Page 20

Jenna’s cruiser weaved through the narrow streets of Colstock in pursuit of the fleeing SUV. Beside her, Jake held the radio steady, his voice even as he relayed their position to the Highway Patrol officers. “Heading west on Maple Avenue, approaching Fourth,” he reported. He called for roadblocks with precision, arranging the grid to corner Carl Reeves before he could escape the town completely.

“Copy that, Deputy Hawkins. Dilkins is setting up on Route 17,” crackled the response from dispatch.

“Got it,” Jake acknowledged.

The patrol car’s siren wailed as it bore down the undulating ribbon of asphalt that marked the outer boundary of Colstock. Jenna navigated the chase with precision. Ahead, Carl Reeves’ SUV kicked up a storm of dust and gravel, a gritty haze hanging in the air like the aftermath of some small-town tempest.

Jake keyed the mic once more. “Dilkins, confirm your position,” he said, the radio crackling to life in response.

“Roadblock in place on Route 17 at the edge of town,” came the terse reply.

“Copy that, we’re pushing him your way. Be ready.”

As they cleared the last stretch of residential Colstock, the roadblock loomed ahead—Officer Dilkins’ cruiser parked broadside across both lanes. Dilkins himself stood with his service weapon, drawn and steady, pointed unwaveringly toward the oncoming threat.

As Reeves approached the roadblock, the SUV’s tires screeched in protest. The vehicle fishtailed wildly before coming to an abrupt halt mere yards from Officer Dilkins and his cruiser.

Within their car, Jenna’s hand steadied on the steering wheel as she watched the SUV’s erratic halt. She screeched to a stop, then she and Jake flung their doors open and slid out, boots hitting the ground in unison.

Jenna’s weapon cleared its holster in a smooth arc, her stance firm and practiced as she leveled it at the driver’s silhouette. Beside her, Jake drew his own firearm, the motion seamless. They advanced in tandem, every sense attuned to the man inside the SUV.

“Carl Reeves, step out of the vehicle with your hands visible!” Jenna’s command sliced through the stillness. The barrel of her gun did not waver as she spoke, her eyes locked onto the SUV’s tinted driver’s side window.

No one moved.

Then, with a creak that seemed too loud in the quiet, the SUV’s door opened. Carl Reeves emerged slowly. His hands rose, palms outward.

Jenna scrutinized his face as he stepped into full view. Fear etched deep lines across his forehead, pulling at the corners of his mouth. But there was something else—a resignation that sagged his shoulders and dulled his eyes, a stark contrast to the panic that had sent his vehicle careening moments before. The man who worked maintenance at the Sablewood Dam stood there, looking every bit a small-town figure caught in a net too large for him to understand.

Jake moved toward him with the grace of a seasoned officer while Jenna held her weapon steady.

“You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder,” Jake told him, his voice devoid of emotion. “Turn around, hands behind your back.”

Carl complied, a defeated slump to his shoulders as Jake secured the cuffs with a series of deft clicks.

“Listen, I didn’t do anything!” Carl blurted out suddenly, his voice laced with raw desperation.

“Carl Reeves, you have the right to remain silent,” Jenna’s voice cut through the heavy silence that had fallen over the scene. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” She held Carl’s gaze as she continued, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” The recitation was methodical, each word delivered with the gravity it deserved.

“Understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” Jenna asked. Carl nodded mutely.

With the rights formally read, they moved to the next step. Carl was guided to the back seat of her patrol car, then the door closed with an authoritative thud, sealing him within the confines of the law.

Jenna turned and called out to Officer Dilkins, who had set up the roadblock. “Great work, officer. We’ll take it from here.”

Dilkins responded with a salute, then holstered his weapon and returned to his own vehicle.

When she and Jake got back into her car, the silence was profound, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the radio dispatch. Questions begged to be voiced. Jenna and Jake both understood the meticulous interrogation that awaited them.

The drive to Trentville wasn’t long, and as they approached the county seat, the Genesius County Jail came into view. When they pulled into the parking lot, Jake was first to move, reaching for the door handle even as Jenna unbuckled her seatbelt. He opened the backseat door and motioned for Carl to step out. The man complied, his movements sluggish and resigned. Jenna followed close behind as they led their suspect towards the jail entrance.

The interior of the county jail buzzed with energy. Officers moved with purpose while inmates watched from behind bars with a mix of indifference and curiosity. Deputy Marla Quinn, a stout woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, looked up from her paperwork as they entered. Her eyes flickered over Carl before settling on Jenna and Jake.

“Reeves,” she said simply by way of greeting, taking in Carl’s handcuffs and disheveled appearance with an experienced eye. “The Colonel told us you were on the way.”

Carl’s fingers were rolled across the ink pad, leaving stark black impressions on the cardstock—a physical mark of his presence in this puzzle. Then Jake guided Carl towards an empty holding cell while Jenna dealt with their paperwork. With each stamp and signature affixed onto official documents, Carl Reeves was no longer just a suspect – he was now a prisoner in the system.

Jenna joined Jake outside the holding cell, where inside Carl sank onto the bench against the far wall without protest. His earlier defiance had drained away entirely; he seemed smaller somehow under fluorescent lights and surrounded by cold steel bars.

“Graves, Hawkins, good work bringing him in,” came a crisp voice from behind them. Colonel Chadwick Spelling stood there with the air of a man who had just won a battle. His uniform was impeccable, each crease a testament to his meticulous nature.

“Colonel Spelling,” Jenna acknowledged, nodding slightly. “We just finished the booking process.”

“Excellent.” Spelling clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m glad you’ve wrapped this up. Saves us all a headache.”

“Could still be some loose ends to tie up,” she replied.

