Thirteen
Trevor sat back in the interrogation room, the harsh white light above flickering faintly, casting shadows across Denton Wiley’s face.
Denton’s posture was rigid, but the defiance that had once marked his every move had dimmed.
His eyes, cold and calculating, now held something more tired, almost resigned.
Trevor leaned forward, voice low and steady, ready to break through the silence that had dragged on far too long.
“All right, Denton. Let’s cut the nonsense,” Trevor said, locking eyes with the man across from him.
“You’ve finally admitted to us that you killed those five girls.
But cop to Alicia and Helena. If you cooperate, the DA might show you some leniency.
Give you parole even.” He doubted it, but he needed proof. Needed a confession.
A flash of surprise broke through the mask of indifference. “I didn’t touch Helena,” Denton said quietly. “She’s not my type anymore, if you know what I mean. I like ’em a little younger. And Alicia…that wasn’t me. I was telling the truth about her.”
Trevor’s jaw clenched. “Then who, Denton? Because whatever this is, it’s bigger than you and me.
If you aren’t the one trying to kill her, who is?
She’s never been anything but kind. She didn’t even have the heart to turn you down herself.
” If he’d just come clean, it would make things easier on Trevor.
Denton’s gaze drifted away for a moment, like he was weighing whether to say more. Then he leaned in, voice dropping even lower. “That truck…the one I saw all those years ago when I was outside the Rutherford house. I saw it again yesterday.”
Trevor’s mind snapped to attention. “What truck?”
“The same one I told you about,” Denton said. “I saw the driver this time, too.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I had no reason to come forward, to put me in the spotlight. Cast a microscope on me. Now, I have reason.”
He’d bite, though it was a wild-goose chase. How could he be sure it was the same truck all these years later? “Okay, you know the driver?”
“Recognized him. Helena’s uncle’s truck. Rick Rutherford.”
Trevor’s heart sank. Rick. The name hit him like a punch. Rick had been the one to come into town just as the fire was set to her house. He’d been casting doubt on Bruce and was convincing. Maybe because his story was true, just with him as the hero and Bruce as the villain.
Helena had mentioned a trust passed down from her grandparents. Did Rick need money? Was he the one setting fires all these years, not Bruce, Brody or Denton? If Denton was telling the truth, Helena wasn’t safe. She was in serious danger.
Denton grinned. “You know it’s true, don’t you?
I think he killed Alicia, and I saw him leaving, but he clearly didn’t see me.
Though I didn’t realize it was him at the time.
He put her in that crawl space. And maybe he set the fire because he somehow knew Bruce had finally gone with our bid and signed a contract for us to do some reno work, seal up that crawl space.
See, while house fires can burn human bones, it doesn’t burn them to ash like a crematorium.
People think that. It’s not true.” His smile was proud, knowing and nauseating.
He was enjoying discussing human bodies going up in flames.
But Trevor needed to hear what he was saying.
One arsonist helping him find another—if Rick had set all those before.
“Even the hottest fires,” he continued, “bone fragments would be found. Guess Rick didn’t know that or maybe he didn’t want them to burn. Maybe he had ulterior motives. Either way, I didn’t do either. I haven’t been trying to kill Helena—or you.”
Trevor pulled out his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he tried to call Helena. The line went straight to voicemail. He tried again. No answer.
He opened Helena’s contact and clicked on her location. Good. She was still at The Purple Torque. But she wouldn’t be safe for long. She was now convinced her father was the bad guy and Rick was the hero. That put her in serious danger. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.
Trevor pushed back from the table. “I’m going to find her. If what you say checks out about Rick and his truck, then I’ll tell the DA you cooperated.”
He blew out of the interview room and Chuck met him in the hallway; he’d been watching from the other side. “Go find her. I’ll deal with Denton Wiley and the DA. Guess Robbie McMahon and Percy Rainer were telling the truth.”
“I guess so. Thanks, Chuck.” He bolted outside, Lark keeping pace with him, when his phone rang.
The assisted living center.
No, not now. He answered. It was Sheila, Mom’s night shift nurse.
“Hi, Trevor. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Nancy’s breathing is labored.
We’ve made her as comfortable as we can, which is all we can do for now.
