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Jenna sat back in her chair as she processed the information. Then she told Frank what Tommy Larson had said to them earlier—that he was never part of that gang with his brother, that he was just a pesky kid they didn’t want to have hanging around.

“So why did he lie to us?” Jake muttered. “Does this mean that he was the killer? Of his own brother as well as the others?”

“Personal obsessions have been known to cause stranger things over time,” Frank’s voice grumbled. “Killing a family member isn’t unheard of. We just don’t know what might have driven Tommy to do anything like that.”

Jenna straightened up, decisiveness lighting her features. “I’m going to give him a call,” she declared, already reaching for her phone. “Maybe he’ll reveal something more.”

Frank’s gray eyes met hers with a mixture of concern and trust. “Be careful, Jenna,” he warned, the gruffness of his voice not quite masking his protective instinct. “If something set him off for those three murders, we don’t know what he’d be capable of next.”

She replied, “My plan is to question him stealthily, just to see if he keeps the same story going.”

Dialing the number, Jenna set her phone to speaker but kept it close. After three rings, Tommy answered, his voice crackling through the room. “Hello?”

Jenna could hear the chug and whir of farm machinery, painting a picture of Tommy Larson in his usual habitat, amidst his sprawling fields just outside of Colstock. There was something grounding about the rhythmic sounds of rural labor, but Jenna knew better than to let it lull her into complacency.

“Tommy, it’s Jenna Graves,” she said.

The sound of machinery cut lower, then Tommy answered, an easy affability in his tone. “Hey, Sheriff Graves. What can I do for you?”

“Got a minute?” Jenna asked, her voice casual.

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Tommy replied, unaware that he was speaking to more than just Jenna.

Jake and Frank listened intently and silently.

“Tommy,” Jenna spoke with measured calm, “I just thought I should bring you up to date on a few things. We’ve placed Carl Reeves under arrest for the murders. He tried to make a break for it in his car, but we caught up with him.”

“Carl? Arrested?” The surprise in Tommy’s voice would have sounded convincing to someone who hadn’t become adept at deciphering lies from truth.

“Yes, and it looks like we’ve found our killer. It’s thanks to you that we even considered him—you pointed out how he was part of the four-member gang until something went south.”

“Ah, well... I’m just glad I could help,” Tommy’s reply came with an undertone of satisfaction, as if he relished being seen as supportive.

“Once we get a full confession from Carl, we can finally close this case,” Jenna continued.

“Shocked to hear it was Carl, but I’m glad it’s over.” His voice held a definite note of relief.

“Is there anything else you remember that might explain why Carl left the gang? Why he turned on them?” Jenna pressed, needing to push just a little further.

“Nothing comes to mind, Sheriff. Like I said before, I was never really part of all that,” Tommy answered too quickly. “I never knew much about them.”

The air in the room seemed to grow thicker with Tommy’s lies.

“Tommy,” she pressed, her tone deliberately casual as if they were discussing the weather instead of a murder case, “you’ve been such a help with all this. I’m sure it must be hard to digest that Carl turned out like he did.”

“Y-yeah,” Tommy stammered from the other end, the faint whir of a tractor still in the background. “I just can’t believe it, you know? I can’t imagine what turned him against all of them. I was always on the outside looking in at those guys.”

Tommy’s feigned ignorance confirmed their suspicions loud and clear.

“So you were just the kid brother, right?” Jenna continued.

“Exactly,” Tommy replied quickly, too quickly. “I wasn’t allowed to hang out with them. I wasn’t part of their circle.”

Jenna’s conviction grew stronger; Tommy Larson was deeply implicated in this twisted tale. His feigned ignorance and the subtle shift in his voice all painted a picture of guilt. But what were Jenna and her colleagues going to do about it?

A tactic began to take shape in her mind—something she was going to have to attempt without taking time to think it through, or to discuss it with Jake and Frank even as they sat here listening. She had to launch into it blindly and hope not to make some fatal mistake. All she knew for sure was that it had to begin with a lie.

