Chapter 71
John descended the slope, clinging to a bush. A recent slip on pine needles still unsettled him, slowing his pace. He mused, "After catching Holt, I'll beat him to teach him a lesson. Otherwise, he'll think he can offend Mr. Whitaker without consequence."
Just then, a woman's voice called from behind, "Excuse me. My earphones fell here."
Dexter turned to see Aurora behind the bushes, pointing to a pair of wired earphones on the ground. The crushed grass nearby hinted at a recent presence. He realized she hadn't been entirely truthful. Suspicion immediately clouded his judgment. He thought, I've seen her three times this morning. What a coincidence. Could she be following me?
"Here you are," Dexter said, handing Aurora her earphones. He scrutinized her, searching for any inconsistencies.
Aurora calmly thanked him. She'd only realized her earphones were missing shortly before, remembering listening to music earlier. She'd assumed they were dropped near where she'd rested.
Initially, recalling the suspicious men, she'd decided against returning. But she reasoned they were searching for someone and wouldn't linger. She assumed they'd left. She was wrong.
A minute later, she found Dexter still there. Hesitant to leave and risk detection, she chose to reveal her presence.
John, having finally reached the bottom of the slope, was unaware of Aurora's return. The sight that greeted him, however, froze him.
Holt lay lifelessly in the valley below, his face ashen. Dew from overhanging vines soaked his clothes. He was dead, mere feet from John.
John's eyes widened in shock. Who could have timed it so precisely, killing Holt before Mr. Whitaker and I arrived? he wondered.
"Mr. Whitaker, he's dead!" John shouted, looking up the slope. He began climbing back up, intending to speak to Dexter in person. As he ascended, he saw Aurora. Stunned, he thought, Why is she here?
John reacted swiftly, feigning panic. He rushed to Dexter, gripping his arm. "There… someone's dead. A corpse, down in the valley," he stammered.
"What?" Aurora gasped, a sudden sense of dread washing over her.
Dexter, being closer, scrambled down the slope and peered over. The sight stunned him. Holt, who called last night to confirm our meeting, is dead? I haven't learned my aunt's whereabouts from him yet. How could this happen? he thought. "It took my family over ten years to find Holt, and now…he's dead, all the clues gone. How do I report this to my family?"
Aurora quickly followed, confirming the corpse. A chill spread through her, recalling her recent presence nearby. Dexter's face hardened, his suspicion of those responsible for his aunt's disappearance intensifying.
Holt's death on Bradley Mountain meant he'd kept the appointment, but someone had killed him before Dexter arrived – just moments before. Is the person behind this so well-informed, or is there a traitor among us? Dexter pondered, squinting at Aurora. He suppressed his emotions, beginning to recall everyone he'd encountered on the mountain, searching for clues. Yet, he found no one immediately suspicious.
Aurora, meanwhile, remained less troubled, unaware of the dead man's connection to her mother. The man, appearing fifty or sixty years old, showed no external injuries except for an impossibly contorted neck and blood around his mouth. Aurora deduced strangulation.
"I'll call the police," she said, producing her phone.
Police arrived within fifteen minutes, establishing a perimeter upon learning of the murder on Bradley Mountain. A stern-faced officer gestured, "You three found the body, right? Come with us to the station." They were taken into custody.
The officer in the car asked who'd called the police. Aurora explained the events. At the station, they were separated for questioning.
In the dim interrogation room, Aurora sat opposite a male and female officer. A surveillance camera blinked red. Several unseen figures watched from behind a wall.
Seeing Aurora's quiet demeanor, the policewoman, mistaking it for fear, softened her approach. "You seem young. High school? My brother's in high school too," she said kindly.
Aurora looked up, calm and collected. "Mereida High School. I'm Aurora Crawford." She recalled Dexter's reaction upon seeing the body, sensing he knew the deceased. Noticing the victim's inexpensive clothing, she contrasted it with the custom-made suits of the two men who'd asked her for directions earlier, particularly Mr. Whitaker's expensive sleeve garters. She recognized the brand – the same ones Margaret had recently gifted her father (at a cost exceeding seventy thousand dollars). Dexter's were identical, save for color. This led her to believe the victim was Holt.
How could Holt, dressed so plainly, be guiding a man wearing such expensive accessories? she wondered. Her intuition screamed of a hidden connection.
The policewoman, impressed by Aurora's composure, continued, "Ms. Crawford, what were you doing on Bradley Mountain?"