Page 27 of In Her Grasp

The coroner’s eyes narrowed slightly as she mulled over the information, her mind undoubtedly sifting through the implications. “So you believe there might be even more?” Her voice was hushed, barely audible above the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

Jenna nodded solemnly, an affirmation heavy with the weight of certainty. “I’m fairly sure there’s at least one more victim out there.”

“Let’s hope that’s all,” Dr. Stark replied, her professionalism masking the concern in her eyes. “Who do you think this one is?” The coroner’s voice was measured, clinical, but not unkind.

“Clive Carroway,” Jenna replied without hesitation, her voice steady despite the churn of emotions inside her. “He vanished from Colstock about six years ago. It fits the pattern of the first one in spite of the separation in time.”

Dr. Stark paused, considering this. “I’ll see what I can do with dental records. But this one will be tougher to identify. Six years in the water is a hell of a long time.”

“There’s something else that might help with identification,” Jenna told her, pointing to the chain around the corpse’s neck.

“We’ll check that out too,” Dr. Stark said as she turned away to finish coordinating with her team, who were setting up their white tents and laying out the tools of their grim trade.

“What now?” Jake’s question was soft, meant for her ears alone.

Jenna let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of her badge against her chest. “We wait here for whatever comes next when Spelling gets to work. We can’t afford to overlook anything.”

Her eyes moved over the shoreline, seeing that some of the highway patrol had already arrived. The reservoir was now a crime scene, its waters a keeper of secrets.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As dusk settled over Sablewood Reservoir, Jenna watched the patrol cars file in, their red and blue lights cutting through the gathering dark, adding to the sea of vehicles parked haphazardly along the water’s edge. The air was charged with electricity, not the kind that sparked from high-voltage bulbs, but the kind born from anticipation and dread. Soon, glaring white lights mounted on tripods cast an eerie glow over the scene, turning night into artificial day.

Melissa Stark and her coroner’s team stood at the ready, their equipment arranged methodically by the shore. The body that had recently been drawn from the water was enclosed in a cadaver bag for closer examination later. Now they stood waiting to see if there would be another for them to process that very night. Jenna joined them, and Jake, his presence a steady comfort, came to stand close beside her.

Jenna heard an occasional mutter from those who hurried past to get on with the job of dragging the reservoir: “Two found here already? Going how many years back?” They were well aware of what another body would signify – not just another victim, but a consistent dreadful pattern emerging from the depths of the reservoir. Jenna scanned the assembled team, their faces drawn with grim determination.

The arrival of Colonel Spelling, a silhouette against the glare of the floodlights, marked an escalation in the operation. He approached Jenna with a nod of unspoken understanding. Jenna returned the gesture, her mind already churning with plans and contingencies.

“Somewhere near there,” Jenna said softly, pointing past the willows whose branches wept into the water. “That is our best bet.”

The area had become an ominous landmark, the last resting place for souls lost and found in these murky waters. Jenna’s intuition, that uncanny feeling that had guided her so many times before, guided her now. She couldn’t shake the sense that just beyond those willow trees lay answers to questions she’d been asking.

Jake followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the area. “It makes sense,” he murmured. “That’s the deepest part, and it’s near where the others were found.” Jenna nodded, grateful for the validation. In this line of work, trust in one’s instincts could mean the difference between life and death, closure and eternal mystery.

Colonel Spelling followed her gesture. His countenance was hardened, chiseled from years of service and countless operations just like this one. “Agreed,” he responded, his voice carrying the weight of command. “We’ll start with a grid search pattern, working our way out from the willows.” His team members nodded, understanding the plan without need for further explanation.

As Jenna discussed the technicalities of the search with Spelling, she could feel the ripple of activity around them intensify. She noted the methodical nature of the preparations, each person playing their part in the search operation.

Divers, clad in black neoprene, moved with a focused urgency as they donned their wetsuits. They checked their oxygen tanks, regulators, and fins with a disciplined thoroughness that spoke of experience and the gravity of what lay ahead. Jenna watched as they tested their underwater torches, beams of light slicing through the darkness and reflecting off the rippling surface of the reservoir.

Nearby, other members of the team prepared the sonar devices, ensuring the technology was calibrated correctly. These machines would peer into the depths with sound waves,searching for anomalies that might indicate another grim discovery. Grappling hooks, which had already proven their worth earlier in the day, were readied once more, glinting ominously under the floodlights.

Jenna felt the tension in the air thicken, a tangible mix of determination to find the truth and apprehension of what that truth might be. Each member of the team understood the stakes; everybody recovered was someone’s loved one, a life cut short, a story ended abruptly and violently. And tonight, there was the possibility of adding another chapter to this dark narrative unfolding in Genesius County.

The hum of the motor stilled as the final adjustments were made, the first boat’s hull meeting the water’s edge with a gentle lapping sound. Jenna’s gaze lingered on silhouette of the tree line against the night sky when the crunching of gravel under heavy tires broke her focus. Headlights flashed across the scene, the bright beams momentarily blinding before they dimmed to reveal a sleek town car idling at the periphery.

Jenna’s heart dropped when she spotted that particular car. Mayor Claire Simmons’ vehicle heralded complication and confrontation. Jenna had deliberately circumvented the mayor, knowing all too well how her presence could mire their efforts in red tape and political posturing. The operation was delicate enough without having to navigate the choppy waters of Claire Simmons’ agenda.

As the car door opened, the mayor stepped out, her form emerging like an avenging apparition summoned by the glow of the floodlights. With every click of her heels, the distance between them closed, the sound sharp and accusatory in the stillness of the reservoir’s edge.

Mayor Simmons’ stride toward Jenna was measured and purposeful, each step a clear demonstration of her authority and indignation. Fury simmered beneath her composed facade,barely contained behind the practiced mask she wore. It was a look Jenna had come to know—veiled rage polished with the sheen of decorum.

Jenna was rooted to the spot, her breath condensing in the cool air as she braced for the inevitable onslaught. She knew the mayor valued order and control above all else, and Jenna’s unilateral decision to proceed with the search had effectively snatched both from Simmons’ grasp.

As Sheriff of Genesius County, Jenna had autonomy, but the mayor’s longtime local connections spread her power beyond the county seat of Trentville. Jenna understood that the mayor’s cooperation, however begrudging, was essential to getting important things done. Yet, Jenna’s responsibility was to serve and protect, not to cower before political might.

The mayor was now mere feet away, her manicured nails gripping a designer bag with deceptive calmness. She halted, her sharp gaze locked onto Jenna’s, searching, assessing. The unspoken threat of political retribution hung heavy between them, a sword of Damocles poised over Jenna’s head, ready to fall. Jenna squared her shoulders, mentally preparing for the storm about to break.

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