. Now figure out how you’re going to get yourself out of this one.
“Don’t move or touch anything,” Carlyle said. “Let me think for a second.” He took a couple of deep breaths and slowly took off his gloves, backpack, and jacket and set them on the floor. “Keith, Ryan. Don’t ask any questions. Do exactly as I tell you.”
“What did it say?” Nash said.
Carlyle read the note aloud.
“What should we do?” Nash said.
“Pick up the stove and move it toward Alex.”
Nash and Marshall each grabbed one end of the stove and slid it across the rough plank floor.
“Good,” Carlyle said. “Set it down slowly next to his left foot.” He then waved them away.
Once Nash and Marshall had backed off, Carlyle said, “You better get out of here now.”
“I’m staying,” Nash said. “You might need my help.”
Marshall, who didn’t take his eyes off Betts, said nothing.
“That’s stupid,” Carlyle said. “Leave now and wait outside for us.”
When Nash and Marshall had left the cabin, Carlyle said, “Okay, then, we’re all set. You ready?”
Betts said, “Will you please just get this over with?”
Carlyle inched toward the table and put his hand on Betts’s shoulder. “Pick up your left foot and put it down six inches behind you.”
Betts straightened up. “Where exactly?”
“Right next to the front leg of the stove.”
Betts whispered, “How do you know this is going to work?”
“You trigger a detonator when you remove weight. I think we’ve neutralized it.”
Betts, sweating profusely, lifted up his left heel and slid his foot
