by Dea Poirier
The guard backs to the door, nods to me, and points to the mirror before leaving.
“Thanks for meeting with me today, Trent,” I say, hoping the formalities might put him in a chatty mood. The last time I questioned him, he had nothing to say to me, and I’m hoping today goes differently.
“As if I had a choice,” he scoffs.
“Either way. I need to talk to you about Dr. McConnel,” I say.
He lifts his chin and looks down his nose at me. “And why is that?”
“Dr. McConnel told us about your involvement in the murders . . .” The lie comes out more smoothly than I expect. I doubt that Trent has heard about McConnel’s death, and I have no plans to tell him about it.
The chains grate against the metal rings as he raises his hand, red flaring to his cheeks. “I had no involvement in the murders.”
“That’s not what McConnel told us. So why don’t you tell me your side of the story.”
He furrows his brows and looks down at the table, as if considering. His dark hair falls over his face. “Why should I tell you what happened?” he asks as he looks up at me through his curtain of hair.
I turn on the voice recorder on my phone. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened. But if you break it all down for me, the DA might cut you a plea deal. The DA informed me that you’re acting as your own lawyer. Is that correct?”
He considers and nods. “I am.”
“Because I want to make it clear that you can ask for a lawyer for this questioning if you’d prefer,” I offer. I’m not going to take any chances that this interrogation could be thrown out by a defense team in the future. If I have it recorded that he was offered an attorney and declined, we are in the clear.
“I don’t need one of those idiots to represent me. I’ve seen how that goes.”
I sit back in my chair, trying to relax some of the tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders.
“What do you want to know?” he asks as he adjusts the shackles on his wrists.
“How did it all start?” I ask.
“McConnel and I became friends at work. We talked about some of the women who worked there over beers. Then there was this one patient we’d both seen. She was so hot. We got to talking about her. McConnel told me about how he used to bring in women like crazy, but he’d gotten too old. The women he liked wouldn’t go for him anymore.” He stops, glancing toward his hands.
“That woman you spoke of, who was she?”
“Some stuck-up bitch named Lucy,” he says. “She didn’t give me the time of day. She flirted with me like crazy while she was in the hospital; she was dying for it.” He lets out a low, humorless laugh. “But when the time came, she was just a cocktease.”
“So you didn’t kill her, then?”
He shakes his head. “I want this to be crystal clear.” His words are as sharp as shards of glass. “I didn’t kill any of them. When it all started, I didn’t know that’s what he was going to do. I brought the women to him because I thought he was going to have fun with them.”
“By fun,” I say, my voice rising, “you mean rape. You were luring them there for him to rape.” The words bring up a sickness with them. Though I’ve seen pieces of shit like this before, and I know they exist, I have to compartmentalize that information away. Because how do you live out in the world every day knowing people like Trent and Aidan walk the streets?
“Yeah, I lured them in. I got to have a round with them first; that was our agreement. But we both had to be careful, no DNA, no fingerprints, no evidence. We both wore gloves and condoms. And made sure that we didn’t leave any hair at the scene. After I was done, I’d call him. The girl would be tied up and ready for him. When he showed up, he’d knock on the door three times, he’d come in the room, and I’d leave. After that, I didn’t know what he was going to do.” Trent looks up at me, his features grim.
“Trent,” I say as I lean against the table, my eyes leveled on him. “You really thought after he made you be so careful about DNA, leaving evidence, that he wasn’t planning on killing them? They could have ID’d either of you. You had to have known.”
“He said it would be our word against theirs. If there was no DNA, there was no case. Guys get off on rape allegations all the time.” The words roll off his tongue so matter-of-factly I don’t grasp their true meaning at first.
Rage rises inside me as I process what he said. But it’s not anger at him specifically; it’s anger at the whole goddamn system, because he’s right. How often do men get off with a slap on the wrist after something as life altering as rape? It happens every day. I don’t believe him that he didn’t know deep down that these women would die, but I press on.
“When you left, they were alive?”
He nods.
“Was it your idea to tie the women to the bed, or was it his?” I ask, trying not to picture the girls in my mind as I say the words.
“His. These women were all game, though.” He leans back in his chair, chains rattling. “I could have talked them into anything. I didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do.”
“Do you not understand that what you did led to their deaths? They didn’t ask to be killed, Trent.” I lean my forearms against the edge of the table. His whole demeanor is making me want to leap across the table and strangle him with the chains.
“It wasn’t me. It was Aidan. This was all him. I didn’t want these women to die. I didn’t know he was going to kill them. Stop trying to put this on me.”
