Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Definitely male,” Wyatt said, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall, his shadow stretching across the squad room in the fading afternoon light.
“Probably mid-thirties, give or take. But here’s the kicker—John Dudley said there were scraps of fabric with the body.
Decayed, but it looks like part of a suit. ”
“A suit?” Reese’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp with disbelief. She sat perched on the edge of her desk, coffee mug in hand, her eyes narrowing as she processed the detail. “That doesn’t scream accidental fall down a well to me.”
“No wallet, no ID,” Wyatt added, tossing a photo onto the table. “Whoever this guy was, someone went out of their way to make sure he stayed a John Doe.”
Sam sat at his desk, leaning forward, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the corkboard as if it held the answer. The room felt heavy, the weight of too many unsolved mysteries pressing down on all of them. Lucy lay quietly at his feet, her ears twitching.
“No DNA,” Wyatt continued, his tone grim.
“Nothing left to work with, and dental records aren’t going to do us any good unless we figure out who this guy was and where he got his dental work done first. Dudley says even that’s a long shot as most dentists that practiced decades ago would be retired and records purged. ”
Sam rubbed his jaw, the knot of frustration tightening. “No ID, no DNA, no dental records.” His voice was low, measured, but there was an edge to it. “Any luck with missing persons?”
“Already started the search,” Reese said, setting her mug down. “But so far, nothing that matches. It’s been decades, Sam. Whoever this guy was, someone went to a lot of trouble to erase him.”
Wyatt pointed to the photo on the table, his expression grim.
The faded pinstripes on the deteriorated fabric were just visible, a faint echo of what must have once been an expensive suit.
“Dudley’s best guess? This guy was dressed to impress—probably someone important or at least someone trying to look the part. ”
Sam studied the image, his mind flashing back to a conversation with Mick months ago. Late-night talks about White Rock’s buried secrets, the whispers that never made it past the town line.
“Mick mentioned something once,” Sam said, sitting back in his chair. “A reporter. Tommy Callahan. Went missing twenty, maybe thirty years ago. Rumor was, he was digging into something big. Corruption, land deals, maybe even Convale. But he vanished, and the story went with him.”
Reese straightened, her curiosity piqued. “A reporter? Disappearing in White Rock? What was he looking for?”
“That’s the thing,” Sam said, his gaze shifting to the whiteboard. “Nobody knows. But Mick said Callahan was onto something. Something someone didn’t want getting out.”
“Sounds like a motive to me,” Wyatt said, crossing his arms. “If this is him—and that’s a big if—it means somebody wanted that story buried. Literally.”
“Could explain Garvin,” Reese added, her voice thoughtful. “If Callahan’s investigation tied into something Garvin stumbled onto, it could’ve put him in the crosshairs too.”
Sam nodded slowly. It made sense. Garvin had been poking around, digging into land records, properties, boundaries—the kind of work that could uncover secrets no one wanted found.
“Garvin was looking into the property where Jo’s cottage is,” Sam said, his tone sharper now, the pieces clicking into place. “The land around it. Convale owns a lot of it. If Callahan was onto something back then, maybe Garvin was getting close to the same truth now.”
“Which means it’s still dangerous,” Kevin said, his voice tense. He’d been quiet until now, his eyes fixed on the photo. “If someone killed Callahan back then, they’d have no problem doing the same to Garvin. Or anyone else who gets too close.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lucy stirred at Sam’s feet, her ears pricking up as if sensing the tension in the air. Major leapt down from the filing cabinet, landing gracefully before padding to the door, his tail flicking dismissively.
Wyatt broke the quiet first. “I saw Marnie leave Beryl’s house with that envelope. She took it straight to Parker Studies. What if Convale’s using that place for something off the books? And Garvin found out?”
Reese folded her arms, her expression darkening. “Beryl’s always in the middle of something shady. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the whiteboard again. Beryl Thorne. Marnie Wilson. Convale Energy. The names circled in red ink felt like a noose tightening around the truth.
“We press Beryl,” Reese said, her tone firm. “She’s protecting herself, but she knows more than she’s letting on.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. Beryl was a problem. She always had been. And confronting her meant more than just digging for answers—it meant dealing with the past he and Mick had spent years trying to bury. But he couldn’t avoid her forever.
“I’ll pay her a visit,” Sam said finally. “But first, I want more on Parker Studies. What exactly is going on there?”
“I’ll dig deeper,” Wyatt offered.
“Good,” Sam said, glancing at the clock. “Let’s call it for now. Fresh eyes tomorrow.”
The team began gathering their things, the tension in the room easing slightly as they prepared to leave. But Sam lingered, his eyes fixed on the photo of the suit pinned to the whiteboard.
A man in an expensive suit, dumped in a well. A reporter chasing the truth. An old man murdered. A missing bronze statue.
Whoever thought they could bury their secrets had made a mistake.
Sam didn’t intend to let them get away with it.