Then a gleam in the distance caught her eye. As she drew closer, she could make out the hood of a car with the morning sun bouncing off it. The vehicles that had passed her were there, too, parked along both sides of the road. People milled about at the edge of the scrubland. Jo picked up speed, her feet slamming against the pavement. Another body must have been found. She sprinted toward a middle-aged couple standing with their backs to the ocean. She’d almost reached them when she saw the man lift a phone and smile. It was too late to stop. She arrived just as the selfie was snapped. The two of them greeted her with startled expressions.
“What’s going on?” Jo panted.
“They found a body here yesterday,” the woman explained, looking over her husband’s shoulder as he inspected the photo they’d taken.
“Let’s try it one more time,” he said, putting his arm around his wife and holding the phone aloft once again.
“Why are you taking photos?”
“Friend of mine’s an EMT.” The woman kept the smile on her face and her eyes on the camera. “Said it looked like the work of a serial killer. This beach is going to be famous.”
“For God’s sake, stop talking,” her husband ordered.
Jo left them to their photo shoot and wove her way through the others who’d gathered to gawk. A few hearty souls were inspecting the edge of the scrubland, searching for a way into the thicket. None of them spotted the entrance to the path, which now seemed clear as day to Jo.
“You were here yesterday when they found the body.” A young man had sidled up beside her. His clothing appeared slightly disheveled. There were bags under his eyes and the scruff on his chin was quickly turning into a beard. He looked as though he might have slept in his car. “I saw you on the news. You were one of the women who found the body.”
Jo ignored him. It would be safer for the kid if he just went away.
“Jo Levison, am I right?”
She was itching to punch someone, and he’d just become the likeliest target. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Josh Gibbon,” he continued, undaunted. “I host a top-rated true crime podcast. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called They Walk Among Us.”
Jo had heard of it, all right. She’d been a regular listener when the podcast launched. At first it had been a scrappy one-man show. By the time she stopped listening, They Walk Among Us was sponsored by insurance companies, home security systems, and men’s underwear manufacturers. Serial killers and dead girls were a lucrative business.
“I know, I know.” His smile seemed a little too slick. “The name of the podcast’s a bit over the top. But I assure you, we’re a very serious show. We analyze unsolved homicides, looking for similarities. We’ve managed to alert authorities to the existence of five serial killers at work in the northeastern United States. One of our guys was captured two months ago. Have you heard of the Head Hunter? We even gave him his name.”
“Because killers need catchy names?” Jo sneered. “What’s next, collectible cards?”
Josh shook his head. “We’re not trying to glorify serial killers.” He’d had his response ready. “We want to get people to listen so we can bring attention to the crimes.”
“And what were the Head Hunter’s crimes?” Jo asked.
“He murdered ten women—maybe more. He’d pick them up outside of shelters, drug them, dismember them, and leave their heads around Providence, Rhode Island. He was a very bad guy, and thanks to us, he’s off the streets now. I drove out here from Brooklyn this morning because it sounds like there may be a predator at work on the island. If I’m right and you were one of the people who found the body, I’d love to ask you a few questions.” He was already pulling his phone out of his pocket.