10:46 a.m.

Platte River State Park

Tommy Pakula slowed his Ford Explorer. He could see the mobile crime lab's van and a police cruiser off to the side of the Platte River State Park entrance. His breakfast turned to lead in his stomach. Holy crap! He had no idea the crash site was this close to the park. They'd simply said Highway 6 south of Louisville.

The investigators had pulled in as close as they could behind the skid marks and broken barbed-wire fence. The car had plowed through the fence. This morning, after a night of thunderstorms and downpours, the torn path was filled with water. It looked as if it would take some serious boots just to get to the car.

Pakula waved to Ben Hertz and rolled down his window. "Anybody check the park yet?"

"One of the boys talked to the park superintendent. He lives here on the grounds. Said the park's pretty empty. Only one cabin occupied and everything looked nice and quiet."

"A buddy of mine is the lone occupant. You know Andy Kane, writes suspense-thriller novels?"

"Yeah, sure. Murderman, right?"

"Yep, that's him. He's out here writing. I'm gonna go check on him. I'll be back."

"Helicopter guys said the car was empty when they found it. These two hightailed it outta here pretty fast. It wouldn't surprise me if they did have another car stashed someplace close. Just heard that an anonymous tip was phoned in about a white Saturn. One thing for sure, they didn't stick around here long. They'd have to be stupid to do that."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Like I said, I'll be back." He rolled up the window and turned into the park.

Hertz was probably right. So why did Pakula have such a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach? He made his way up and around the winding road, climbing to get to the Owen Cabins on the far side of the lake. Before he pulled around the last curve, he knew Andrew's car was gone. He couldn't see the bright red Saab through the trees and tall grass. He pulled in to the slotted space, parked, opening the car door while shoving the emergency brake on.

Walking down the pathway to the front door he wondered why he didn't think to check on Andrew last night. Maybe Andrew had simply gotten cabin fever and gone out for a drive, or maybe headed into Louisville for breakfast. And then again, maybe Andrew had heard about the wild events of yesterday and decided to pack it up and work from home. Andrew had brought his TV with him, so he wasn't as isolated from the world as Pakula had been making it out.

He knocked on the door but didn't wait long to try the doorknob. It opened easily, and he could feel the hairs on his arm stand to attention.

"Andrew? Hey, you here, buddy?" Pakula called out, hoping to get an answer, but he already knew the place was empty. That bad feeling was crawling upward from his stomach toward his chest.

Clothes were scattered all over the kitchen area with open jars and empty Pepsi cans thrown onto the heap. He cautiously walked from room to room. A pile of wet bath towels and soiled hand towels lay in the middle of the bathroom floor. Toothpaste and shampoo stained the coun-tertop. Mud and dirt lined the drain of the shower and sink. Checking out the bedroom, he realized the bed looked slept in.

Pakula backtracked, taking his time, trying to slow down and examine what evidence was left behind to determine what had happened. Who was he fooling? He knew what had happened here. Andrew had had some unexpected guests last night. Guests who'd helped themselves to his things. Pakula couldn't see Andrew's laptop anywhere, although the TV sat in the middle of the room still plugged in.

He checked the screened-in porch-muddy shoe prints all the way up the back steps. "Andrew, buddy, you didn't lock the fucking back door, did you? And where the hell are you?" He didn't expect an answer.

Maybe he got away, ran into the woods. At this point, Pakula was relieved he hadn't yet found his body, shot execution style like those poor souls in the bank. He stared out at the lake and woods on the other side. Andrew would have the advantage, even stumbling around out there at night. He knew this park.

Pakula headed back into the cabin, whipping out his cell phone to call in a new APB. At least Andrew's car would be easy to find, torch red with vanity plates. Who said these guys weren't stupid. "No service," his phone's digital display read, and he remembered his cell phone going dead yesterday in the middle of his conversation with Grace. He shook his head. Poor Andrew. He wasn't even able to call for help.

No, he had to stop thinking that way. Pakula told himself Andrew was fine. It was actually a good sign that he wasn't lying inside unconscious or dead. He had to have gotten away. Maybe they'd be sipping beers and laughing about this by nightfall.

That's when Pakula saw the blood.