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While the rest of the camp slept, she settled into one of the chairs that encircled the fire pit. Orange embers glowed from the night’s fire, and she forced herself to stare at the smoldering coals to stay awake. The hours passed, but did so slowly, as if each minute were a perversion of time, made up of some value greater than sixty seconds. When, finally, a hazy and far-off glow came to the horizon, she crept back into the forest and made her way to the clearing. Mr. Lolland’s cabin was quiet and calm and dark. Slowly, she emerged from the forest and approached the back of the cabin, then crouched below the window before lifting herself to peer over the windowsill. It was dark inside but for the glow of the alarm clock on the night table, which offered just enough light to see Mr. Lolland lying in bed. He was lifeless and still, but to simply kill Jerry Lolland was not good enough. The world needed to know his sins and judge him accordingly.
She hurried around to the front of the cabin and silently climbed the three steps of the front porch. The screen door screeched, putting the fear of death in her that if Mr. Lolland was still alive he’d be waiting for her. After a moment of silence, though, she knew he was dead. She slipped inside the cabin and tiptoed down the hallway. The odor of gas was strong and permeated from the bedroom. When she pushed open the bedroom door, she saw him lying on his back with one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. The sheets covered him from the waist down, and the early glow of dawn spilled through the window to illuminate his hairy stomach, causing her own to roil with nausea. Still, she forced herself to stare at the man’s torso, which she did for a full minute to make sure he wasn’t breathing.
When she was certain, she went to his dresser and opened the top drawer. There she found the photos of herself and his other victims. Their faces blurred together and she could hardly bring herself to look at the photos as she grabbed them from the drawer, feeling as ashamed for Jerry’s other victims as she did for herself. But one face in the photos stood out from the others. She lifted the photo close to her eyes, urging the breaking dawn to prove her wrong. But there was no mistaking her brother. He was younger in the photo, and she realized it was probably taken when he, too, was a first-year recruit at Camp Montague. He’d never told her.
She took the photo of her brother and slipped it in her pocket. His secret would stay safe with her. The same way she would never discuss with another soul what Jerry Lolland had done to her, she would never force her brother to do so either. She would protect his secret as long as he wanted to keep it. But Jerry’s other victims would not stay anonymous. There was no other way. She walked to the bed, stood over Jerry Lolland’s lifeless body, and placed the photos, one by one, across his chest and around his face. The man deserved to die, but she would not allow death to hide his sins.
When she finished, she stared at the man who had abused her. A feeling of satisfaction came over her. It filled her with a sense of peace and worth, knowing the anguish she had endured at the hands of this predator now held purpose. She needed to go through the pain of this man’s abuse because she was meant to stop Jerry Lolland from hurting others. Her pain was fuel she used to punish him for what he did to her, to the others in the photos, and to her brother. Jerry Lolland would start her on a lifelong quest to root out those who abused others and deliver justice to them that a moral society could not.
Two hours later, just after 7:00 a.m., she was asleep in bed when she heard them. The sound dragged not just her, but all the residents, from bed. Along with other confused kids, she wandered out of her cabin and congregated by the campfire area as Camp Montague came to life in the most unusual of ways that morning. Not through whistles from the counselors or Mr. McGuire’s voice over the loudspeaker, as they were accustomed to waking each morning, but instead by an ambulance siren.
CHAPTER 57
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, May 30, 2023 9:32 p.m.
“CAMP MONTAGUE WAS A SUMMER CAMP FOR THIRTEEN- TO EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLDS,” Lane said. “It shut down in nineteen eighty-one after one of the counselors killed himself.”
“And the place has something to do with my family being killed?” Alex asked.
“Maybe. What happened at Camp Montague adds to the profile I’ve built of this killer, and allows me to connect the past to the present.”
Alex glanced quickly at Annette, then looked back down at the packet as Lane continued.
“A counselor at Camp Montague named Jerry Lolland died in the middle of the summer in nineteen eighty-one. They found him in his cabin. The autopsy report I managed to get my hands on lists the cause of death as asphyxiation due to carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“He killed himself?” Annette said.
“That’s the official line.”
“How does the suicide of a camp counselor in nineteen eighty-one have anything to do with my family?” Alex asked.
“Well, that’s the kicker. This happened forty-plus years ago, so I had trouble tracking down anyone who was directly involved in the case. After I found the connection, I mostly relied on public records. But I was able to tap my sources and get hold of one of the detectives who handled the case, a guy named Martin Crew. He’s in his late seventies now and has been retired for years. Still, he remembered the case like it was yesterday.”
“What was so memorable?” Alex asked.
“The fact that Jerry Lolland was a pedophile.”
Annette squinted her eyes. “How could a pedophile get a job as a camp counselor?”
“No one knew the guy was a predator until they found him dead in his cabin. And only then because they found pictures of his victims spread out around his body.”
The packet fell from Alex’s hands.
“I know,” Lane said. “It’s shocking. If my profile is correct, whoever killed your family also killed Jerry Lolland. And that means the killer was one of Jerry Lolland’s victims.”
“Do you have the names?” Alex asked.
“Of Lolland’s victims? No, they were sealed and not made public back then. I haven’t had the time to dig deep enough to find them on my own.”
Alex stood up. Her hands were trembling when she ran them through her hair. “Do you have contact information for the detective you spoke with?”
Lane turned to the last page in his packet and held it up for Alex to see. He pointed to the name and phone number of the detective who ran the Jerry Lolland investigation.
“I figured you’d ask for it.”
CHAPTER 58
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, May 30, 2023 9:45 p.m.
