Page 35 of Silencing Stolen Whispers (Kinsley Aspen #2)

Alex Lanen

July

T he headlights of Alex’s Camaro swept across the address numbers on Victor Reeves' mailbox, illuminating the black digits against white plastic. It was one of the few markers that identified the home.

The modest middle-class neighborhood featured uniform rows of houses with nearly identical exteriors, which consisted of grey siding and white trim.

It seemed the homeowner’s association allowed residents to showcase their individuality through their landscaping or porch décor.

A single streetlamp cast one long shadow across the manicured lawn, and the white garage door was closed as Alex pulled into the empty driveway.

He killed the engine before checking the time on the dashboard. Reeves couldn’t have been home for more than fifteen minutes. Just enough to settle into the lie that he had been living recently.

“Let me handle the conversation,” Alex said, glancing over at Hendricks, whose eager posture reminded Alex of his own early days on the force.

“Pay attention, watch closely, and be ready for anything. We’re about to ask a man, with his wife present, if he was having an affair with a student. Things could escalate rapidly.”

If they were fortunate, the wife would be asleep.

Although background checks had been filed, those for the faculty members hadn't been thoroughly reviewed yet. As no discrepancies or issues had been flagged at first, Alex and Kinsley’s attention had shifted to the cheating scandal instead.

They followed the direction of the investigation, and there had been no indication that Hannah had an affair.

“You think the wife knows?” Hendricks asked as he reached for the door handle.

“Hard to say. People can be remarkably blind to what's happening right under their noses.”

Alex exited the vehicle, taking the time to study his surroundings. The sound of their car doors closing seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet neighborhood. A dog barked somewhere down the street, a brief protest against the disturbance.

The concrete path leading to the front door was lined with small solar lights that gave off a faint blue glow.

The flower beds were neat, with what looked like tulips that had recently finished blooming.

Not Reeves' work, though. Alex doubted the professor had the patience for such things as gardening.

Standing on the porch, Alex noticed a couple of hanging baskets of ferns and a welcome mat with a faded pattern of leaves.

Given the circumstances, the domestic touches were probably nothing but a front for the neighbors.

Alex pressed the doorbell, its chime echoing inside the house.

Hendricks took a step back and to the left, as his training had taught him.

Footsteps approached from within before the curtain was pushed aside. Victor Reeves met Alex’s gaze through the window. His hesitation was obvious, but he eventually released the curtain and opened the door.

“Detective Lanen,” Victor greeted as he stood in the doorway.

He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair.

In his left hand, he held a glass of milk that appeared almost comically innocent given what Alex had come to discuss.

“It’s a little late for a house call, isn’t it? ”

Alex monitored Reeves' expressions carefully, noting the slight tightening around his eyes and the way his free hand moved to the edge of the door, as if bracing himself.

Not quite guilt, but certainly wariness.

“I apologize for the late hour.” Alex kept his tone professional, neither accusatory nor overly friendly. “I need to ask you a few more questions regarding the Hannah Scriven case.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Alex responded, noting Reeves’ internal debate as he switched his focus to Hendricks. “May we come in?”

“Of course.” Victor stepped back, widening the opening for both men to walk through. “The living room is right through there.”

As Alex stepped across the threshold, he found that he had entered a home that immediately challenged his mental image of Victor Reeves. Where Alex had expected something austere and impersonal—a reflection of the man's academic demeanor—he found instead a space that was genuinely lived-in.

Cozy, even.

The open-concept first floor included a dining area and kitchen that flowed into a living room, all decorated in warm, earthy tones with accents of deep blues and forest greens.

A plush sectional sofa faced a modest television, with bookshelves lining the wall behind it.

A handmade quilt was draped over the back of the sofa, and a stack of magazines sat on the coffee table alongside a half-completed crossword puzzle.

Either Reeves was playing a long game of camouflage, or he had a wife who loved him more than he deserved.

“If this is about my abrupt departure from the vigil, I have assignments to grade. With everything that’s happened, I’m a bit behind,” Victor admitted as he set his glass of milk on the coffee table.

After he straightened, he slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I paid my respects and then drove straight home.”

“Dr. Reeves, I’m going to cut straight to the point,” Alex said as he stood in the middle of the living room.

