Page 93 of Nowhere Good

It was supposed to end with Trevor locked in a cell.

It was supposed to end with him revealing every one of Ron Dyer’s secrets.

“How long ago do you think this happened?” he asked Dr. White. She stood beside him with her forensic team on standby.

“If I had to guess, he’s been dead for a few hours now.”

Seth grit his teeth. Trevor could’ve been dead before the backup from state even arrived, and they’d been chasing his ghost all day. This barn was located in a field past a forest north of the Dyers’ farm. Trevor must’ve gone north after the confrontation in the cornfield, escaped through the woods, and found himself on the other side.

“This man had information that could’ve been damning for certain people,” Seth said. “When you do the autopsy, please look for anything—anything—that might suggest this wasn’t a suicide.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. White said, then signaled to her team to move in and resume their work.

Trying to cool his frustration, he made his way back over to Chief Wells. They left the barn side-by-side and trekked through the field of long grass, away from the ears of the others.

“You’re not buying it, I can tell,” Wells said, thumbs hooked to her belt.

“I didn’t see him with a firearm,” Seth ground out. “He was holding Clementine at knifepoint. If he had a gun, why not use it, at least to intimidate? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know, Winslow. Based on what you’ve shared about the cornfield, the man was having a complete mental breakdown.”

“Yeah, but he was also on a mission.” Regret speared through him. “I had a shot at him. After he dropped Clementine, I hadn’t seen her wound yet. She was out of harm’s way. I had a clear shot at him and I didn’t take it, but maybe if I had, he’d still be alive.”

“Or maybe you would’ve killed him. Have you ever taken someone’s life?”

“No.”

“Neither have I, and I certainly don’t want to know what it’s like. He’d released the hostage and you didn’t see a firearm. You did the right thing by not firing your weapon.”

It didn’t feel like the right thing now that Trevor was dead anyway. But he understood her point.

“This whole operation was a mess,” he muttered. “Jacobson left the Dyers unprotected. What was that about?”

“I’ll be launching a full investigation into that, I promise you. I know we were ill-equipped.”

“It’s more than that. Jacobson was also one of two cops who chased after Trevor in the cornfield. Pereira said he ran off on his own. He was already off his game—maybe he let Trevor get away. Maybe he wanted him to.”

“What, on purpose?” Wells frowned. Seth didn’t like sounding conspiratorial, but that was where his mind had landed, so he nodded. “Jacobson’s days are numbered, Winslow, but why would he let Trevor get away?”

“Did you have a chance to listen to Claire’s full interview?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know what to think yet. The implication’s disturbing, no doubt, but Claire herself sounded uncertain about every word she said, except for the stuff about Trevor and the other boys being on the farm. Whether or not Trevor was motivated by something fictitious or something based on true events, he’s no longer here to corroborate any of it.”

“Exactly my point. If Trevor knew something Ron didn’t want getting out, he’d have every reason to silence him.”

They stopped in the middle of a field. The sun dropped closer to the horizon, and a breeze blew in wisps of cottonwood seeds that drifted through the air and irritated Seth’s nose. He leaned closer to Wells.

“Don’t you think it’s odd Ron went completely off the map on today, of all days? Don’t you think it’s odd your force has never been able to get a handle on this black tar heroin situation? You arrest a few dealers, yet it always ends up back on the streets.”

Wells crossed her arms. “Are you suggesting I have officers who know about Ron’s illegal activities?”

He could only shrug. He was in it now. “Maybe they know how to turn a blind eye for the right price. Trevor told me, in front of Claire, that he feared Ron had cops in his pocket.”

Wells scowled, disturbed. “Maybe some things, but letting a murderer get away? I don’t know, Winslow. That’s a mighty accusation. The ramblings of a madman are hardly evidence that my cops are corrupt. And I hate to say it, but all Claire Dyer did in her interview was tell us things she hasn’t seen. You know as well as I do that we’d need hard evidence to convict Ron of anything.”