Spelling raised an eyebrow but offered a confident smile. “Of course, but I don’t doubt you’ve got the right man.”

The chill of the Genesius County Jail cell seemed to seep into Jenna’s bones as she stepped inside the cell.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Carl said.

Standing beside Jenna, Jake unfolded a notepad, his movements deliberate and precise, while Colonel Spelling loomed by the door.

“Okay, then,” Jake said to Carl. “Now’s your chance to explain everything.”

“Carl,” Jenna began, “Tommy Larson mentioned something about your childhood—how you stopped hanging out with the others.”

Carl’s eyes, rimmed with red, darted between the three of them before settling on the cold concrete floor. His lips quivered as if he were trying to corral the words that threatened to spill out.

“We used to go swimming at the reservoir,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Swimming?” Jake prompted gently, pen poised.

“Y-yeah,” Carl stuttered, a tear breaking free and tracing a path down his cheek. “It was hot, and we didn’t have nowhere else to go... But sometimes... instead of swimming on the far end of the reservoir, we liked to play on the spillway.”

Jenna remembered the group of boys in her dream, their laughter echoing off the water, the danger they flirted with on the spillway’s threshold.

“Sh-Sheriff Doyle would come,” Carl continued. “He’d send us packing home with a warning.”

“Did going home with warnings make you stop seeing the others?” Jenna asked.

Carl’s chest heaved as a shudder ran through him, his hands clenching and unclenching in an uneven rhythm. Jenna watched the struggle on his face, the way his eyes darted away before locking onto something unseen.

“No,” Carl’s voice cracked. “But it wasn’t just horseplay, it turned... it got serious.”

“What happened, Carl?” Jenna asked quietly.

“Mike—Mike Larson, he...” Carl swallowed hard, the muscles in his neck tense with the effort. “He pushed me under. Held me there.”

“Under the water?” Jake prompted gently, his notebook ready but his pen still.

Carl bobbed his head, a jerky nod. “I thought... I was going to die.” His voice was barely audible, a whisper against the stillness of the cell.

The silence stretched taut between them until Carl gasped for breath, as if he were emerging from the water all over again. “Then, he let go. I came up... sobbing. They laughed at me. All of them.”

“Did you have any contact with them after that day?” Jenna’s question was a soft prod, coaxing more of the story from him.

“No.” Carl wrapped his arms around himself. “Never spoke to them again.”

“And now they’re all dead,” Jenna stated, not as an accusation but as a fact needing acknowledgment.

Carl’s eyes, rimmed red from his tears, met Jenna’s squarely. “I didn’t kill them. I swear. I wouldn’t …”

Jenna held his gaze for a moment longer before standing up. She could feel the weight of Colonel Spelling’s expectation as he stood at the cell door behind her, listening. Yet, she wasn’t ready to let this lead solidify into a conviction. Not just yet.

“Carl,” Jenna said, “you didn’t show up at the reservoir for work today. And you were packing your SUV to leave town. Why?”

The maintenance worker’s hands trembled in his lap, and he looked down at them as if they could provide an escape from the cold truth. “The bodies... finding them like that. I couldn’t take it,” Carl’s voice cracked. “It was all too much. I just had to get away.”

“Get away?” Jake interjected, skepticism in his tone.

“From Colstock, from the dam and the reservoir, from those memories, everything,” Carl continued, his eyes flicking up to meet Jenna’s searching gaze before darting away. “I thought a fresh start—”

“Didn’t you think running would make you look guilty?” Jenna asked, ignoring the Colonel’s interruption.

“I wasn’t thinking about how it looked.” Carl shook his head, his voice gaining a hint of desperation. “It was when I saw your car pull up, it hit me. You suspected me of murder. I just... I panicked.”

“Panicked?” Jenna echoed, studying him closely.

“Everything was closing in on me—I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight.” Carl wrapped his arms around himself, the action of a man trying to hold together his fraying edges.

“Okay, Carl,” Jenna said, signaling to Jake that it was time to step back and regroup. The interview had hit a wall; she could sense it. Her eyes lingered on Carl for a moment longer, tracing the lines of strain etched into his face before turning away.

“Let’s step outside,” she said, her voice low and even.

The trio filed out of the cell, the iron door clanging shut behind them as if sealing off the chapter they were leaving behind. In the sterile light of the hallway, Colonel Spelling squared his shoulders, the starched fabric of his uniform rustling softly.

“Good work in there,” he began, addressing Jenna and Jake but keeping his eyes trained on Jenna. “Reeves’ story is falling apart at the seams. It’s clear he’s our man.”

Jenna’s gaze drifted past the Colonel, focusing on the gray paint of the opposite wall. There was a calmness to her posture, a stillness that belied the churn of her thoughts.

“His fear seemed genuine,” Jake interjected. “But panic doesn’t necessarily mean guilt.”

“Doesn’t mean innocence either,” Colonel Spelling countered sharply. “We’ve got motive, opportunity, and his flight only adds to the pile of evidence against him.”

“Maybe,” Jenna finally spoke. “But something doesn’t fit. This case... it’s like a jigsaw with a piece that won’t slot in.”

Colonel Spelling shook his head, the glint of his badges seeming to flash in annoyance. “Sometimes you have to hammer that piece to make it fit, Sheriff Graves. That’s how justice is served.”

Jenna’s eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a silent battle of wills.

Then Spelling said confidently, “At least now I can pull my guys off of their guard duty at the reservoir. They’re needed on other patrols. Like I said, Sheriff, good work, today.”

Jenna shook her head in silent protest.

“Aren’t you convinced?” Jake asked Jenna, his tone low.

“Convinced? No.” Jenna’s voice was a soft murmur, almost lost in the ambient noise of the jail. “I’m not so sure this is over. Not by a long shot.”