Page 86 of Nowhere Good

Claire crossed her arms, flustered. “Where’s Detective Winslow?”

“He’s tied up at the moment. Anyway, if you need anything, feel free to holler, all right?”

Officer Pereira turned away, but Claire hesitated. If Trevor were to attack either her or her sister, it would make the most sense to attack Claire, because she’d never changed her hair—she looked the most like their mom, if that was what this was about. But even if there was an officer outside, she didn’t like the idea of Clementine being alone with Sully.

“Wait,” Claire said, “can you take me to my sister?”

Seth pressed his foot to the gas pedal, willing the Caprice to drive faster. The past forty minutes of driving back from Belleville had been hell. He’d been anxiously communicating with Fairview, coordinating back-up from state, all while stuck in what felt like a time loop, driving down the countryside. The same fields and farms and mills passed by.

Pereira’s voice crackled through the radio. “Winslow, I’ve dropped Claire Dyer at her family’s farm with her sister. Jacobson’s watching the place. I just got a report of a suspicious male in town, so I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Copy that, Pereira. Are Ron, Marty, and Dillon at the farm?”

“Negative. Clementine and Claire had the same story; all three of them are off on some trip. We can’t contact them.”

Right. A trip while a killer was out there—a killer who Ron could’ve known the whole time. Anger crackled at Seth’s fingertips, so he stretched out his hands again, trying to keep himself together. He had no proof Ron knew anything. “Got it. Keep me posted.”

“Copy that.”

If Seth kept going up this road, he’d pass by the Dyers’ farm and could stop in. But as he drew closer to town, he remembered the forest speeding by wasn’t just any forest. He slowed down at the sight of the cornfield—the Bursells’ cornfields, that the Dyers used to own—just past the woods. A dirt road cut between the cornfield and the trees.

The road leading to the burned-down cabin.

“I might have to… up the ante, as they say. Bring it straight to the place it happened.”

The place where what happened, Trevor?

Seth pulled into the shoulder. Trevor must’ve been hiding out somewhere. With his van—and his face—all over the news, he couldn’t linger in a parking lot or a side road or wherever else.

The Caprice wouldn’t forgive him for it, but Seth turned up the dirt road. He hadn’t found anything concrete the last two times he’d done this drive, but things had changed since Trevor called him the second time. The hand-drawn map had been processed through evidence, and there were plans to get forensics to look at the cabin ASAP. But until reinforcements arrived, they didn’t have the manpower to patrol the streets, keep an eye on the Dyer girls, and monitor this desolate road.

Although the afternoon sun was harsh, brightening his path, it had also dried the road. A dust cloud spewed up beneath his wheels and hazed over the windshield. He eased his foot off the gas and drove deeper into the obscurity. He didn’t expect to find anything.

But as the dust settled, something up ahead appeared through it.

A light blue work van was parked along the side of the road.

Seth didn’t know if Trevor was inside the van. He didn’t know if it was the crime scene where he’d killed both Eliza and Kelsey, or if he had a victim inside the back of it right now.

All he knew was that he wasn’t waiting for backup.

After calling it in and requesting additional units to these coordinates, he got out of the car with his gun drawn. He used his door as cover and projected his voice as loud as he could. “This is the police. If anybody is in there, come out with your hands up.”

No response.

Carefully, Seth stepped out of cover and approached the van. The back windows were tinted black. From what he could see, there were no windows at the side, aside from the front seats.

His heart pounded in his ears, loud enough to mute the sounds of birds cawing in the forest next to him. The sun was at its peak, shining so bright on his face, he was sure it’d singe his cheeks.

But there was no movement from inside the van, no sounds. He reached the driver’s side window and peered in. Nobody there, but there were two boxes on the passenger seat—one of latex gloves, the other of surgical masks. He moved to the back windows and checked again, this time putting his face close enough to see past the tint.

The inside of the van was spotless and lined in blue tarp.

No people.

Wherever Trevor was, it wasn’t here.

He took the radio off his belt and spoke into it. “Dispatch, suspect vehicle is empty, I repeat, suspect vehicle is empty. Suspect is on foot, whereabouts unknown.”