The equipment shed was about the size of a two-car garage. It looked fairly typical with the hand-held tools hanging from racks on the walls. Larger equipment, like the high-end mower, were parked on the dirt floor in the middle. There was a small, dirty window on either side making the place feel small, even with the door wide open.

Well, Sam thought, here I am. If there's something I'm supposed to find, you'd better point me in the right direction.

"Why is Don so sure Martin Brewster is guilty?" Sam asked.

"He's been doing this job a long time," Colby answered.

Al was more forthcoming. "The last victim was here playing tennis on the day she died. Martin was the last person to see her alive."

"Tennis," Sam muttered, trying to find whatever it was God or fate or time was trying to show him.

"Huh?" Colby asked. He had his phone up to his ear, getting ready to make a call.

"Where are the tennis courts?" Sam asked.

Colby glanced around, getting his bearings. Al plugged the question into his hand-held.

Al pointed. "Over there about 500 yards."

"Um, that way," Colby said, pointing in generally the same direction. Al nodded at Colby, pleased that their information matched. Colby turned his back to Sam, talking quietly on his phone.

Sam picked his way past the equipment to the window near where both men had indicated. He peeked out and found the very edge of the courts was visible. If he backed up a few steps, he could see them. The view was unremarkable, just two side by side courts surrounded by a chain-link fence and well-manicured trees.

Sam took another step back trying to see the surrounding area. The ground under his foot suddenly seemed soft and unstable, like rotten wood. He immediately lifted his weight. Why would the shed have a wooden floor? Since when did sheds have basements?

Colby was just snapping his phone shut. "What's up, Charlie?"

"I'm not sure," Sam answered carefully. He replaced his foot, testing the wood. It felt like it was ready to go. Sam stood on it with both feet and bounced his knees. It became more and more unstable.

With a sickening crack, the wood gave way and gravity took over. He heard Colby call Charlie's name. Shards of broken wood grabbed at Sam's sleeves as he fell straight down and then slammed into solid earth. He was dazed for a moment, and then he became aware of pain in his arm. He held it up to examine it. It was scratched and bleeding, but it wasn't serious. His back, which had taken the brunt of the impact, ached.

"You okay, Charlie?" Sam looked up and saw Colby peering into the hole.

"You okay, Sam?" Sam started. Al was standing right next to him. Sam hated it when he did that.

"Yeah," Sam said, answering both of them. He stood up, testing his body. Everything seemed to be functioning normally.

"I'm coming down," Colby announced and lowered himself into the hole. The small penlight he fished out of his pocket penetrated the darkness as he slowly moved it around him in a circle.

The room was less than half the size of the shed and tall enough for Sam to stand comfortably. There was a ladder on the far end. Apparently that was the intended way to get down here. Colby walked over and examined the top with his light. "Trap door. We didn't even see it." He looked around some more. "Look at that," he said, stopping on a stain on the ground. "That might be blood."

Colby pulled out his phone with his free hand but instead of holding it to his ear he began to speak into it like a walkie-talkie. He told the search team where to come. Once he was confident they were on their way, he continued his sweep. There were bags lining some of the walls. Sam didn't want to think about what was in them. "Don't touch anything, Charlie," Colby warned. Sam was quite certain he didn't want to touch anything in this place.

Sam sat in the solarium nursing a beer. His arm and back still ached dully from the fall, but the alcohol was taking care of that problem. Don sat across from him.

"It's kind of funny, Charlie," he said, taking a draw from his own longneck.

"What's that?"

"Well, this case. I mean, here we are. I've worked on dozens of these types of cases and my instincts are usually right on. You're a math genius and, let's face it, you're never wrong. But between us, between all that experience and knowledge and everything, we would have put away the wrong guy. If you hadn't stepped on that rotten board, we wouldn't have found the killer's hideout. One stupid board." He shook his head.

Sam stared at his bottle. Don was right. Sam wasn't sent here because he was the only guy who could figure out Charlie's equation, he was sent here precisely because he couldn't figure it out. It didn't take a genius to fall through a hole in the floor. Sam was back at square one. Why was he the one leaping? Could it be anyone at all? What if Charlie started leaping? Or Al? Would they be just as acceptable as he was? Sam sighed and rubbed his head. He guessed that some things just weren't meant to be.

When he opened his eyes, Al was standing next to him.

"Well, Jonathan Stewart who was the Brewster's gardener for years, is sent to prison on 5 consecutive life sentences. And he's still alive," Al said, reading from his hand-held. He shrugged. "He didn't get jacked like Martin did. I guess he's a little more popular with the prison population."

"So we got him," Sam said, taking a drink.

"Not yet," Don answered, leaning back. "No one has seen or heard from Stewart since the last body was found."

"Don't worry about that," Al said, waving away Don's words with his cigar. "They catch him in two days in Phoenix using a stolen credit card."

"Okay, guys," Alan said, coming in with two steaming bowls. "Beef stew and I've got to go back and get the bread. Dig in."

"I hope we find this guy," Don said.

Sam smiled. "You will."

"How do you know?" Don asked.

"A hunch," Sam shrugged.

Don smiled and laughed. He shook his head and drank. And finally, a familiar sensation enveloped Sam. He was leaping.

Sam was sitting in the open air. There was a loud chink, chink, chink noise coming from underneath him. His first instinct was to stand up, but there was a bar holding him in his seat. Sam realized with horror that he was on a roller coaster. The noise stopped and Sam further realized that they had just crested the hill. He clutched the lap bar with both hands as the bottom fell away.

"Oh boy!" Sam screamed.