Page 38 of In Her Grasp

When she and Jake got back into her car, the silence was profound, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the radio dispatch. Questions begged to be voiced. Jenna and Jake both understood the meticulous interrogation that awaited them.

The drive to Trentville wasn’t long, and as they approached the county seat, the Genesius County Jail came into view. When they pulled into the parking lot, Jake was first to move, reaching for the door handle even as Jenna unbuckled her seatbelt. He opened the backseat door and motioned for Carl to step out. The man complied, his movements sluggish and resigned. Jenna followed close behind as they led their suspect towards the jail entrance.

The interior of the county jail buzzed with energy. Officers moved with purpose while inmates watched from behind barswith a mix of indifference and curiosity. Deputy Marla Quinn, a stout woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, looked up from her paperwork as they entered. Her eyes flickered over Carl before settling on Jenna and Jake.

“Reeves,” she said simply by way of greeting, taking in Carl’s handcuffs and disheveled appearance with an experienced eye. “The Colonel told us you were on the way.”

Carl’s fingers were rolled across the ink pad, leaving stark black impressions on the cardstock—a physical mark of his presence in this puzzle. Then Jake guided Carl towards an empty holding cell while Jenna dealt with their paperwork. With each stamp and signature affixed onto official documents, Carl Reeves was no longer just a suspect – he was now a prisoner in the system.

Jenna joined Jake outside the holding cell, where inside Carl sank onto the bench against the far wall without protest. His earlier defiance had drained away entirely; he seemed smaller somehow under fluorescent lights and surrounded by cold steel bars.

“Graves, Hawkins, good work bringing him in,” came a crisp voice from behind them. Colonel Chadwick Spelling stood there with the air of a man who had just won a battle. His uniform was impeccable, each crease a testament to his meticulous nature.

“Colonel Spelling,” Jenna acknowledged, nodding slightly. “We just finished the booking process.”

“Excellent.” Spelling clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m glad you’ve wrapped this up. Saves us all a headache.”

“Could still be some loose ends to tie up,” she replied.

Spelling raised an eyebrow but offered a confident smile. “Of course, but I don’t doubt you’ve got the right man.”

The chill of the Genesius County Jail cell seemed to seep into Jenna’s bones as she stepped inside the cell.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Carl said.

Standing beside Jenna, Jake unfolded a notepad, his movements deliberate and precise, while Colonel Spelling loomed by the door.

“Okay, then,” Jake said to Carl. “Now’s your chance to explain everything.”

“Carl,” Jenna began, “Tommy Larson mentioned something about your childhood—how you stopped hanging out with the others.”

Carl’s eyes, rimmed with red, darted between the three of them before settling on the cold concrete floor. His lips quivered as if he were trying to corral the words that threatened to spill out.

“We used to go swimming at the reservoir,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Swimming?” Jake prompted gently, pen poised.

“Y-yeah,” Carl stuttered, a tear breaking free and tracing a path down his cheek. “It was hot, and we didn’t have nowhere else to go... But sometimes... instead of swimming on the far end of the reservoir, we liked to play on the spillway.”

Jenna remembered the group of boys in her dream, their laughter echoing off the water, the danger they flirted with on the spillway’s threshold.

“Sh-Sheriff Doyle would come,” Carl continued. “He’d send us packing home with a warning.”

“Did going home with warnings make you stop seeing the others?” Jenna asked.

Carl’s chest heaved as a shudder ran through him, his hands clenching and unclenching in an uneven rhythm. Jenna watched the struggle on his face, the way his eyes darted away before locking onto something unseen.

“No,” Carl’s voice cracked. “But it wasn’t just horseplay, it turned... it got serious.”

“What happened, Carl?” Jenna asked quietly.

“Mike—Mike Larson, he...” Carl swallowed hard, the muscles in his neck tense with the effort. “He pushed me under. Held me there.”

“Under the water?” Jake prompted gently, his notebook ready but his pen still.

Carl bobbed his head, a jerky nod. “I thought... I was going to die.” His voice was barely audible, a whisper against the stillness of the cell.

The silence stretched taut between them until Carl gasped for breath, as if he were emerging from the water all over again. “Then, he let go. I came up... sobbing. They laughed at me. All of them.”

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