Chapter 22
Tyler
The knock came again, harder this time.
“Probably a delivery guy or something,” Tyler muttered as he got to his feet.
“On Sunday?” Brooke asked. He caught his own unease mirrored in the wary look she gave him.
“Missionaries?” he said, trying to use a light tone but failing miserably.
She reached for his hand. “Let me answer.”
“Nah.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ve got it. You rest.”
He crossed to the door and looked through the window.
Adam stood on the porch with two other deputies Tyler didn’t recognize. All three wore their uniforms, badges catching the sunlight. Their expressions were serious, official.
Tyler’s stomach tightened. Somehow, he doubted this was a social call.
“Who is it?” Brooke whispered.
“Boverman,” he replied.
“That man. I’m going to report him for harassment.”
“He’s not alone this time.”
“Not alone? Edi?” Brooke asked, wincing as she stood.
Tyler moved to the door. Cool air rushed in as he opened it.
“Deputy Boverman.”
“Gillis.” Adam’s expression was flat, professional in a way that annoyed him. “We need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Can we come in?”
Tyler looked back at Brooke. Her face was pale, and her hands were clasped together. “Why are you here, Adam?” she asked.
“Brooke.” He nodded. “You should be resting.”
“I was. Until you showed up.”
Boverman looked back at Tyler. “I asked if we could come in.”
Tyler stepped aside, his heart pounding much too loudly. The three deputies entered, their boots heavy on Gina’s hardwood floor.
“What’s going on?” Brooke asked.
Adam’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Tyler. “There’s been another murder.”
The words hit hard. Tyler exhaled slowly, his chest tightening.
“What?” Brooke’s voice was small, barely more than a whisper.
“A woman was found this morning. There’s enough similarity to Sheila’s murder that we believe they’re connected.” Adam paused, his eyes locked on Tyler. “Another woman from Irma High School. Graduated the same year as Sheila. Her name was Monique Stanton.”
Tyler’s mind raced, scrambling through memories that felt fuzzy and distant.
“Monique?” Brooke repeated. “From the craft store?”
The craft store, the building kitty-corner from the auto shop. He and Brooke had been talking about her the other night. She was a friend of Sheila’s from high school.
“Edi said you knew her?” Adam asked.
Tyler lifted his hands, palms up. The gesture felt helpless. “It was a small school. Everyone kind of knew everyone.”
One of the other deputies spoke for the first time, his voice firm and official. “Deputy Reeves said Monique was one of the people Sheila mentioned. That you’d all go out together. Listen to music or whatever.”
“She might have,” Tyler said slowly. “She mentioned several names. Some I recognized, some I didn’t.”
“But you recognize the name Monique Stanton?”
“I guess. She went to school with us, but we weren’t friends. I haven’t talked to her in years.”
“Is that so?”
“Where is Edi?” Tyler asked, looking over Adam’s shoulder toward the patrol vehicles outside. The question came out sharper than he intended.
“She’s a witness now. Can’t have her arresting our prime suspect. Might be accused of a conflict of interest.”
Arrest. Prime suspect. The words hit Tyler like ice water.
“I’m a suspect?” Tyler’s voice came out harder than he intended. “How do you figure?”
“We need you to come to the station for questioning,” Adam said, ignoring the question entirely.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet. But you are expected to cooperate.”
Tyler could feel Brooke watching him, could sense her fear mixing with his own. He turned to face her.
Her eyes were wide, her hands still clasped together. She stood frozen by the couch, like she didn’t know whether to move closer or back away.
“I didn’t do this,” Tyler said. The words sounded hollow and desperate even to his own ears.
Brooke nodded, but something flickered across her face—uncertainty and doubt, a question she wasn’t asking out loud but that he could see as clearly as if she’d spoken it.
Was she doubting him? After everything they’d said to each other while snuggling on the couch? After the kissing, the promises, the choice to trust each other?
The thought made his chest ache worse than any accusation Adam could level.
“I have to go with them,” Tyler said quietly, forcing his voice to stay even. “I’ll call you. Okay?”
“Okay.” But she didn’t meet his eyes. She looked at the floor, at the deputies, anywhere but at him.
Her refusal to meet his eyes hurt more than Adam’s smug look, more than the deputies standing next to him like it was already over, more than being named a prime suspect.
Brooke’s doubt cut deeper than anything else could.
Tyler grabbed his jacket from where he’d left it on Gina’s chair and followed the deputies out. The mid-September air was cool against his face. He climbed into the back of Adam’s patrol vehicle, the back door closing with a hollow thunk that sounded too much like a cell door.
The drive to the station was silent except for the crackle of the police radio and the hum of tires on pavement, giving Tyler time to turn everything over in his head. None of it made sense.
Another murder of someone he knew. A death connected to him. Someone was doing this. Someone was killing these women and making it look like he did it. The pattern was too perfect, too deliberate. This wasn’t a coincidence.
But who? And why?
The only person who came to mind was the game warden. It had to be him. He’s probably the same person who attacked Brooke. But why? Why was he doing it? And why frame Tyler?
The station loomed ahead, all concrete and glass and fluorescent lights that made everything look washed out and harsh. Adam pulled into the lot and parked.
He took Tyler into a side door and down a familiar hallway—the same route he’d walked before, when they’d questioned him about Sheila. At least this time he wasn’t taken to booking. That was a plus, he supposed.
Same interview room and same uncomfortable chair. A camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily.
“Have a seat,” Adam said.
Tyler sat. The chair was cold even through his jeans, the metal biting into his back.
Adam settled across from him, a closed folder in front of him, a small notepad to the side. One of the other deputies who’d been at the house stood near the door.
