Eleven #2
She shared her location and pocketed her phone. “If you hear anything, call.”
“Will do. And, Helena…just be careful.” With that, he and Lark headed down the stairs, and she turned to the desk and began rummaging through the drawers. Nothing incriminating. No weird serial-killer trophies. Nothing that would prove he was a closet arsonist.
When she made it to the bottom right drawer, she frowned as she found a renovation bid tucked beneath a stack of worn manila folders, the corner creased and stained with the greasy thumbprint of her father’s work-roughened hand.
“Wiley Construction” scrawled in blocky black letters, the date stamped for last summer.
Her pulse quickened as she read the line items: roof repair, foundation reinforcement, insulation replacement.
The implications slammed into her. A brutal one-two punch.
Dad was going to do some renovating, which she’d heard him say often, but she’d had no idea he’d gotten bids from Wiley Construction. Denton hadn’t mentioned it, but then, that wasn’t why they’d wanted to talk to him. Had Dad been preparing to seal in the crawl space but died before he could?
She needed to talk to Denton again. Ask him what those materials would be used for—like sealing in a crawl space. If her father had wanted to do that, why now? Why not years ago? Maybe due to getting up in age. Or guilt. Denton might have a few answers—or what Dad had told him, if anything.
She shoved the papers back into the drawer, slamming it shut hard enough to rattle the loose screws in the nearby metal bin.
She straightened then crossed the garage and grabbed her truck keys. She wasn’t going to sit around and sift through more paperwork, not when the truth might be within reach. She told Billy where she was off to, and shot Trevor a quick text, but he had her location. He could track her.
Helena’s truck rolled up at Wiley Construction.
Inside, the place looked like a ghost town. Not even a receptionist. “Hello?” Helena called and started down a tiled hallway with rows of offices on each side.
She came to Denton’s office—his name plate hung perfectly on the door.
She slipped inside, but he was nowhere.
Helena left the small office building and headed out back to the large metal building where they stored equipment. She knocked on the metal door, but again, no answer. Maybe everyone was out on a job.
“Hello!” she called with no answer and let herself in, hoping to find him. “Denton?”
It was the smell that hit her first, the pungent stench of burnt rubber and scorched metal, faint but unmistakable.
She roamed the large equipment shed until she found a smaller back room and entered.
Fluorescent lights flickered and hummed, and as she looked up to frown at it, she saw something white and metallic protruding from a vent.
She gasped and hurried to grab a chair. Climbing up on it, she reached for the grate, and it opened easily.
A few battered license plates tumbled from the vent and fell to the tile with a clatter.
She reached for the top one, her fingers brushing the cold, jagged metal. She flipped it over, her stomach roiling as recognition sank in.
The college girl victims’ cars had been missing license plates.
Five victims.
Five cars.
Five license plates.
She staggered back, her mind racing, the pieces falling into place with a sickening, inevitable click. Denton had kept them. Trophies. Proof of every car he’d set ablaze, every life he’d snuffed out.
Her heart stuttered. Could Denton’s kills have started a long time ago…
in high school? Had he killed Alicia and shoved her under the house, not her father?
Her dad was not a killer even if he might be a firebug.
When her father had gotten the bid for renovations, Denton could have set fire to her house to conceal what he’d done years ago, but instead, Alicia’s bones hadn’t burned but been exposed.
Why come after Helena, though?
For being too close to the crimes? One of Denton’s crime scenes could be her house—and she’d been investigating all the arson killings.
Or was there something else at play here…
? He’d admitted to having a crush on her in high school.
She’d rejected him. The rejection had made him angry and he’d murdered Alicia instead.
The clunk of a shoe behind her froze her in place. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She swung around, catching a flash of movement before a hand clamped around her wrist.
“Helena.” Denton’s voice grated low and harsh, his breath hot against her ear as he yanked her around to face him.
His eyes burned in the half light, his grip crushing her wrist as he shoved her back against the metal shelving, the sharp edge biting into her spine.
“What do you think you’re doing in my shop office? ”
She shifted, throwing her weight against him, but he was stronger, his hands digging into her arms as he pinned her back, his face inches from hers, the stale stench of cigarettes and sweat pouring off him in waves.
“I knew you’d come poking around eventually,” he growled, his teeth bared in a snarl, his fingers tightening until pain shot up her forearms. “You should’ve just let this go.”
“You killed those girls. You brutally assaulted them and burned them alive. How? How could you? Why would you?” Panic clawed through her veins.
Denton’s snarled features terrified her. “They were nothing but liars. Led me on and they deserved to die. You led me on, too.”
“I didn’t. I never did that. You didn’t have to kill Alicia.
She was just the messenger. You didn’t have to set my house on fire to hide it…
” Another striking thought pounded into her.
“You knew my father would find her when he renovated the house. You…you followed and killed him on that hiking trail, didn’t you?
That’s why you never mentioned the bid to me when we talked about Alicia the other day.
You hoped it would go up in flames in my house or the garage. I can’t believe it.”
He sneered. “You’re crazy.”
“The license plates say otherwise.” She swung her knee up, catching him hard in the thigh, and his grip faltered for a split second, just long enough for her to wrench free and slam her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, staggering back, one hand clutching his side as she lunged for the flashlight.
He recovered quicker than she expected, his fingers clasping the back of her shirt, yanking her backward before she could reach the light. She hit the floor hard, her head cracking against the cold floor. White stars exploded behind her eyes.
Through the haze, she heard the sudden, furious barking of a dog, the scrabble of claws on pavement, and then Denton’s body was ripped from her, the sound of snarling and a man’s shout echoing through the garage as Lark barreled into him, knocking him to the ground.
She’d clearly become protective of Helena, and she was thankful.
Trevor’s boots pounded across the tile then he was crouching over her.
“Helena! You okay?” He hauled her to her feet, his hands gripping her shoulders as he checked her over, his eyes wild with fear and adrenaline.
“He did it,” she rasped, clutching at his sleeve as she swayed, the world spinning around her, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.
Trevor straightened, his face hardening as he turned back to Denton, who was struggling beneath Lark’s jaws as she clamped onto the cuff of his jeans, keeping him from jumping up and running.
Trevor yanked his handcuffs free from his belt, his jaw set in grim determination as he secured them around Denton’s wrists behind his back.
“You’re done, Denton,” he snarled, his voice low and shaking with barely restrained fury. “You’re so done.”
“I doubt that,” he snapped. “I found those plates. Collect them. You got the wrong guy.”
Helena doubted that but he hadn’t overtly confessed earlier. He’d been too smart to openly admit it and with only plates…a defense attorney could do anything with that.
Just when she thought this was finally over…the killer could slip through their fingers once again.