Page 36 of So Insane

“This guy has a name?" Michael asked.

“Tom Martle. He lives in Brightwater, about twenty minutes up the highway. He was doing some sort of project trying to map the entire tunnel system around Granger, and he started with the mines because no one had gone in to determine if any of the tunnels were safe, so he wanted to find out and make that information available to the public."

“Nice guy,” Faith said.

"He was. Then he went into the mines, came back out after one day, and moved out of town the next day. Never said a word about what he found or why he stopped. The locals believe he heard the voices of the trapped miners' ghosts. They also believe the ghosts are responsible for the collapse that buried the entrance to the mine the following week."

“Of course they do,” Faith said, unable to keep the contempt from her voice.

Jones met her eyes. “Like you said, Agent Bold. Superstition is often rooted in fact.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tom Martle lived on the western extreme of Brightwater just before the forest began in earnest. He lived in a very well-built log cabin, pitched and weatherproofed, on a third of an acre that included a short loop of a nearby stream. It reminded Faith uncomfortably of West's cabin on the Titmouse River outside of Philadelphia.

Brightwater itself was larger than Granger, though far from large. It boasted a population of just under nine hundred, and, like Granger, occupied a relatively flat space in between the dense pine forest to the west and the craggy Rocky Mountain range to the east. It functioned as the closest thing to a county seat the region had and included a fire detachment, a post office and a larger—though still very small—police station.

Also like Granger, it was spread wide. Each house sat on some amount of land, ranging from a tenth of an acre to a full acre for most homes, with a few mini-estates that occupied five or six acres dotting the foothills to the east. Faith wondered what West would have to say about the American tendency to live as far apart from other people as possible.

Her stomach turned. Why was she still thinking of West as a psychologist? That entire persona was almost certainly fabricated just so he could have an excuse to be close to her. She didn’t even know for sure that Franklin West was his real name.

It occurred to her suddenly how easy it would be for West to disappear if he wanted to. She had found him twice so far, but what she had found was the personality he created to interact with her. She believed he was committed to that personality, at least until he was satisfied he had beaten her, but if he felt the noose closing around his neck, he could easily switch that personality off and create a new one, complete with a new and probably radically different appearance and background.

Her heart sank to the floor. West still held all the cards.

“You think we can convince this guy to lead us through the mines?” Michael asked.

Faith pulled her thoughts away from West with an effort. “Well, he still lives near the mountains, but he’s as far away as he can be while still being near them. He looked through the mines for one day, then left without a word to his friends and neighbors. Chances are he’s not going back.”

“Unless he’s the killer,” Michael offered.

Faith lifted an eyebrow. She hadn’t considered that yet. “You think he might be?”

“Probably not,” Michael replied. “I looked into his background on the drive over. He’s worked as a compliance officer for Telly’s Grocery since leaving Granger, and according to their HR manager, he’s never missed a day of work.”

"He could be moonlighting or weekend as a killer," Faith offered.

“He could be, but it’s a stretch. Both of our victims went missing on weekdays, and the coroner’s initial impression is that Tyler was killed the day he went missing. We’ll have to wait for the full report, but it seems like a stretch that Martle is making every single shift and finding time to kill people who just happen to be in the caves when he just happens to be hunting. We’ll get his alibi, but I think he’s going to end up just being a source of information for us. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

It would be better if he ended up being the killer so Faith could know that no one else was going to die, but she supposed Martle wouldn’t see it that way.

They knocked on the door, and Turk stared intensely, tail switching back and forth. Faith frowned. That behavior didn't always mean that Turk was suspicious, but sometimes it did.

“Got something, boy?” she asked.

Turk met her eyes and snorted. Not yet.

The door opened, and a man in his mid-forties, who seemed about halfway through the transition from well-fed to heavyset, looked between the three agents. "Can I help you?"

“I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince and our K9 unit, Turk.”

Turk barked his usual greeting, and Martle jumped. “Why did you bring a dog?” he asked nervously.

Faith frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“I…” Turk moved forward to sniff Martle, and Martle jumped back. “I, um… I’m not really a dog person.”

“Don’t worry,” Faith said, “he only bites if I tell him to.”

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