Page 4 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)
The early afternoon sun beat down mercilessly as Jenna guided the patrol car through Pinecrest’s tree-lined streets.
Beside her, Jake’s expression was thoughtful as they approached the Cable County Jail—a squat, institutional building of gray concrete, its small windows reinforced with wire mesh.
Nothing about it suggested rehabilitation or justice—just containment.
“There’s Spelling,” Jake said, nodding toward the parking lot where the colonel’s state-issue SUV was pulling into a space.
When they parked and then joined him, he greeted them, “Sheriff, Deputy. Thanks for making good time.” Nodding toward the jail, he added, “I just got a call from Morgan, who’s inside. ”
“Has he cooled down at all?” Jenna asked, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the building’s entrance.
Spelling gave a short, humorless laugh. “About as much as this parking lot.”
The jail’s entrance was flanked by two uniformed officers who eyed them with suspicion as they approached. Spelling flashed his credentials, and they were buzzed through a heavy metal door, which clanged shut behind them.
The interior was all hard surfaces—concrete floors, cinder block walls painted a sickly institutional green, fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead. But at least it was cool inside.
They had barely made it ten feet when Chief Rudy Morgan emerged from a side hallway. He was a stocky man with close-cropped gray hair and the permanent tan of someone who spent considerable time outdoors. His eyes were sharp, assessing, hostile.
“Colonel,” Morgan acknowledged Spelling with a curt nod, barely glancing at Jenna and Jake.
“Chief Morgan,” Spelling replied evenly, “I believe you’ve met Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins from Genesius County.”
Morgan’s gaze finally shifted to Jenna. “Sheriff,” he said with a curt nod.
“Chief,” Jenna met his gaze steadily. “Colonel Spelling thought we might provide some perspective on your case.”
“My case is pretty damn straightforward. Kid was trespassing in a cemetery after midnight, found right there with the victim. He’s changed his story twice already.
First he was meeting his girlfriend, then he was just out for a walk.
Couldn’t keep his lies straight. And now he’s clammed up completely. ”
“His parents?” Jake asked.
“Rushed in here when I called them, but I didn’t let them put up bail. They left mad. Then their seedy lawyer arrived. Then you. Like this was a convention or something.”
“We’re just here to help, Chief,” Jenna said, keeping her tone neutral. “The sooner we can speak with Teddy Rose, the sooner we can get out of your hair.”
Morgan held her gaze for a moment, then gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel. “This way.”
He led them down a corridor lined with closed doors, his back rigid with unspoken resentment.
“Kid’s been here since 3 AM,” Morgan said over his shoulder. “Called 911 just after midnight about a body. We picked him up at the scene, brought him in for questioning. He’s been stonewalling ever since.”
“Stonewalling or exercising his right to counsel?” Jenna asked.
“His lawyer showed up around 5 AM. Eliot Willis. Been with him ever since, advising him not to talk.”
“Which is Willis’s job,” Jake pointed out.
Morgan stopped abruptly, turning to face them. “This kid is hiding something. You’ll see.”
“We’ll keep an open mind,” Jenna assured him.
They reached a door at the end of the hallway.
Morgan rapped twice, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.
The interrogation room beyond was small and stark—a metal table bolted to the floor, four chairs, a one-way mirror on one wall, a camera mounted in the corner.
The air felt stale, as if the room had been closed up for too long.
Teddy Rose sat hunched in one of the chairs, looking small and vulnerable in his oversized t-shirt. His face was pale, dark circles beneath his eyes suggesting he hadn’t slept. Beside him stood a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit that had seen better days—Eliot Willis, Jenna presumed.
The lawyer’s face was set in an expression of professional neutrality, but there was something in his eyes as he glanced at his client that gave Jenna pause. She recognized an expression of resignation. Did he think his client was guilty?
“Mr. Willis,” Morgan said, his tone clipped. “Sheriff Graves from Genesius County would like to speak with your client.”
Willis’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Genesius County? That’s a bit outside your jurisdiction, isn’t it, Sheriff?”
“I’m here as a consultant at Colonel Spelling’s request,” Jenna replied, keeping her voice calm and professional. “With your permission, I’d like to ask Teddy a few questions.”
