“Yes, Henry Quinn,” Principal Watkins replied, believing that he’d gotten his point across. “Tyler Quinn’s brother.”
23
Brooklyn Sloane
January 2026
Friday – 5:17pm
Brook cranked the heater to its highest setting, positioning the vents toward her cold fingers as she sat in the SUV outside the convenience store. The revelation about Henry Quinn had shifted the investigation's landscape, though she wasn’t certain it was the center of their case. As Principal Watkins had pointed out several times, the man had been in a wheelchair since his sophomore year of high school.
“Tyler refuses to even entertain the idea of us speaking with Henry,” Theo confirmed, his voice drifting through the speakers of the SUV. “He even threatened to sue the county for harassment.”
Brook curled her fingers in front of the vent. She had monitored Bit’s progress through the snack aisles, and he was now making his way to the register.
“I’ll contact Tyler's lawyer. Maybe he can phrase our request in such a way that it appears we're not investigatingHenry's relationship with Loretta Whitlow, but instead, seeking his insights as someone who might have observed classroom dynamics from a unique perspective.”
“I’m not so sure Tyler is going to fall for that, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Bit made an interesting discovery on the drive from Crescent Ridge to Harrowick. Henry converted Tyler's garage into an electronics workshop, and it apparently is quite sophisticated from what could be gathered through social media photographs and building permit applications.”
“Are you thinking of sending Bit in as a customer?”
“Not unless we have to,” Brook replied as she gave Bit a thumbs-up. He had set his load of snacks on the counter before proceeding to the beverage area. He was holding up a large to-go cup, and she wouldn’t turn down the English Toffee Cappuccino out of the machine. There had been something off with the chili from the diner, and she’d been secretly hoping that she wouldn’t get food poisoning. So far, so good. “Principal Watkins shared that Loretta Whitlow visited Henry regularly during his six-month hospital stay after the accident. She arranged for classmates to record messages, collected assignments, and personally tutored him. All approved by the administration, of course. And according to Watkins, Henry passed high school because of her intervention.”
“I still can’t fathom Henry being able to kill four women in four different towns while being bound to a wheelchair.” Theo paused to speak to Sylvie before returning to their conversation. “Listen, Grady Brisker's place is about twenty miles east of here. Since we’re already out this way, we’re going to swing by and talk to him.”
“You should pick up some Chinese food on the way back.”
“I take it that request came from Bit?”
“Actually, no. But I have no doubt he'll be pleased by the development. I'm sure he'll have room for dinner despite the mountain of junk food he's currently purchasing.”
“That man's metabolism is a scientific marvel,” Theo commented right before Brook caught the sound of Sylvie’s laugh. “We'll handle dinner. See you back at the cabins.”
The sound of a loud truck engine had Brook glancing in her rearview mirror. A black F150 with tinted windows had pulled up to the pumps, though the owner didn’t get out immediately. Instead, the driver allowed the engine to idle.
Her phone vibrated against the center console before the Bluetooth sounded through the speakers. She glanced at the display to find it illuminating an unfamiliar number. Her heart rate stuttered when her mind registered the 309 area code.
Morton, Illinois.
Her hometown.
A call from Morton mere hours after Bit's system had flagged a potential Jacob sighting in D.C. was too coincidental. Still, she reminded herself that the individual hadn’t been Jacob. And he certainly wouldn’t be phoning her on a Friday evening. She hovered her index finger over the screen for two full seconds before she finally accepted the call.
“Sloane,” she answered in a neutral tone.
The line remained silent for a moment, as if the caller hadn't expected such an abrupt greeting. She detected uneven breathing and background noise, suggesting a public space, perhaps a restaurant or bar. She moved her left hand from the vent as she shifted in her seat.
“Brook? It's Scott. Scotty Nevin.”
The tension in her shoulders didn't dissolve at the sound of the somewhat familiar voice. Instead, it transformed into something different. She hadn't spoken to Scotty in years. He wouldn’t be calling her unless it had to do with her brother.
“Scotty,” Brook acknowledged, modifying her tone to disguise any surprise. “I didn't recognize the number.”
“Yeah, I'm using my mom's phone,” Scotty explained. “Let’s just say that mine took a swim in the Gulf of Mexico, and leave it at that. Anyway, I just got back from a six-month stint on an oil rig.”
“I’m sure your family is glad to see you.” Brook continued to observe Bit through the windshield. He was having a very animated conversation with the cashier. “I doubt you called to catch up on career developments, Scotty. Did something happen?”