“Did it come as a shock to you when you found out that Melanie was dead?” I ask.
“At first, yes. Because I didn’t know that’s what he was planning to do. I thought it was just about fun. I panicked at first, because I didn’t want to go to prison for murder. I didn’t know that he was going to kill them, I swear. After Aidan told me that he’d spread ashes all over the scene, and we made sure to leave none of our own DNA behind, he said it looked like it might have been the perfect murder.”
“If you didn’t want to have anything to do with killing, why did you help him lure other victims to the motels?” I ask. That’s been lingering in the back of my mind. If Trent wasn’t a killer, how did Aidan talk him into continuing?
“At that point, he told me that if I didn’t help him again, he’d turn me in and say that I did it all myself.” He glances toward the door, his eyes darting between it and the one-way mirror. “Look, are we done here? If I don’t get back, I’m not going to get my time outside.”
“Just one more thing. Did Aidan mention to you after he killed Melanie that he planned to kill the other women you lured?”
He shakes his head. “No, he never told me that’s what he was planning to do. But after he threatened me, I could put two and two together. I just didn’t want to go to jail.”
“And why did you meet up with them at the ATV races?” I ask. That’s the one piece I haven’t understood.
“All the girls from around Camden end up at those races at some point. I’d been to the races before I even met Aidan, hooked up with a few girls I’d met there. Whenever I saw a new girl at the hospital I liked the look of, I’d mention her to Aidan, and he’d go take a look at her and her chart. I’d flirt with them a bit, see if I could get their number. If I did, I’d start texting them on the burner to hook up with them. None of the girls wanted to meet up with me alone at first; they wanted to meet in a public place. So the races seemed like the natural place to do it. Dark enough that most people wouldn’t remember seeing me, but still public enough that the girls felt like I was safe to be around. The perfect camouflage. Or at least that’s what I thought.” He gestures to me. “Obviously it wasn’t, since you figured it out.”
I nod and motion toward the one-way mirror. That’s all I need from Trent. I grab my phone and shut off the voice recorder. With all this, I need to see what the DA thinks we can charge him with. While he didn’t know Aidan’s intentions with Melanie, he admitted to knowing with the oth
er two victims. Homicide is unlikely, but manslaughter along with accessory may be on the table.
The guard comes back into the room, unshackles Trent from the table, and leads him away. I work my way back through the halls of the jail and climb into my car. I call Sergeant Pelletier and provide him the information that I got from Trent. When I get back to the station, I’ll finish my report and send a copy of the interview to the DA. With that, I’ll be able to put this case to bed.
CHAPTER 24
One week later, I stand in the parking lot, shrouded by the stretched shadow of an ornate church. In the weeks that I’ve been in Camden, I’ve driven by this church a thousand times and never given it a second glance, and now it’s all I can see. Inside, the church is packed with people who’ve come for Austin’s funeral. The sky above me is a clear, sparkling blue, one of the first blue-skied days we’ve had in months. All the spots around me are filled with cars, everyone else long since disappeared into the service. But I can’t bring myself to take another step, to say goodbye to someone else. Maybe it’s the past rippling through my mind, the ghost of what Rachel’s funeral could have been.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go in?” Noah asks, squeezing my hand. I’d almost forgotten he was here. I should have sent him inside. He stands to my left, wearing freshly ironed slacks, a button-up white shirt, and a black tie. Instead of a blazer, he’s got on his black leather jacket, the one I always give him shit for wearing since he has yet to get a real coat.
“I just—” I start, but my voice cracks. I glance at him, and it breaks my heart, because all I can wonder is if or when I’m going to lose him too. Death follows me, and I’m trapped in a dance with it. A death spiral. Sometimes I wonder if I should even bother, if I should stretch myself beyond the bounds of my work. Is it worth it? But no matter how many times I ask myself, when I look into Noah’s eyes, I know it is.
He loops his arm around my back, folding my leather coat tighter around me, steadying me with a touch I didn’t realize I needed.
“Can we walk?” I ask, gesturing to the ancient graveyard beyond the church.
He nods and urges me forward. Though I try to walk, my limbs are leaden, like I haven’t used them in years.
“One day you’ll be okay,” Noah says in a voice that’s soft, even.
I glance at him. That’s what I told him I said to Ryder Warren last year after his girlfriend died. He was the youngest member of a family of pariahs back in Vinalhaven, and everyone assumed that because he was the weird kid, he must have murdered his girlfriend. To comfort him, I said, “You’re never going to be the same again. But one day, you’ll be okay.” Fresh tears paint my face as my boots squish against the wet earth.