Hendricks remained near the island, positioning himself far enough away from Alex should Reeves try anything.

The layout gave them several options, if needed.

“It’s been brought to our attention that you had an intimate relationship with Hannah Scriven. ”

Alex skipped the social niceties and the usual dance of easing into tough questions. Sometimes, in cases like these, the luxury of politeness was best left behind. However, the accusation didn’t hit as expected.

“Hannah Scriven was my student,” Victor replied evenly. “Nothing more.”

No hesitation.

Alex didn’t get the sense that Reeves was lying, either.

“We have a witness who observed you and Hannah in an intimate…position…in your lecture hall last semester,” Alex countered, keeping his voice just as level.

“We'll be obtaining security footage of the date and time from the university. I can only imagine such footage will provide us with additional evidence.”

It was a calculated risk. There was no guarantee that the security camera had an unobstructed view of said lecture hall or that particular hallway. Still, Reeves’ gaze dropped to the glass of milk as he considered the direction that he wanted this conversation to take.

It wouldn’t surprise Alex if the professor invoked his right to counsel.

The silence became heavy with tension as each second passed, but something finally shifted in the man’s expression. He had clearly come to a decision. He glanced back up. Dead center, without even a flinch.

“Detective, there's been a misunderstanding. I did not have an inappropriate relationship with a student,” Victor reiterated calmly. “I had an affair with her sister.”

The revelation reshaped everything Alex understood about the case.

Twins.

Identical twins.

A witness glimpsing one sister through a door window could easily mistake her for the other.

“Bailey,” Alex repeated, letting the implications unfold in his mind.

“Yes,” Victor confirmed once more. His views on fidelity and his wife’s emotional well-being were obvious. Alex didn’t have an ounce of respect for the man. “Bailey Scriven.”

“And Hannah knew about this relationship?”

“Not at first. But she eventually came to me about it, yes,” Victor replied reluctantly. “I advised her it wasn’t her business.”

“Where does Jade Patel fit into all this?”

“My career comes first, Detective Lanen.” Victor removed his hands from his pockets, signaling that their conversation was about to end.

“I would never jeopardize my position at the university. Any arrangement I have with Miss Patel is private and unrelated to your investigation. In fact, I believe I should consult an attorney before answering any further questions.”

The sudden shift to legal caution spoke volumes.

“That's your right,” Alex acknowledged, keeping his tone professional despite the surge of frustration. “We’ll reach out to you and your attorney first thing in the morning to cover any alibi you may have for the night in question…among other things.”

Alex gave a slight nod before crossing the living room and joining Hendricks in the foyer. The staircase to the second level was to their right, and a framed wedding photo was displayed on the wall opposite the handrail.

“If all you want is an alibi, you’ll find that I was at Bailey Scriven’s apartment on the night Hannah was murdered,” Victor revealed as he followed behind. Alex stopped to study the wedding picture in more detail. “Bailey and I had nothing to do with her sister’s death, detective.”

“I believe you, Dr. Reeves.” Alex surprised the man by replying honestly. He then directed his attention to the wedding picture. “Your wife. Is she still at the vigil?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Which is why you were so free with your responses,” Alex murmured more to himself than to the professor. “Does she know about your affair with Bailey Scriven?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Victor replied truthfully. “I’d like to keep it that way, if possible.”

Alex had already retrieved his phone from his jacket. He didn’t bother to respond to the professor as he pressed Kinsley’s name and lifted the phone to his ear.

The photograph had captured Victor Reeves standing in a dark suit, his arm around a woman in a simple white dress, both smiling at the camera with genuine joy.

The woman’s straight brown hair and green eyes were unmistakable.

And if he were to make a calculated guess, she was well aware of her husband’s indiscretions.

Melanie Young had intentionally given Alex her maiden name.

Alex grimaced when he reached Kinsley’s voicemail.

“Hendricks, I need you to stay here,” Alex directed as he pulled out his keys. He quickly strode toward the door. “I’m heading back to the campus. Make sure Reeves doesn’t call his wife.”

Just like Jade Patel, Dr. Reeves’ wife had mistaken the identity of the woman sleeping with her husband. Instead of killing the correct sister, Melanie Young Reeves ended up killing Hannah Scriven.