Page 44 of The Hanging Dolls
He blew out a breath, the wheels churning behind his shifty eyes. “Let’s pull up a map.” He went to his desk and rummaged through the stacks of rolled paper. Scott’s desk was devoid of any personal memorabilia. No pictures, no trophies, no handmade craft. Even her desk back at the FBI field office had drawings her nephews had done for her. He unrolled one of the maps of the area.
“Isn’t this information computerized? Some software that could help us narrow it down?” Zoe asked.
He looked at her flatly. “We don’t even have enough cell towers in the National Park, Zoe.”
“Yeah.” She frowned at the map of Harborwood. A slice of land, mostly crowded with green spaces, and ocean on the other side. “Okay, so devil’s club is common enough in Harborwood. According to the rangers, these are the best known spots.” He uncapped a marker and drew disjointed circles in three areas.
“Are these the only ones?”
“Well, no. If someone is planting them randomly in their backyard or stray ones pop in the woods then there’s no way of knowing.”
Zoe scratched her head. This is why she didn’t like the woods. A city, she could map. She could know what happened in every building, on every floor. But the woods were elusive, guarding secrets, and unfortunately,toovast in Washington.
“Okay, according to the analysis of the shoe print by the CSU, there were significant deposits of limestone and rust. So we are looking at an industrial site? An old one, I assume, based on the rust?”
“That’s a good start.” He flipped through some old records. “We got two potential places. Neither of them are close to where Lily was found.”
Zoe trudged through the thick underbrush, her boots sinking into the damp, moss-covered ground with each step. The dense canopy overhead blotted out most of the light, casting long and hulking shadows like the day was speckled with nights. She walked guardedly behind Scott, who seemed to be more comfortable with the dizzying woods. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves, and the only sound was the rustling of the trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot.
“This place used to be a manufacturing hub,” Scott said, his voice low as he ducked under a low-hanging branch. “Back in the fifties, it was a factory that produced parts for ships—engine components, propellers, that sort of thing. But when the industry dried up, so did the factory. It’s been abandoned for decades, just left to rot out here.”
Zoe nodded, her eyes scanning the trees ahead for any sign of movement. “You’d think someone would’ve torn it down by now. Or at least fenced it off.”
Scott shrugged. His gaze fixed on the faint outline of a building just visible through the trees. “Too expensive, I guess. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so no one bothered. Now it’s just a ghost of what it used to be—half-collapsed, rusting away.”
“I hope second time’s the charm.”
The old industrial site finally came into view. The factory loomed ahead, a hulking mass of crumbling concrete and rusted metal, overgrown with vines and surrounded by dense forest. The windows were shattered, and the roof had partially caved in, leaving gaping holes that allowed the rain and elements to eat away at the remaining structure.
They moved cautiously—Zoe’s eyes sweeping the area for any signs of recent activity. The ground was littered with debris—broken bricks, twisted metal, and remnants of old machinery. They circled the building, their flashlights cutting through the gloom as they searched for any clue that might lead them to Tara.
“This place is a death trap,” Scott muttered, kicking aside a piece of rotted wood.
Zoe nodded, her senses on high alert. “It’s isolated, hidden… the perfect place if you don’t want to be found. I don’t see anyone.”
Just as she finished speaking, a faint noise reached her ears—a rustling in the bushes, too deliberate to be the wind. She whipped her head around, her flashlight beam catching the movement. A figure darted out from behind a rusted metal pipe and bolted into the woods.
“There!” Zoe shouted, already breaking into a sprint.
Scott was right behind her, their feet pounding against the uneven ground.
The man was fast, but Zoe was faster. She pushed herself harder, adrenaline surging through her veins as she closed the gap between them. The figure was ragged, his clothes dirty and torn, his hair matted.
“Stop!” Zoe called out, but the man only ran faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
She weaved through the trees, branches tearing at her face, the ground slick and treacherous underfoot. Something caught her foot and she went crashing face down. Her nose crushed against the mud. But Scott shot past her. With one final burst of speed, he lunged forward, grabbing the man by the arm and yanking him to the ground.
They fell with a grunt, the man’s body twisting as he tried to scramble away, but Scott pinned him down. “Easy there.”
Zoe got up and realized she’d twisted her ankle—luckily she hadn’t sprained it.
“You okay?” Scott asked over his shoulder, his arm digging into the neck of the motionless man.
“Yeah…” She dusted off the mud on her jeans.
Scott turned him over. The man’s eyes were wild, darting between Zoe and Scott as he tried to catch his breath. “I wasn’t doing nothing!” he stammered, his voice shaky. “I just… I just crash there sometimes, okay? I don’t want no trouble!”
“What’s your name?” Zoe asked, slightly winded, kneeling beside him.
