“The cameras only cover the interior of the museum,” the Sheriff said. “Unfortunately, there were no witnesses until the other employees came up this morning and found her hanging there. The storm will have washed away any physical evidence that was left too. I do have my deputies looking all the same!”
Laura got the feeling that he’d only added the last part to ward off their accusations of his incompetence—and he had just about saved himself. “Why is there a ship’s hull attached to the front of the museum?” she asked, looking up at it again. It was life-sized and lifelike, as if a giant ancient ship had genuinely crashed through the front of the museum and was pushing out of the other side.
“It’s a special boat for this area,” the Sheriff said, looking up at it with her. “It’s the real thing, not a replica. It’s preserved here. It was one of the boats that brought the first settlers to this shore.”
Laura moved a little closer, standing right below it. “How did he get up there?” she asked, more musing aloud than really asking anyone. “Could you climb this?” She put a hand gently against the wood of the ship to feel its texture, a headache spiking behind her eyes as she considered it, and saw where there could be a handhold a few planks up—
She was there in the room again, looking down at the table. There was the book, open in front of her. She squinted at it. Things were getting a little clearer. Maybe there was something…maybe something she could make sense of…
The front of a ship?
It was only seeing the real ship in front of her and then the vision that gave her the connection. The illustration was the front part of a ship, cropped off so that only the figurehead and a small part of the hull was visible, inked in colors on the page. Maybe it was a print, or maybe it had been painted right on the page—she couldn’t tell.
Her sight slid to the carving as it always did. The carving. Could it be…?
Was it a figurehead too?
She tried to focus, but as always, the ‘camera’ of her vision didn’t obey her. She was left uselessly trying to focus, only able to make out the vague outlines of the wooden shape as the darkness swirled around what she could see, but yes, she thought—itcouldbe a figurehead.
It was all linked.
All figureheads.
They were the link now, not the water. The boats, the figureheads themselves.
Her vision swung upward as before, showing her the window. Beyond it, the ships. The harbor. The docked vessels with their masts…
And their figureheads.
She found herself rising higher in the vision, as though the person whose eyes she saw through was getting up. As though they were moving closer to the window. There was a reflection in the glass. Blurred, indistinct, and shifting through the unraveling edges of the vision, but a reflection of a figure looking back—
Laura blinked, finding herself back with her hand on the ship, looking upward and seeing more potential handholds and footholds. He could have climbed up this way, even with a body.
“His back,” she said, thoughtfully. The vision hadn’t showed her much new, though the realization she was looking at figureheads was a breakthrough. She didn’t know what that meant or how it helped yet, but somehow the feeling had energized her to realize something new.
“What?” Nate asked, moving closer.
“He could carry them on his back to get up there,” she said. “We’ve been wondering how he moves around. Maybe he ropes them to himself, climbs up, and then uses that same rope to tie them to the figurehead.”
“That makes sense,” Nate said, tilting his head and nodding. “In which case, we should be expecting even more forensic evidence from the ropes. And we’re looking for someone with a lot of upper body and core strength.”
“I think we should get them sent to an FBI lab,” Laura said. She didn’t add the part about not having them examined here because nobody was able to do their jobs well enough, but it was implied enough.
“Me too,” Nate agreed. “We can send the other samples too. Sheriff, did they give you any timeline for the victim?”
“Hours,” the Sheriff shrugged. “It won’t be right away. Her name is Alana Garland, by the way. And before you ask, I don’t know of any connection between her and the others. I don’t see how they would have interacted much.”
Laura shot him a look with narrowed eyes. “Have you spoken to Garland’s family yet?” she asked.
“No,” he shrugged. “They don’t know yet.”
Laura could only stare at him.
How long had it been, and no one had told the family yet that their daughter, wife, or whatever she was to them was potentially fighting for her life in the hospital?
“Have them meet us at the hospital,” she snapped, heading back to the car quickly. “And Sheriff? No one touches this crime scene. I mean no one. You keep everyone back, don’t let your deputies or your coroner or anybody else do anything, and you wait. We’re sending a new team.”
“We are?” Nate asked in a lowered voice as they returned to their car.