Page 42 of Scarred By Sin

Ray’s thumb traced a slow circle on his knee.

“I think he was lonely.”

“Did you ever interact with Gwenyth during those visits?”

“Rarely. If I showed up during the day, she was in school. On those late nights, she’d already be asleep. I saw her a handful of times over the years, but we never had what you’d call a conversation. She was quiet. Kept to herself, even back then.”

Sylvie’s phone vibrated in her purse. She murmured an apology, checked the screen, and found a text from Bit. Brook was drafting a press release regarding the additional remains to be released first thing in the morning. Sylvie kept her phone in hand and returned her attention to Ray.

“Mr. Freeling, I should tell you that in addition to Nestor’s remains, the forensics team has discovered seven other sets of remains buried in the greenhouse. All women. Since the information will be made public very soon, I was hoping you could provide us with some insight.”

“I don’t…” Ray frowned, as if he couldn’t quite grasp what she was trying to convey. “What do you mean?”

“The remains of seven women were found in Nestor Ellingham’s greenhouse,” Sylvie reiterated as she continued to observe his reaction. “Do you know anything about them? Notice anything unusual taking place on the estate when you would make your deliveries?”

“Seven women?”

“Yes.”

“In the greenhouse?”

“In the raised beds and planting areas, yes. They’d been there for approximately thirty years.”

Ray was silent for a long time, as if he were still struggling to accept such news. The dim room seemed to press closer around them, the drawn curtains holding the afternoon sun at bay while the conversation inside grew heavier. He blinked slowly until he was able to form a question.

“And you think Nestor killed them?”

Sylvie held his gaze.

“Do you think Nestor Ellingham could have killed seven women?”

“No.” The answer was immediate and absolute, delivered with more conviction than anything else Ray had said since she’d arrived. “Nestor mourned over a plant’s death. I watched him spend an entire evening trying to save a specimen that had contracted root rot. He talked to it. Apologized to it. When it died days later, he sat on the greenhouse floor for twenty minutes before he could bring himself to remove it from the bed. I’m telling you that man could not have hurt another living thing. Not a plant. Not an animal. And certainly not a person.”

“During those late-night visits, did you ever see anyone else on the property? Anyone who shouldn’t have been there?”

Ray seemed to truly mull over the question, and it wasn’t long before he was shifting in his chair with unease.

“Porter was usually in his cottage by that hour. Cal Brennan would be there from time to time, but…”

“Do you recall something, Mr. Freeling?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Ray paused, an odd expression crossing his face, as though a memory were catching up to a question he’d never thought to ask. “Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it was something.”

“What struck you as unusual at the time?”

“I was bringing in bags of soil, maybe a month before I heard the news that Nestor had disappeared, and I found a scarf stuck on the doorframe. I brought it in and handed it to Nestor. At first, he looked confused, but then he said it must belong to his daughter.” Ray lifted his gaze to meet hers, the color draining from his weathered face. “You don’t think…”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr. Freeling.” Sylvie moved through several more standard questions. Employment history, how long he’d rented the house, whether he’d had contact with anyone from the estate since Nestor’s disappearance. Ray answered each one with the same spare, careful delivery, offering exactly what was asked and nothing more. The room had grown darker around them as the afternoon wore on, the thin light through the curtains fading to the color of weak tea.

She was nearing the end of the interview when she decided to share one more piece of information, partly to gauge his reaction and partly because Ray Freeling had known Porter Voss for decades and deserved to hear it from a person rather than a news broadcast.

“There’s something else you should know. Porter Voss was killed in a vehicle accident earlier today. His truck was found on County Road Nine.”

Ray’s hands went still on his knees. He didn’t utter a word for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice had gone flat in a way that wasn’t grief or shock but something closer to resignation, as though the news had confirmed a fear he hadn’t been able to articulate until now.

“Porter is dead.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”