Tyler’s hands rested on the table. He focused on keeping them still, on not showing how hard his heart was pounding.
“Seems we’ve done this before,” Adam said, his voice maddeningly calm.
“Seems we have. Seems last time I had a lawyer.”
Adam shrugged. “You want your lawyer? Fine.” He leaned forward. “Guilty people always ask for their lawyer.”
Tyler closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He’d watched enough television to know that it was true.
When Tyler didn’t reply, Adam continued, “Where were you on Friday night?”
Maybe it’d be best to answer a few questions, and if things started going bad, then he’d ask for his lawyer. Would the guy even come? Tyler wasn’t sure, since he still had no idea who’d sent him in the first place.
“Earth to Tyler. You plan on answering, or should I just lock you up?”
“You should talk to that game warden. Henry Ayers.”
Adam smirked. “Talk to Henry about what?”
“He dated Sheila. Maybe he dated Monique too? Maybe he— ”
“You trying to tell me how to do my job?”
“Someone needs to.”
Adam pierced him with a look. “Where were you on Friday night?”
“I was at home.”
“Doing what?”
“Watching television.” He almost laughed out loud as he remembered the cop show he was watching. Adam could easily play the hard-nosed, obtuse detective.
“I thought you played darts on Friday nights?”
Tyler crinkled his brow. “Sometimes, yeah. Not this week, though. About Henry— ”
“We’re talking about you. So, no darts on Friday night. What about Saturday morning? Where were you?”
“Work. I got there about eight.”
Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Eight? I thought when you worked on Saturdays you started at nine?”
“Customers come in at nine. I get there early to get things set up for the day.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Robert got there around eight thirty.”
“And did you have a customer show up at nine?”
“There were people waiting when Robert unlocked the door.”
“You take care of them?”
“Robert handled them. They didn’t need repair work but were buying things from the store.”
“So, no one saw you?”
“I was working under a hood. But later, we had someone come who needed us to check an indicator light.”
“What time was that?”
Tyler shrugged. “Around ten, I guess.”
“And you helped them?”
“I helped her, yeah.”
Boverman made a note. “So, no alibi for Friday night. No one to confirm what time you actually arrived on Saturday morning.” Adam leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual confidence. “No playing darts? Going out with your buddies? Out with Brooke?”
“No.” Tyler’s jaw tightened. “Brooke went out with a friend on Friday night.”
“Which friend?”
“Steph. They’d planned it a few days earlier.”
“What’d you think about that? Your girl dumping you on a Friday night for a friend.”
“Dumping me? Brooke can see her friends whenever she wants.”
“Still, that had to sting. Friday night should be date night, right?”
Adam flipped open the folder. Papers rustled, too loud in the quiet room. “Here’s what we know. Both victims—Sheila Jones and Monique Stanton—knew you. Both went to Irma High School at the same time as you. Both died after you returned to Basin County.”
He looked up, his eyes hard. “Your wife died under suspicious circumstances before you skipped town in a hurry. The pattern is clear.”
“There’s no pattern. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Then explain how two women you knew from high school end up dead within months of your return.”
“I can’t. I don’t know anything about their deaths.”
“And the fire?”
Tyler sighed. How many times do I have to tell this bonehead deputy the same thing? “The fire was ruled accidental.”
“Officially.” Adam’s smile was cold, satisfied. “But we both know the truth, don’t we? You collected the insurance money and ran. Now this.”
Tyler’s hands clenched into fists under the table. He supposed it looked bad. He could almost even see Adam’s perspective—the lack of an alibi for Friday night, only Robert to verify Saturday morning. And Robert was his boss, his friend, someone whose testimony would be seen as biased.
The connections to both victims were undeniable. His history of tragedy followed him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
But seeing it and accepting it were different things.
Someone was setting him up. Someone who knew his history, knew the victims, and knew exactly how to make him look guilty. Someone smart enough to frame him so perfectly that even the woman he was falling for was starting to doubt his innocence.
But who? And why target him specifically? What had he done to deserve this level of calculated destruction?
“I didn’t do this,” Tyler said, forcing each word out clearly while he held eye contact. “I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t me.”
“That’s what they all say.”
The interview lasted another hour. Adam asked the same questions in different ways. Where were you? Who can verify? How well did you know them?
Tyler’s answers stayed consistent because they were true. But truth didn’t seem to matter when suspicion had already taken root.
Adam closed the folder with a snap. “We don’t have enough to hold you. Yet. But don’t leave town, Tyler. We’re watching. I’m watching. And when I find that one piece of evidence that ties you to these murders—and I will find it—you’re done.”
“You won’t find anything,” Tyler promised. “I’m not involved. Listen to what I’m telling you and you might find the actual killer.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “I’ve found him.”
Tyler glanced at the other deputy, but he was staring off in the distance, purposely avoiding Tyler’s gaze.
Finally, Adam stood. “You’re free to go. For now.”
When Tyler emerged from the station, the sky had already begun to tint toward evening.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Brooke’s number.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
Tyler ended the call and tried again, his thumb shaking slightly as he pressed her name.
Voicemail.
He stood in the parking lot, phone in hand, the sick feeling in his gut spreading like poison through his veins.
Was she avoiding him? Had she decided he was guilty after all? Had that moment of doubt he’d seen in her eyes grown into certainty during the hours he’d been gone?
The thought made him want to get in his truck and drive. Keep driving until Basin County was a memory, until he could start over somewhere new where no one knew his name or his history.
But he’d tried that already. For twelve years he’d run, and it hadn’t worked.
He wasn’t running this time.
Even if Brooke had given up on him. Even if everyone in this town thought he was a killer.
He wasn’t running.