Chapter Seventeen
From the observation room, Maya could see straight into the interrogation chamber through the one-way glass.
Troy Malbern slouched in the metal chair, hands cuffed loosely in front of him, his thick shoulders rolling with irritation rather than fear. His beard was patchy, graying in streaks, and his eyes flicked around the room like he was already deciding who he wanted to yell at first.
He didn’t look like the kind of man who could stand perfectly still in a barn, talking to a four-year-old with chill indifference.
He didn’t move like him. Didn’t breathe like him.
Still, her body shook when she realized she was looking at someone truly bad.
Malbern might not have murdered, but he’d done some terrible things in his lifetime.
Since the only way Maya might identify Malbern as the killer was by hearing his voice, Will had brought him in for questioning.
Asa, Rachel, and JT slipped in behind her, closing the door, its click echoing like a heartbeat.
Will stepped inside the interrogation room on the other side of the glass, file in hand, his expression controlled but sharp.
The speakers crackled as Will’s voice filtered through. “Hello, Troy. Thanks for coming in.”
“I didn’t exactly come in voluntarily,” Troy spat. “Your officer hauled me in like I robbed the bait shop.”
The second the words were out, Maya knew the truth. Malbern wasn’t the killer.
Will didn’t blink. “We need to clear up some questions. Cooperate, and you’ll be out of here fast.”
Troy leaned back, smirking. “You making threats, Kelly?”
“No,” Will said, his voice smooth and easy. “I’m offering an opportunity.”
Maya swallowed, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before her.
Will opened the file slowly, deliberately. “Let’s start with the Hardesty property. You visited the property more than once after you sold it.”
Troy snorted. “You kidding me? That land was mine for twenty-one years. Just because the bank said otherwise doesn’t mean it wasn’t still mine.”
Asa let out a slow breath behind her. “Entitlement complex,” he murmured.
Maya nodded.
Will continued, “You were escorted off the property by Chief Raymond Dutton several times.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “Dutton was a Boy Scout with a badge. Always telling people how to live.”
Will’s expression didn’t change. “Did you threaten him?”
“Threaten him?” Troy barked out a laugh. “I told him he’d regret messing with me. That’s not a threat. That’s a philosophy.”
“Good grief,” JT muttered from near the door.
Inside the interrogation room, Will laid another page on the table. “What about your vehicle history? You drove a white SUV, I believe.”
“Lots of people drove white SUVs,” Troy snapped. “Pretty sure half the island did.”
Will’s voice remained steady. “Your SUV was seen idling near the Hardesty farm several times. One witness who passed by that road regularly said they saw it on more than one occasion. Possibly the night Raymond Dutton was murdered.” Will was trying to provoke a reaction from Malbern with that last part.
Troy lifted both hands. “My SUV was impounded back then. Ask anyone. I said it all over town that month.”
“That still doesn’t mean you weren’t able to retrieve the vehicle to show up at the Hardesty place.”
Malbern snorted and waved a dismissive hand.
Rachel leaned forward slightly.
Maya felt Asa’s hand press between her shoulders, steadying her. “Do you believe him?” Maya whispered.
Asa’s answer came low and certain. “I believe he’s too reactive to have pulled off what the unsub did. Whoever killed your mother and Raymond was patient. Precise. This man can barely finish a sentence without exploding.”
Will pressed on. “Did you ever see a woman or a child around the property?”
Troy blinked as if he was confused. “A woman and a kid? No. Why?”
“He just admitted he was near the property back then,” Asa said.
Will watched him for a silent moment. “All right. That’s enough.” He stood.
“Wait,” Troy barked. “Was that it? You drag me in here for twenty minutes and then just—what—walk out?”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Will said, his voice calm.
“I didn’t cooperate,” Troy growled. “I just talked!”
“Exactly,” Will said. “Have a good day, Troy.”
Will left the room, and Troy exploded into a storm of muttered curses.
JT exhaled. “What a peach.”
The tension drained from Maya’s shoulders for the first time that day. Not because they were closer to answers, but because she had Asa on her side. “He wasn’t the man in the barn; that’s not his voice. Which means the real killer is still out there. Still watching.”
“Yes.” The look in Asa’s eyes made her breath hitch. Her emotions felt too close to the surface. Too raw and tangled. Her throat tightened. “I don’t want to fall apart.”
“Maybe you’re not falling apart,” he said softly. “Maybe you’re remembering who you were supposed to be.”
That hit deeper than anything else had. She blinked fast. “Asa.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Before she could speak, the door opened, and Will stepped inside, his gaze going to Maya.
She shook her head. “It’s not him.”
Will didn’t appear surprised.
JT folded his arms. “So, we’re back to square one.”
