Page 21 of Silent Road

"Got you," Sheila said as she and Tommy dragged him from the drift.Wells coughed, spitting out snow, but his eyes were alert.That was a good sign.

"Anything broken?"she asked, studying him.It was difficult to know how to treat him, given she didn't know whether he was a cold-blooded killer or an innocent.

"Just my pride."His voice was cultured and precise—the kind of voice you'd expect to hear narrating a nature documentary."And possibly my dignity."Despite the situation, he managed a wry smile.

His composure was surprising, but perhaps it was a facade.She'd seen it before—people masking their fear with humor.

"Want to tell us why you ran?"Tommy asked, eyeing Wells carefully.

Wells' eyes darted between them.There was something guarded in his expression."I will explain everything.But first—please.My cabin.I need warmth."

Sheila hesitated.Protocol suggested they should question him immediately.

"Please!"he said more forcefully, his teeth chattering."I've got snow melting inside my clothes.If I'm out here much longer, I'll…" He shivered violently."Catch hypothermia!"

"Alright," Sheila said with a nod."We'll get you back.And then I want to know everything."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they sat in Wells' living room.A fire crackled in a modern stone fireplace, casting a warm glow that seeped into Sheila's chilled bones.The room was spacious yet cozy, filled with rich woods and tasteful decor that suggested both wealth and a love of nature.Large windows overlooked the snow-covered mountains, the glass slightly fogged from the interior warmth.

Sheila took in her surroundings, noting the expensive furnishings and the array of photographs adorning the walls—stunning landscapes and wildlife captured in breathtaking detail.It was a curated gallery, each image more impressive than the last.He certainly had an eye for beauty.

Just like the killer,she thought.In his own twisted way.

Wells had changed into dry clothes—an expensive-looking sweater and wool pants that somehow made him look even more like a wildlife photographer from central casting.He was tall and lean, with the weathered face of someone who spent most of his time outdoors.His silver-streaked hair was combed neatly, and his eyes, a piercing blue, held a mix of intelligence and caution.

His movements were deliberate, almost theatrical, as though he was constantly aware of being framed in an invisible viewfinder.Sheila couldn't shake the feeling that everything he did was calculated.

"Tea?"he offered, handling delicate ceramic cups with surprising grace for someone who'd just been buried in snow."It's a special blend.Helps with the altitude."

"No, thank you," Sheila replied with a tight smile.Taking a 'special blend' from a suspect in a homicide investigation didn't seem like the wisest decision.

He shrugged."Suit yourself."He settled into a leather armchair, somehow making it look like a throne.The way he commanded the room was unsettling.

"Mr.Wells," Sheila began, then paused.She wanted to get right to the point, but something told her to proceed carefully.

He held up a hand."Please.Oscar."

Sheila studied him, trying to read beyond the polished exterior.

"We saw a camera on your table," Tommy said, stepping in."One that matches the description of—"

"Ah, yes."Wells rose smoothly and retrieved the camera from the kitchen."I can see why you might think that.But look."He pointed to a small serial number etched into the base."This is mine.Purchased six months ago from Sherman's Camera in Salt Lake.You can verify the serial number with them."

Sheila examined the camera carefully.Now that she looked closer, she could see subtle differences from the one in Amanda's photo.But was this a deliberate ploy?Her instincts told her not to take anything at face value.

"Why did you run?"she asked, her gaze fixed on him.

"Because I knew how it would look."Wells sighed dramatically."A professional photographer, alone in the mountains, when another photographer dies?I panicked.Foolishly."

"That seems like an extreme reaction," Sheila said."Why would you assume you were under suspicion?"

Wells shifted in his chair, looking momentarily uncomfortable."The photography community in this area is small.When another photographer dies in such a...dramatic way, people talk.Ask questions."

"And how exactly did you hear about the murder in the first place?"Tommy asked.Good question,Sheila thought.

"I..."Wells ran a hand through his snow-dampened hair."One of the ski patrols mentioned it.Said Greenwald was found frozen in a skiing position.Like some kind of macabre statue."

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