Chapter Five: The Rich One
The morgue smelled like bleach and old dust.
Elijah hated morgues. Not because of the bodies.
Because of the silence.
Tom walked beside him, slow and quiet, holding a manila folder.
“I didn’t want to call you for this,” he said.
“You didn’t. The town already did.”
They reached the examination room.
Dr. Holloway, the coroner, stood at the foot of the table, gloves on, face grim.
“Elijah,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Doc.”
Tom flipped open the file. “Time of death: between 10:40 PM and midnight. Multiple stab wounds to the torso. One in the lung. He bled out in under five minutes.”
Elijah stepped closer to the body under the sheet.
“Ready?” Dr. Holloway asked.
He didn’t speak.
She pulled the sheet back.
Landon Cresthaven.
Seventeen. Blond hair matted with dried blood. Bruises on his arms. One eye swollen. His lips slightly parted, like he was still trying to speak.
Elijah exhaled slowly. “How many wounds?”
“Five. Three were defensive. Two were killing blows.”
“Any sign of hesitation?”
Dr. Holloway shook her head. “Whoever did this didn’t flinch.”
Later — Sheriff’s Office, Interview Room 3
Noah Blackwood sat with perfect posture. Button-down shirt. Black jeans. Not a hair out of place.
Elijah entered, shut the door quietly.
Noah didn’t look up.
“I’m Elijah Ward. I’ve been asked to speak with you.”
Still nothing.
“I’ve read the initial report. You were found near the creek.”
Noah finally spoke. “Jogging.”
“At eleven at night?”
“It clears my head.”
Elijah sat across from him. “Landon Cresthaven was stabbed to death less than two hundred feet from where you were standing.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t seem too shaken.”
“I’ve had a night to think.”
Elijah studied him. “They say you and Landon had a fight last week. Something about a girl.”
Noah tilted his head. “Is that what they’re saying?”
“Did you fight him?”
“Not really.”
“What’s ‘not really’ mean?”
Noah met his eyes. “It means he pushed me. I didn’t push back.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew I’d get blamed.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Blamed for what?”
“Whatever happened next.”
“You sound like you were expecting this.”
“I was.”
There was something off about the way he said it—like a man reciting a line he’d practiced in front of a mirror.
Across the glass
Tom watched from the observation room.
Deputy Ramos leaned beside him. “That kid gives me the creeps.”
“He’s calm,” Tom muttered.
“Too calm.”
Back inside
“Do you know who did it, Noah?”
“I know who didn’t.”
“You?”
“Correct.”
Elijah leaned in. “Then tell me who was really there.”
Noah’s voice dropped. “That won’t help you.”
“Try me.”
“I’m being framed.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
Elijah paused, his tone shifting. “You think this is a game?”
Noah finally blinked. “No. I think it’s a trap.”
“A trap?”
Noah crossed his arms. “The town needs a villain. Someone polished. Someone easy to hate.”
“You’re the mayor’s nephew.”
“Exactly. What better target?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Elijah frowned. “You have an alibi?”
“I was with someone.”
“Who?”
Noah didn’t answer.
“You know you’re not helping yourself.”
“That’s the point.”
Elijah stared at him.
Noah leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes it’s safer to be guilty than to be right.”
Outside the room
Elijah stepped out, face tight.
Tom followed. “What do you think?”
“I think he knows more than he’s saying.”
Tom nodded. “Or he’s completely full of crap.”
“No,” Elijah said. “That kid’s scared. But not of prison.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Then of what?”
Elijah didn’t answer.
Later that evening — Briar Ridge High School
Eden sat on the bleachers, sketchbook open.
“Who's that?” asked her new friend, Lacey, peering over her shoulder.
“Someone from Dad’s case.”
“He looks creepy.”
“He’s not. Just... too quiet.”
Lacey squinted. “What’s he holding?”
Eden shrugged. “Maybe a secret.”
That night — Elijah’s porch
Elijah lit a cigarette—his first in years.
Tom joined him, sipping a beer.
“Cresthaven’s putting pressure on the judge,” Tom said. “He wants this wrapped up clean.”
“Nothing about this is clean.”
Tom nodded slowly. “They don’t care.”
Silence.
“You gonna take his case too?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
Tom exhaled. “You’re walking into hell.”
“I’ve been there before.”
In his cell
Noah sat alone.
He pulled something from under his mattress—a photo, creased and nearly torn.
Landon. Smiling.
Noah touched the corner of the photo with his thumb. Then slowly, he folded it in half, and half again, until it was small enough to hide in his palm.
Then he whispered, “I told you not to go.”
Across town
A figure in a hoodie moved through the woods behind the creek, holding a shovel.
They stopped near a tree stump.
Dug quickly.
Pulled out a knife wrapped in a velvet cloth.
Wiped it once.
Then reburied it.
They looked up once, toward the street lights in the distance.
And disappeared into the dark.