I’d give her a few hours maybe, but God is on the throne, and anything could happen, but based on my experience and knowledge of patients with COPD, it’s time to say goodbye. ”
His pulse drummed in his ears, drowning out the distant rumble of engines and the metallic clatter of the flagpole in the wind. Lark trotted beside him, her tags jingling. He could still hear his mother’s voice, frail but fierce, echoing in his ears.
God has a plan for you, Trevor. I trust Him. I trust you. When my time comes, you let me go. You let me go, and you live. Promise me. Promise me you’ll put you and Helena first.
But what kind of son left his dying mother alone?
What kind of man walked away from the woman who had scraped together every cent for his first set of boots, who had clapped the loudest at his GED ceremony and then at the police academy ceremony, who had become the one constant in a life full of chaos?
He owed her everything.
But he had promised. He couldn’t guarantee Helena would be safe if he didn’t reveal the truth about Rick. He called her again. Voicemail. He texted, but it failed to go through.
That was odd. She had cell service in the garage.
He reached his truck, his hand trembling as he gripped the door handle.
Helena’s face flashed in his mind, wide-eyed and trusting, leaning on the very man he now knew wanted her dead.
If he didn’t go to her, if he let her walk into that trap alone, he’d never forgive himself.
But his mother… He squeezed his eyes shut, a lump catching in his throat.
She’d want him to make a future, to have no regrets.
But he might miss holding her hand as she left this world for the arms of Jesus.
Jesus’s arms were stronger than his hand.
“I love you, Mom. I will always love you. But I love Helena, too. She’s my future.
And I’ll see you again. God, help me do the right thing and not live with regret,” he murmured through teary eyes and a mountain the size of Everest in his throat.
“Carry her home,” he prayed, and yanked the door open, his chest tight, the weight of grief and guilt nearly choking him as he slid in behind the wheel.
The engine roared to life. His mother would die without him at her side. It shattered something in him, left a jagged, bleeding edge he’d never be able to smooth, but he put the truck in gear. Helena needed him.
The old hymn flooded his heart.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
It was like God granting permission and peace to see to Helena. That He would carry Mom home. She was safe in His arms. That she was about to be healed and whole. She could take in deep breaths of air, fill her lungs to the fullest and no longer feel sorrow or pain.
And as he turned on the street to Helena’s garage, peace did fill his soul even though heartache for the loss of his mom continued to throb.
He would see her again. She would be stunning and filled with joy.
Her endurance and perseverance through the pain would soon be over and what she had longed for all these years would come to pass.
Her faith made sight.
At the garage, Billy was wiping grease off his hands as Trevor pulled up and lowered his window. Billy looked up, a grim expression on his face.
“She left,” Billy said without hesitation. “Said she was going to her dad’s cabin. Left about forty minutes ago. Maybe an hour.”
That’s why she had no signal. The location had stuck on her last known position. Here.
Blood drained from his face. “Did she say why?”
Billy shook his head. “Nope. Just left fast. Something had upset her. She’d been going through Bruce’s toolbox and desk.”
Trevor nodded, brought his window up, and called Chuck.
“Look, Helena is up at her dad’s cabin. Rick is staying there. I don’t know if she went to confront him or what, but she’s in danger. I’m on my way now but I need some backup. Just in case. Better safe than sorry.”
“On it.” Chuck ended the call.
As he drove toward the mountains, his mind raced. Helena was out there alone. Chasing down Rick’s secrets. And Rick… Rick was a dangerous man, hiding behind family loyalty and lies.
The road winded through the dense forest. Trevor didn’t care about the dark or the cold. He just needed to get to her—before Rick did.
What if he had her already? What would he be willing to do?
Anything. Finish the job.
He thought back to the first time he’d met Rick Rutherford—how calm and charming the man seemed, a stark contrast to the darkness Trevor now knew lurked beneath. Rick had always been in the background, quietly poisoning lives, casting suspicion on Bruce and hiding his own sins.
Trevor clenched his teeth. I’m going to find Helena. I’m going to make sure she’s safe. And I’m going to make Rick pay for what he’s done.
At the cabin, he slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the truck, breaths misting in the colder air up here. Rick’s truck was parked behind Helena’s.