“No,” Will said, looking straight at Maya. “We’re not. We know more today than we did yesterday. We know Raymond hid you and your mother on purpose. We know someone was watching that farmhouse—someone who wasn’t Troy Malbern.”
Maya’s breath caught. “The only question is who.”
Will’s expression darkened. “That’s the part the shadows still aren’t giving up.”
Asa spoke, his voice with steel behind it. “Then we pry harder.”
Will nodded once. “Everyone, take an hour. Food, water, whatever you need. Then we regroup in the conference room.”
After the room cleared, it was just her and Asa.
“Come on. Walk with me,” he said gently as if sensing that she needed to stretch her legs. He led her into the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
They walked in silence until they reached the far end of the corridor, away from the briefing rooms and the chatter of officers. There, beside a narrow window overlooking the darkening street, he turned fully toward her. “What’s coming up for you right now?” he asked.
The question broke something open inside. Not a memory but a kind of release she hadn’t expected. “I don’t know how to live in two timelines,” she whispered. “The past is waking up, and the present is . . . shifting under my feet.”
His expression softened. “Where am I in that?”
She looked up—really looked—and the intensity in his eyes undid her. “Somewhere I didn’t expect.”
He stepped closer. Barely an inch, but the air tightened. “Maya,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t push you, but I won’t pretend I don’t care about you either.”
Her breath caught. “What if remembering everything changes me?” she whispered.
He lifted his hand, giving her every chance to pull away and rested it against the side of her face. “Then I’ll meet that version of you too. One chapter at a time.”
Her heart stuttered.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But something just as binding.
A promise formed in the space between them.
After a long moment, she leaned in—just slightly—and Asa let his forehead touch hers, the contact feather-light but electric.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “Even when you don’t feel it.”
She nodded, unable to find words.
Finally, Asa stepped back, and she could breathe normally again. “Come on,” he said and took her hand. “Let’s find the others.”
As they walked back down the hallway together, she realized for the first time since the memories surfaced, she didn’t feel like she was walking into darkness alone. She was walking toward a truth she so desperately needed to know with someone beside her who refused to let her fall.
◆◆◆
His mind drifted. Not to Troy, or the woman who was remembering her hidden past, but to Margaret Cormier. Living in Alaska now. Old but not senile. He’d underestimated her.
When he’d followed her from the shadows back then just enough to be threatening, he’d accomplished what he wanted. She’d packed up and left, fearing she’d end up like Raymond. He’d assumed enough miles and years would make her doubt her own memory.
That she’d take whatever she knew about that night to the grave without commentary.
But he had no doubt their next move would be to look Margaret up if they hadn’t already.
When they did, would she talk? She always had an affection for Raymond.
His snitch inside the police department had told him as much.
Would her fear for her own safety be outweighed by her need to solve Raymond’s murder after all these years?
He would deal with that if he had to. The real problem wasn’t Alaska. It was here on the island. More specifically, the old house on the hill where Raymond Dutton used to live.
He’d searched the barn, of course. Twice. Once on the night of the storm, stepping carefully around the blood and the lawman’s cooling body. Taking that infernal wind chime with him.
A week later, he’d gone back without finding anything, but he’d missed a piece of the chime that had fallen between the cracks in the floorboards. Not that it mattered. By now, any DNA would have long since faded away.
He’d searched every square inch of the Hardesty farm with the same results, but what he hadn’t had was the freedom to tear apart Raymond’s house.
At the time, with the case barely cooled and the island still buzzing from the chief’s death, the risk of a deeper search had outweighed the gain.
As time passed, the urgency seemed unwarranted.
After all, the police searched the home and found nothing.
Then, as more time passed, it felt unnecessary.
Now that the son was back on the island digging into the past, he wondered for the first time if he’d made a grave miscalculation.
Vanessa’s voice was long gone, scattered to whatever place dead things went when you buried them, but her shadow still lingered in a girl’s memories. In the dispatcher’s recollection. In the margins of reports, he was convinced Raymond would have started. The ones he’d never filed officially.
If those notes were still hidden somewhere in that house—if they found them—they would see the rest of it.
The disappearances of others. A pattern he’d crafted with such care. The reason Vanessa had become so inconvenient in the first place. They might even see the one thread he hadn’t quite managed to cut.
He could almost taste the risk on his tongue.
Two choices remained. The same ones he’d always had. Disappear, or make sure they were following the wrong path when they thought they’d found the truth.
He started the engine. Keeping the headlights off, he rolled the SUV farther into the shadows.
If they were going to go looking for Raymond’s ghosts, it might finally be time to decide, once and for all, what to do about the girl who refused to stay silent.