Willis seemed to consider this, his gaze moving from Jenna to Spelling to Morgan and back. “I’ve advised my client not to make any further statements until we’ve had a chance to review the evidence against him.”
“There isn’t any,” Jake said bluntly. “Or am I missing something, Chief Morgan?”
Morgan’s face flushed. “The crime scene—”
“Shows no evidence linking Teddy to the murder beyond his discovering the body,” Spelling interrupted smoothly. “Sheriff Graves is here to help clarify the situation, not complicate it.”
“You can ask your questions,” Willis said finally, apparently sensing that Jenna and Jake might be on Teddy’s side.
Jenna moved forward, pulling out the chair across from Teddy and sitting down. She deliberately kept her posture open, relaxed, nonthreatening. Jake and Spelling stepped back near the door. Morgan, clearly unhappy with the arrangement, crossed his arms and leaned against a wall.
“Teddy,” Jenna began softly, “I’m Sheriff Graves. I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just want to understand what happened last night.”
Teddy’s eyes flickered up briefly, then returned to the table. A small nod was his only response.
“Can you tell me, in your own words, why you were at Pinecrest Cemetery?”
“I was going to see my girlfriend,” Teddy said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tina. She lives on Maple Street. Going through the cemetery cuts like twenty minutes off the walk from my house to hers.”
“And you’ve done this before?” Jenna asked.
“A couple times. The gates are locked at night, but the stone wall is easy to climb. But last night the gate was open,” Teddy said, his voice gaining a slight edge of confidence. “Just a little. I thought it was weird, but I figured maybe the groundskeeper forgot to lock it or something.”
“What happened next?”
Teddy’s hands twisted together on the table. “I went in. It was really bright because of the full moon, so I could see pretty well. But then I heard something—a branch breaking, I think. It spooked me.”
“That’s natural,” Jenna said. “What did you do?”
“I changed course a little.” His voice faltered. “Then I saw something under a big oak tree in that little hollow.”
“What exactly did you see, Teddy?”
The boy’s breathing quickened, his eyes taking on a glazed quality as if he was seeing it all again.
“At first I just saw a shape, something darker against the tree trunk. But when I got closer, it looked like a person. I thought maybe it was a homeless person or a drunk college kid. I called out, but they didn’t answer.
So I used my phone light to see better.”
Teddy’s voice cracked. “He was just... sitting there, all propped up against the tree. But wrong, you know? Too stiff. And his eyes—they were open, just staring.”
“Take your time,” Willis murmured.
Teddy drew a shuddering breath. “I got closer. I don’t know why. I guess I thought maybe he was still alive, that I could help. But then I could see the ropes around his wrists, and that wooden thing going right into his chest.”
“Did you touch anything?” Jenna asked.
“No, but I dropped my phone, and when I picked it up, the light hit this weird carving in the tree above his head. Like a star in a circle.”
“A pentagram,” Jenna said.
“Yeah. That’s when I freaked out. I almost didn’t call 911. I almost just ran. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“So you called the police,” Jenna prompted.
“Yeah. They took forever to come. I just sat there on the ground, like twenty feet away from... from him. I couldn’t look, but I couldn’t leave either.”
Jenna studied Teddy’s face intently. Everything about his account rang true—the halting delivery, the emotional response, the small details that a fabricated story would likely omit. This was not a rehearsed account; this was trauma being relived.
“Teddy, did you know the man?” she asked gently.
“No. I mean, I recognized him when they showed me his picture later. I’ve seen him around town. But I didn’t know him.”
“One more question,” Jenna said. “Why did you change your story about why you were at the cemetery?”
Teddy’s face flushed. “I didn’t want to get Tina in trouble. Her parents are super strict. If they found out she was waiting for me to sneak into her room at night...” He trailed off.
Jenna nodded, then sat back slightly. “Thank you, Teddy. You’ve been very helpful.”
The boy looked up, surprise flickering across his face. “That’s it?”
“For now,” Jenna confirmed.
Willis leaned down to murmur something to Teddy again, then straightened. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to get my client back to his cell. He’s been up all night and needs rest.”
“Of course,” Jenna said, rising from her chair.
Willis guided Teddy to his feet and led him toward the door. The boy’s shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, his steps unsteady. Just as they reached the door, he paused and turned back.