The weather has finally warmed enough to melt off pockets of snow across the cemetery. White still clings around some of the ancient headstones and the mausoleums. The key is heavy in my pocket as I walk, poking me with each step, as if insisting I finally do something about it. I considered giving it to him a week ago, but something still held me back. I wanted to be sure. Really sure.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say, slowing to look at him. And suddenly, my guts are in knots. Why am I nervous?
An ancient oak tree twists up beside us, headstones littering the earth around it. They’re so old many poke out of the earth off-center. Moss clings to the stones, and some of the names are nearly worn away.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about too.”
I swallow hard as my nerves prickle. What does he have to talk to me about? “You go first,” I say, hoping a few minutes will help me gather my nerves.
“I just talked to my brother Cameron. He’s moving to town,” he says, his face impassive. Noah obviously has a lot of issues with his family, so I’m not sure how he feels about this.
“Oh?” I ask, hoping he’ll give me more to go on.
“Yeah, he’ll be here next month. Would you mind helping me find a place for him to rent?”
“Of course not.” I offer him a smile. “How do you feel about this?” I ask, still unable to read him. I find it jarring. I can read most people so well.
“I think it’ll be good. Maybe it’ll give us a chance to get closer.”
“He’s the cop, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, he’s been a beat cop for a few years now.”
“If he hasn’t found anything else around here, Sergeant Michaels told me they’re looking for someone to replace Allen. He’s moving to the mainland.”
“I’ll let him know about it,” he says with a smile. “He was staying back in Tennessee until after my dad passed. He was actually thinking that he and I could get a place together.”
“Oh” is all I can manage to say. Suddenly it’s as if the key in my pocket weighs five pounds. Maybe I was right to wait. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving him this key. If he’s planning to move in with his brother, was I wrong about where I thought things were headed?
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks, stooping to look me in the eyes.
I hesitate, then fish the key from my pocket and hold it out. Noah cups my hand, looking at it.
“What’s that?” he asks when I don’t explain.
“It’s for you. I was going to ask you to move in with me,” I say, my voice sounding far too fragile to my ears.
“You want me to move in with you?” he asks, his voice high with disbelief.
“I was hoping so.”
When he’s silent for a long moment, I add, “If you think it’s too soon, I understand. You don’t have to say yes.” I feel much too vulnerable in his silence. My eyes drop to the ground, and my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. When he says nothing, I tuck my hands in my pockets and sigh. Then, finally, he kisses me. The heat of his passion bleeds into me until my body quivers in response. I pull away from the kiss, catching my breath, and steady myself.
I stare out over the graves, the oak trees standing like sentinels over the dead. My heart twists at all the lives lost, the lives I’ve seen extinguished. But like those trees, I will always be here, watching over the dead.
“Of course I’ll move in with you. Though if you ever want to, we can move back to my place in South Carolina.”
I never thought I’d think the words, let alone say them aloud. “For now, I think my place is here.”
He nods. “My place is wherever you are.”
“You don’t think your brother will be crushed?”
He kisses me again, soft and slow. “He’ll just have to get over it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the incredible editors who helped me with this book. Megha Parekh, thank you for helping me get Next Girl to Die and Beneath the Ashes out into the world. And Charlotte Herscher, thank you for helping me polish both of my stories to perfection. And of course, to the rest of the Thomas & Mercer team and everyone at Amazon Publishing, your work and support on this project are so very appreciated. Thank you for everything that you do.
Thank you to Laura Bradford.
To my critique partner, Elesha Teskey—without you, none of my books would be possible. Thank you for being there, listening, reading, and helping me make sense of every draft, no matter how bad it is.
Thank you to Stephen J. Nelson, MD, medical examiner for Polk County, Florida, for answering my questions about autopsies and investigations—your expertise was invaluable.
To Jodi Gallegos, thank you for answering my weird medical questions.
Thank you to Stephen Richey, founder of Kolibri Forensics and the host of the Skelecast podcast, for answering my forensics and investigation questions.
Thank you to Blaine Poirier (no relation, seriously!), my resident cell phone expert.
To my mom, kiss noise. Please rip out the sex scenes before you let anyone else in the family read this.
Thank you to everyone who read Next Girl to Die and is here for round two—cheers to you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dea Poirier was raised in Edmond, Oklahoma, where she found her passion in a creative writing course. She studied computer science and political science at the University of Central Oklahoma. Later she spent time living on both coasts and traveling the United States before finally putting down roots in central Florida. She now resides somewhere between Disney and the swamp with her son.