“There is another reason I’m contacting you,” she said. “Right after we picked up Carl, someone called into the station. Said we got the wrong guy.”

“Really?” Tommy’s voice hitched ever so slightly, a crack in his composure.

“Yes,” Jenna affirmed. “They insisted that Tommy Larson could explain it all. Now, why do you think someone would say that?”

The line was silent for a heartbeat too long. Jenna’s grip on the phone tightened as she heard the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. Jake and Frank leaned forward, breathless with expectation at whatever this was Jenna was up to. She could only hope that she was on the verge of breaking the case wide open, using a spontaneous ruse woven from experience and intuition. Tommy’s next words could very well determine the course of their investigation.

“Who was the caller?” There was a veneer of calm in Tommy’s query, but Jenna could detect the underlying note of alarm.

“It was anonymous,” Jenna stated. “But since he mentioned your name, I figured you should know about it.”

“Anonymous?” Tommy repeated the word edged with skepticism. “I don’t see why someone would drag me into this. What else did they say?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” she said dismissively, hoping her nonchalance would further pique his anxious curiosity. “Probably just one of those crank calls we get now and then. Happens all the time with high-profile cases. No need to worry yourself over it.”

But just as she’d hoped, Jenna’s attempt at nonchalance seemed to have the opposite effect. “I want to know,” Tommy insisted, his tone tinged with defensiveness.

“Look, Tommy,” Jenna continued, keeping her voice level, “I didn’t get an identification. It’s most likely someone playing games, thinking they’re being clever. You know how people can be.” She was spinning a net with words, trying to ensnare him by piquing his curiosity.

“Still, I’d like to know what was said,” Tommy pressed. His words carried the insistence of a man who could not afford the luxury of ignorance. Jenna noted the change in his tone, the urgency in his demand. And she could see by Frank and Jake’s expressions that they sensed the same thing. It was a slip, a crack in his armor, and Jenna was ready to wedge it open.

“Nothing worth bothering yourself over,” Jenna replied, her voice a gentle brushstroke of reassurance. “He was adamant that if I met him after dusk tonight at the willow tree near where the bodies were found, he’d show and tell me exactly what he meant.”

“Are you going to go?” Tommy’s voice had taken on a sharper edge.

Jenna let out a scoff, her tone bordering on mockery. “Of course not,” she dismissed the idea like swatting away an annoying insect. “I mean, if you don’t know what it’s all about, it can’t be anything real. It’s undoubtedly just a crank call from someone trying to get me to waste my time. I’m sure that whoever called will be a no-show tonight. It was just a stupid practical joke, and I’m not about to fall for it.”

“Well, then …” his voice trailed off.

“Sorry to have troubled you with it,” Jenna offered in feigned apology, her voice softening ever so slightly. “And again, thank you for your role in catching Carl Reeves. You’ve been a big help.”

With that, Jenna said goodbye to Tommy and hung up the phone. Her eyes met Jake’s, and he cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

“That settles it then,” Jake said. “Tommy’s been playing us from the start.”

Frank pushed off his chair and stood upright. “Never thought that kid had it in him,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But you’ve got him on the ropes now. Well-played, Jenna. That was swift thinking, indeed. I’m proud of you, kid.”

Jenna smiled, allowing herself a brief nod of recognition toward Frank’s compliment. “Thanks, Frank. But we’ve still got our work cut out for us. We’ve laid the groundwork. Will he walk into our trap?”

“We have to get out there ahead of him,” Frank said, his gray eyes sharp with anticipation. “If he takes the bait, we’ll catch him,” he added with certainty.

“Here’s hoping he can’t resist the lure,” Jake said, getting up from his chair, ready for action.

“Let’s prepare a little more carefully,” Jenna cautioned them. “We need to make sure everything goes according to plan.”