“Sheriff?” His voice was small, but steadier than before. “I didn’t kill that man. I swear.”
“I believe you, Teddy,” Jenna said simply.
Something like relief flickered across his face before Willis ushered him out. As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence fell over the room.
Morgan was the first to break it, pushing away from the wall with an irritated huff. “Well, that was a waste of time. Kid’s obviously rehearsed that story with his lawyer.”
Jenna turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Chief Morgan, with all due respect, I see no evidence that Teddy Rose is your killer.”
Morgan’s face darkened. “You’ve been here what, twenty minutes? And suddenly you’re an expert on my case?”
“The evidence doesn’t support holding him,” Jenna said firmly. “No blood on his clothes, no murder weapon, no motive, no connection to the victim. Just the bad luck to stumble across the body.”
“And the cemetery location?” Morgan countered. “What kind of kid hangs out in graveyards at midnight?”
“The kind who’s trying to see his girlfriend without her parents knowing,” Jake interjected dryly. “So... basically any teenage boy since the beginning of time.”
Morgan glared at him, then looked to Spelling. “Colonel, are you buying this?”
Spelling’s expression remained neutral. “I think Sheriff Graves makes valid points. The physical evidence doesn’t support holding the Rose boy.”
Morgan’s jaw worked, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Then, abruptly, his shoulders sagged.
“Fine. I’ll release him to his parents’ custody. But I’m keeping his phone, and he’s not to leave town.”
“That’s reasonable,” Spelling agreed.
Morgan stalked out without another word, the door swinging shut behind him with more force than necessary.
Spelling’s mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “Morgan’s not great at collaboration. Or admitting he might be wrong.” He studied Jenna’s face. “So, Sheriff, what’s your assessment? Beyond the obvious fact that the kid didn’t do it.”
Jenna knew that he was looking for one of her uncanny insights. But there was nothing to offer this time.
“The staging was elaborate—the ropes, the stake, the pentagram. Ritualistic.” She hesitated. “It feels theatrical, ritualistic, like the killer was sending a message or creating a spectacle for a reason. Not a crime of passion, not random. Deliberate.”
“And exceptionally brutal,” Jake added.
“Any sense of who might have done it, or why?” Spelling pressed.
Jenna met his gaze directly. “Not yet, Colonel. If something comes to me, you’ll be the first to know.”
The disappointment in his eyes was subtle but unmistakable. “Well, keep me posted,” he said. “I appreciate you coming out here. I’ll make sure Morgan understands the Rose boy is to be released promptly.”
Outside, the heat engulfed them once more. They said their goodbyes to Spelling and headed back to their patrol car.
The drive out of Pinecrest was quiet at first, both of them lost in their thoughts. The sleepy college town gave way to open countryside, fields of corn stretching to the horizon under the relentless sun.
Jake commented, “You were sure right about this being ritualistic, theatrical. This set-up clearly has some kind of meaning.”
“And we have to figure out what that is.”
“Yeah. Because that kind of killer is likely to be fixated on making that statement … more than one time.”
They both became very quiet for a short time.
Jake said finally broke the silence. “You know, Spelling must think you have some kind of informant. A CI feeding you information that you can’t officially disclose.”
“Better that than the truth.”
“Would it be so bad if he knew? About the dreams?”
She shot him a sideways glance. “Jake, I’m an elected sheriff. How do you think voters would respond if they found out I get investigative tips from dead people?”
“Fair point,” he conceded.
Jake started to respond, but was cut off by the shrill ring of Jenna’s phone. She reached for it, hitting the speaker button.
“Sheriff Graves,” she answered.
“Sheriff.” Mayor Claire Simmons’ voice filled the car, crisp and commanding. “I need to see you in my office immediately.”
Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake. “Of course, Mayor. I’m just heading back to town. Is there a particular—?”
“Just be there,” Simmons interrupted before ending the call with an abrupt click.
Jenna sighed, replacing the phone in its holder. “I guess Morgan wasted no time before complaining to Mayor Simmons.”
“You’d think the Chief of Police in another county would have better things to do,” Jake observed.
“Wounded pride is a powerful motivator,” Jenna replied.
“Well, you’ve faced worse than an irate mayor.”
“True enough.” Jenna’s lips twitched slightly with the hint of a smile.