Nothing happened. Dross reached out and tried the knob on the door. She glanced back at Cork, then waved him over. He joined her.
“Unlocked,” she said. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this,” Cork said.
The place was deserted and in mild disarray. Bottles of alcohol sat on the kitchen counter in various degrees of emptiness, along with several glasses. Dishes were piled in the sink, and flies buzzed over the crusted food. Magazines, some of them pornographic, were scattered on the dining table. A red tank top and shorts lay thrown on a chair. Cork opened the refrigerator.
“Pretty full,” he said.
They went through the trailer slowly. There was one bedroom, the sheets on the queen bed a rumpled mess and in need of washing. A box of Trojan BareSkin Raw condoms was on the nightstand along with a vibrator.
They opened the door to the closet, which was empty, except for a number of hangers fallen to the floor.
“Looks like someone grabbed things quick and flipped those hangers off the rack,” Dross said.
They checked the drawers of the dresser. Empty. In the bathroom, they found cosmetics and hairbrushes and toothbrushes. Towels hung on the racks, still slightly damp to the touch.
“Gone, but not all that long ago,” Dross said.
“Cabin next?” Cork asked.
“Same as before. You cover me.”
They stepped down from the camper and Dross approached the cabin, Cork covering her. She didn’t knock this time, just tried the knob. The door opened. She stepped to the side and waved Cork to join her. They entered together.
It was small and smelled of old cabin, not an unpleasant smell to Cork. He’d been in so many Northwoods cabins filled with the same scent, a combination of damp and must and woodsmoke. There was a table with a Formica top and three chairs, the padded seats covered in plastic that matched the Formica. There was a sofa with thin cushions. A cast-iron stove stood against one wall, and along the wall opposite it was a sink flanked by wooden counters. Thin checkered fabric curtained the windows.
A big muskie mounted on a lacquered board hung on the wall along with some framed photographs, mostly pictures of a man holding various fish, but a couple in which he stood with a kid. Cork looked closely to see if he could spot the kid’s damaged ear but he couldn’t. The place wasn’t in disarray in the same way as the Jayco, but there were beer cans and bottles on the counter next to the sink. Playing cards were on the table, laid out in three hands, as if someone had been in the middle of a game.
Off the one main room were a small bedroom and a bathroom. They checked the bedroom. A single bed with unmade sheets. A box of condoms on the nightstand. In the top drawer of the old dresser were some articles of lingerie, frilly bras and lacy underwear. In the drawers beneath were additional linens and blankets. Cork sifted through and found a pad of drawing paper slipped beneath the folded blankets. He pulled out the pad and flipped through the pencil sketches while Dross looked over his shoulder.
“Quite an artist,” she noted.
There were sketches of the lake, of the Jayco, of several young women. Then Cork stopped flipping. “Look familiar?”
“Mathias Paavola,” Dross said.
Cork flipped a couple more pages. “Adrian Lewis.”
There was only one other sketch of a male, unfamiliar to Cork. He was drawn in a way that made him appear both handsome and dark.
“Look at those eyes,” Dross said. “They’re like…”
“The eyes of a predator,” Cork finished.
“Billy Bones, you think?”
“It’s not Paavola or Lewis. So could be him.”
Cork’s cell phone rang. When he answered, Daniel told him, “If you locate Lewis’s trailer, be careful. Paavola and Billy Bones might be there.”
“We’ve found the trailer at a cabin Lewis owned on Little Trout Lake. No one’s here. But they were. It looks like this is where they did their trafficking. What did you find out?”
“Billy Bones is probably William Boyle, Irene Boyle’s ex-husband.”
Cork told Daniel about the pencil sketches and the one that he and Dross speculated might be Billy Bones.
“Fawn Blacksmith was quite a talented artist,” Daniel said.
“So she was probably here before she was killed,” Cork said.
“Any sign of any other girls?”
“Whoever was here, it appears that they cleared out pretty quick.”
“We checked the address for Boyle on file at Sizemore School,” Daniel said. “It’s clear that he flew the coop a while ago. But we spoke with Candyce Osterkamp, Irene Boyle’s friend at the school. She said it’s possible Irene is hiding out at the place where she grew up in Aitkin. You told me you tracked it down when Erno Paavola hired you to find his niece and nephew. You wouldn’t happen to have the address? We’re not that far away, and it might be worth checking out.”
“Not off the top of my head, but it’s in the files I keep at Sam’s Place. Annie’s at home. Give her a call and see if she can pop over and check it out.”
Dross had wandered to the front door of the cabin and stood looking out into the morning sun. She suddenly called, “Cork, someone’s in the woods!”
“Gotta go,” Cork said and slipped his cell phone into his pocket.
He joined Dross at the door. She’d holstered her weapon earlier, but now it was out again.
“Where?” he said.
“See that sumac? In there.”