***

The phone slipped from Tommy Larson’s grip, thudding softly against the moist earth. He stood motionless in the middle of his field, the last echoes of Sheriff Graves’ voice still ringing in his ears. His eyes narrowed as they scanned the horizon where the sun dipped low. Hi hands, calloused and weathered from the relentless toil on the farm, clenched into fists.

He got down from his tractor, boots sinking slightly into the soil, and surveyed his land. It was his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude amidst the gently rolling hills of Genesius County. Here, he’d thought his secrets were buried as deep as the roots of the crops he tended to.

Two years. Two years since the night, Mike drew his last breath, and with him, the last of Tommy’s ties to a past he wished to forget.

“Is she onto me?” He cast a glance back toward the farmhouse, its windows reflecting the dying light, offering no answers.

Tommy stood rigid, the memory forcing its way to the forefront of his mind with relentless clarity. The reservoir’s surface had been calm that day, a mirror reflecting the carefree blue of the sky.

His breaths came in short, sharp intakes as he recalled how their laughter had turned sinister, the jovial mockery shifting into something darker. Mike, Clive, and Jimmy, the trio he once considered brothers-in-arms, had grown weary of his presence, their camaraderie souring like milk left out in the summer heat.

“Let’s see how long Tommy can hold his breath,” Mike had said, a sneer twisting his features as they gathered around him at the water’s edge.

Their rough hands had gripped Tommy’s shoulders, pushing him down into the cold embrace of the reservoir until the light above fractured into shards, slipping away as the pressure built in his chest.

Panic had set in, his limbs thrashing in vain against the strength of his so-called friends. His vision blurred, the edges growing dark until there was nothing but a void so complete it seemed to swallow him whole. He was dying, and he knew it. But there was no light waiting for him to walk into. Instead, there was an eternal blackness that terrified him more than anything he’d ever experienced before or since.

When they finally hauled his limp body from the water, coughing and spluttering back to life, something within Tommy had irrevocably changed. He had glanced up at their faces, expecting relief or guilt, but found only wide-eyed fear at the possibility of consequence for their actions.

It wasn’t just the act of nearly drowning—it was the betrayal, the torture by those he trusted. And so, he had plotted, waited for the perfect moments to turn predator from prey, to give them a taste of the terror he’d felt submerged in the depths.

One by one, he made sure they experienced the same engulfing darkness that haunted his every waking moment. He'd given the second and third victims plenty of time to think about death, waiting years between his strikes. Mike, his own flesh and blood, had been the final act of vengeance, the last piece of a puzzle he wished never existed.

Tommy leaned down and picked up his phone, then his boots crunched over the field, each step a sharp punctuation in the quiet of the approaching evening. The phone call with Sheriff Graves replayed in his mind, her words crisp and clear as the autumn air that carried the scent of impending frost.

She’d said that someone told her they’d seen something at the reservoir, something she needed to know. She’d said that whoever it was had told her to meet her by the willow tree at dusk.

Her words hung in his consciousness like the lone crow perched atop the weathervane, an omen of things to come. He’d thought the past was dead and buried, and someone was threatening to stir it all up again. Mike, Clive, Jimmy—they were supposed to be chapters closed, names to be forgotten as he got on with his quiet rural life.

This meeting, called by an unknown observer at a place so intimately connected to his sins, set off alarms in the primal part of his brain. Who could have seen him? What had they seen? And why had they waited until now to threaten to reveal whatever it was? He couldn’t make sense of it, but he knew he’d never feel secure again. Paranoia, once a silent stalker, became a loud companion, whispering scenarios of exposure and downfall.

As the afternoon sun descended slowly in the sky, Tommy made his decision. He retrieved a heavy flashlight from the cab of his truck, the weight reassuring in his calloused hand. If someone really knew what had happened at Sablewood Reservoir and had decided to talk, they wouldn’t stop with one call to the Sheriff. One way or the other, Jimmy had to make sure that this whole nightmare was brought to an end, once and for all.