Page 34 of Weight of Guilt

“Nothing’s official yet concerning his death. It’s too soon for the ME to have anything final. But her source told her blunt force trauma is the working theory. That’s off the record and not for repeating.”

Wren’s stomach squeezed. “Someone hit him.”

“That’s what it sounds like. The official cause of death could change once the actual report comes back.” Nash’s jaw tightened.

She turned the news over a second before she let herself ask the rest. “Then whoever did it was in those woods today. Same as Christian.”

“Yes.”

“How far was he found from our property?”

“A half mile.” His jaw hardened.

“So he could have been out there with Christian?”

“Maybe.” Nash didn’t soften it. “I don’t have any evidence that proves it either way.”

Wren didn’t like the timing either. It unsettled her, alongside everything else.

Out on the field, Mason stole the ball and sprinted three strides before losing it again. Despite that, he threw both arms up as if he’d won something. Wren watched him, but her mind was still caught on the three words. Blunt force trauma.

“Can I ask you something?” Nash leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and kept his attention on the field. “About the case. Back when Christian first went missing.”

“Yes.”

“Did the police have any suspects they really zeroed in on? Before the case went cold?”

Her mind drifted back in time, and this time the memory came fast, well-worn, a groove she’d walked a hundred times before. “Everett Voss.”

“Tell me about him.”

“My parents fought about him more than once. Dad was convinced the police weren’t looking at him hard enough. He’d done some handyman work at our house that summer, fixed the gutters, and something about him never sat right with Dad afterward.”

“How about your mom?” Nash asked. “How did she feel about him?”

“Mom used to tell Dad to stop saying the name out loud, like saying it too much might make it true.” She shook her head slightly. “I was fourteen. Old enough to understand more than they probably realized. I remember the name because I remember the fights they had about him.”

“Did you know Voss yourself?”

“Barely. He was just the guy who came around sometimes with a truck full of tools.” She paused. “He was polite, from what I remember. Quiet. It didn’t match, in my head, the idea of him kidnapping my brother. But I was a kid. I don’t know that my read on him means anything.”

Nash filed that away without comment, some thought working behind his eyes.

“I’ve got a name for the original agent who worked the case,” he said. “Donnelly, you said. I can try to track him down myself, see if he remembers anything that never made it into a file.”

Mason waved at her, and Wren lifted a hand back, grateful for the excuse to look away from Nash for a second.

“Maybe,” she told Nash. “My family needs to figure out a few things first.”

“Of course.”

A moment of silence passed before she finally said, “Thank you. For coming to tell me yourself. I appreciate it.”

He nodded and held her gaze a beat longer than the moment strictly needed. “Something’s happening here, Wren. I don’t like the shape of it.”

Nash stayed on the bleachers after Wren climbed down to gather Mason’s gear. He watched the last few minutes of practice wind toward its end. Then the coach called the kids in for a final huddle.

Nash hadn’t planned on staying this long. He’d only meant to deliver what Deb told him and leave. Instead, for a reason unbeknownst to him, he’d sat through the rest of practice.