Page 40 of In Her Grasp

The Colonel’s reasoning was textbook, yet Jenna felt an itch at the back of her mind, the kind that whispered of pieces not fitting neatly together. She studied Spelling’s face, searching for any sign that he, too, recognized the discordance in this theory, but found none.

Colonel Spelling’s eyes locked onto Jenna with a steely resolve that matched his ramrod posture. “Sheriff,” he continued, “I think that our suspect has a cooler head and is much cleverer than you’ve suspected.”

Jenna’s green eyes narrowed, her mind working through the possibilities. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be wrong, but she had seen guilt and innocence in many forms, and something about Carl’s demeanor still struck a discordant note.

“His reactions didn’t seem consistent with someone hiding guilt,” she pressed.

“Sometimes, Sheriff, the obvious answer is the right one,” Spelling said, unmoved by her reasoning.

But Jenna wasn’t ready to concede. “Or maybe,” she replied, “it’s the easiest answer, not the correct one.” Her voice was firm but devoid of any heat—a simple statement of what she believed could be true.

Colonel Spelling smiled a not-unkindly smile. “Sheriff, you know I’ve got all the respect in the world for your intuitions. I showed you that last night when I followed your hunch about dragging the reservoir. But I’ve noticed something else about you, and I hope you don’t mind my saying so. You have a hard time letting go of a case. It’s hard for you to admit you’ve won.”

Jake was a study in stillness beside her, his eyes shifting between her and Spelling, reading the mounting tension.

Their silent stalemate was fractured by the sharp click of heels against linoleum, a rhythm announcing authority and impatience. Mayor Claire Simmons appeared like a specter summoned by the very mention of unresolved matters. Her face was set, a mask carved from determination and political ambition. “I hear we’ve caught our killer,” she declared, her words filling the corridor, leaving little doubt as to her interpretation of events.

Colonel Spelling stepped forward, beating Jenna to the verbal draw. “We have a suspect in custody, Mayor,” he stated cautiously, his voice holding the measured cadence of experience. “I’m not sure we’re ready to say anything more about it just yet.”

The Mayor halted before them, her eyes narrowed with purpose. “The public needs reassurance, Colonel. We can’t have people living in fear.”

The message was clear: certainty was premature, yet the Mayor’s presence here signaled an urgency that went beyond the simple apprehension of a suspect. Jenna watched the interplay,aware of the delicate balance between appeasing public fear and ensuring justice was not just swift, but right. In the span of a breath, the dynamic had shifted; now, they were players on a stage where perception could easily overshadow fact.

Jenna stepped forward, the lines of worry on her face deepening. “With all due respect, Mayor,” she said, her stance unyielding despite the authority pressing down upon her. “Rushing to conclusions could jeopardize the entire case.”

The Mayor’s gaze whipped toward Jenna, sharp as the crease in her perfectly tailored suit. “And what makes you so sure Carl isn’t our man, Sheriff?” The question was a challenge, thrown like a gauntlet between them.

Before Jenna can muster her reply, Spelling’s voice sliced through the tension. “Sheriff Graves has some... reservations,” he admits, his tone diplomatic as he bridges the gap between duty and doubt. “But the evidence we have is compelling.” His assertion is meant to mollify, to smooth the ruffled feathers with compromise.

Mayor Simmons gave a curt nod, her lips a tight line that betrayed no room for further debate. “Then it’s settled. I’ll issue a press release immediately. The people of Trentville deserve to know they’re safe.” The finality in her voice brooked no opposition, her decision rendered as if by royal decree.

As the Mayor strode away, her departure left an uneasy silence. Jenna watched the Mayor’s retreating form, the click-clack of heels on linoleum fading with each step. She pivoted to face the Colonel, her voice a whisper laced with urgency. “Colonel, we can’t let her do this. We’re not certain—”

Spelling raised a hand, silencing her mid-sentence. “I understand your concerns, Sheriff,” he said, his deep voice tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The lines around his eyes softened, acknowledging the turmoil that churned behindJenna’s emerald gaze. “But sometimes, we need to trust the evidence in front of us.”

Colonel Spelling’s gaze never wavered from Jenna’s face, his scrutiny as intense as the gravity of their discussion. “You have a remarkable ability to see connections others miss,” he conceded. “But like I said before, sometimes you just have a hard time letting go.” The Colonel paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over Jenna. “Just... consider the possibility that we might have the right man. Until we have more evidence, I’d say the investigation is suspended, if not closed.”

Jenna’s throat tightened. The thought of suspending the search for truth, for potentially leaving a killer at large while an innocent man sat behind bars, was intolerable.

“At least keep your officers posted around the reservoir,” she said to Spelling.

Spelling shook his head, “Sheriff Graves, I just can’t afford to do that. My officers are needed elsewhere. This isn’t the only case we’re working on right now. I’m spread too thin as it is.”

She felt the pressure of the Colonel’s rank, his experience, and the political machinations that thrummed through Trentville’s veins like a pulse.

Spelling gave her a long, searching look, as if trying to decipher the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind. Then he turned away, leaving Jenna standing in the dimly lit hallway, her shoulders squared against the doubts that threatened to erode her confidence. She watched him go, the distance growing with each of his measured steps until he turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Silence enveloped her, and in that moment, Jenna knew one thing for certain—she wasn’t ready to surrender to the evidence just yet. There was a truth out there, obscured and elusive, but she would find it. She had to.

“What do you think we should do?” Jake’s question pulled her from her thoughts, his voice low but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. Jenna pressed her back to the cool wall, the solidity grounding her as she grappled with the whirling doubts.

“I can’t shake this feeling, Jake,” she admitted, her frustration seeping through. “There’s something we’re missing.” Her gaze was distant, focused on something beyond the sterile walls of the Genesius County Jail.

Jenna straightened suddenly, her eyes alight with the spark of realization. The pieces clicked into place, aligning with the vivid imagery of her dreams. “Last night’s dream,” she began, words tripping over one another in haste. “The three men mentioned Sheriff Doyle chasing them away from the spillway. Carl confirmed that during questioning.”

Jake nodded, his expression mirroring the intensity of her own. He was with her, following the trail she was following. “You think Frank might have some insight?”

“Exactly,” Jenna said. “Let’s pay Frank a visit,” Jenna decided, her tone decisive. Jake nodded silently, his trust in her judgment as unwavering as ever.

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