Page 29 of In Her Grasp

At the sound of the outcry, the team sprang into action. Jenna’s pulse quickened as she moved closer to observe.

The divers worked with practiced precision, guiding the body they’d found up from the dark abyss. It emerged on the surface of the water like a specter, clothes clinging to its frame unnaturally. Jenna noted the signs of prolonged submersion: the way the waterlogged garments wrapped around the partly skeletal remains. They pulled it ashore with solemn efficiency, laying the body down on the cold ground.

Jenna crouched beside the remains. It appeared to be another man, but any details of his features had been obscured by the ravages of time and water. As Jenna looked upon this third victim they’d found, she felt a growing weight of responsibility. Here was another soul seeking justice, another whisper in the night reaching out to her. This was someone’s son, possibly a brother or a father. A life snuffed out and discarded, left to be forgotten in the murky depths until now.

She stood back as the coroner approached and crouched beside the victim, her hazmat suit crinkling softly amidst the hushed whispers of the onlooking officers.

“Same M.O.,” Melissa’s voice was matter-of-fact as she pointed to the ragged backpack, its fabric decayed by years submerged in the murky depths, the straps frayed and algae-stained.

“There are still some rocks in there,” Melissa added, peering through her protective visor. “Based on the level of decomposition and the aquatic fauna. I’d say this body has been underwater for some period of time between the two others. Perhaps about four years.”

“Four years,” Jenna repeated under her breath, her voice barely a whisper.

“Any idea who this one might be?” Melissa asked.

“I haven’t got a clue,” Jenna said unhappily.

“Identification isn’t going to be easy, I’m afraid. But I’ll do my best. And with the other one, too.”

Jenna couldn’t ask anything more from her longtime friend and colleague. Meanwhile, timeline was emerging. Yesterday’s discovery had only been in the water for two years, while the one they’d found earlier today had been there for six years. Every two years a life had ended and the body sent to the bottom of Sablewood Reservoir. That meant there was likely a killer still living among them, one who had evaded detection for years. They had to find out who and stop him before he struck again.

***

Later, after the grim night’s work was done, Jenna steered her cruiser along the winding road away from Sablewood Reservoir, the dashboard’s glow casting a soft light on her focused expression. Jake broke the silence that had settled between them.

“Melissa Stark’s team sure is efficient,” he remarked. “Those bodies were out and on their way to the coroner’s lab in no time at all.”

Jenna nodded. “Melissa doesn’t mess around especially not with something like this. And Chad Spelling’s got a patrol set up around the reservoir. No one’s getting near that scene now unless they’ve got a badge.”

“And it’s a good thing, too,” Jake said, a hint of relief softening his voice. “The last thing we need is some local YouTuber trying to get footage of the crime scene.”

“Or worse, contaminating evidence,” Jenna added.

Jake changed the subject with a hint of unease in his voice, “Mayor Simmons is so damned worried about the media. I’ll bet she’s planning to issue a statement that skirts around the word ‘murder.’ Thinks it’ll keep people from panicking. Do you think that’s the right tactic?”

“Keeping the peace is important,” Jenna replied, “but so is preparing people for the danger that might still be out there. I’m just glad it’s not my decision to make.”

“You think it’s a serial killer?” Jake queried, turning to gauge Jenna’s reaction.

“Well, we do have three murders,” Jenna said with a shrug.

“I mean, someone who might still become active again?”

“Can’t rule it out,” Jenna said, her eyes fixed on the deserted road ahead. “Every two years. That pattern—if it holds—means we’re soon due for another.”

“Could it be the killer has moved on?" Jake suggested, his voice a low rumble in the quiet car. “Maybe he’s nowhere near these parts anymore.”

Jenna shook her head, “Or maybe he’s still here, waiting. Planning.”

Jake replied, “Which would mean that someone else is in danger.”

The dashboard clock bled neon green into the darkened interior, marking the passage of time towards midnight as Jenna navigated the patrol car through Trentville’s tranquil streets, the distant glow of a half moon illuminating patches of fog that clung to the ground. Jenna eased the cruiser to a stop in front of Jake’s modest house, the porch light casting a golden glow across the lawn. She killed the engine, plunging them into a hush that seemed too intimate for colleagues.

“Tomorrow,” she began, “we’ll have to go over everything again. I think we should head back to Colstock. I snapped a photo of that chain on the neck of the victim we found thisafternoon. Tommy Larson might recognize it, confirm whether the victim was Clive Carroway.”

“Yeah.” Jake nodded, collecting his gear. “We’ll catch this guy, Jenna. We have to.” His conviction was a testament to his dedication to the small community that had become his refuge.

“Melissa might have something for us by morning that could give us a lead,” Jenna mused aloud, a part of her seeking assurance in the routine of procedure. “Whatever it is, we’ll follow the evidence.”

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