Chapter 33: Jordan’s First Statement

The interview room at the Bellview Sheriff’s Department smelled faintly of bleach and stale coffee, a combination that clung to the walls like the memory of every conversation that had happened here before. Noah sat at the table, legal pad in front of him, pen resting in his hand. Across from him, Jordan Langston stared at the surface of the table as if the grain of the laminate might offer him a way out.

It was the first time Jordan had agreed to speak since his arrest. The boy’s silence had been complete—no questions answered, no explanations given, no cracks in his expression that Noah could use to pry him open. But now, Mason had called him in with a simple message: The kid’s ready to talk. Come quick before he changes his mind.

Noah didn’t speak right away. He’d learned in bigger cities, in higher-stakes cases, that silence could be as powerful as any question. Let the witness—or in this case, the client—fill it.

Jordan shifted in his chair. His face was pale, shadows under his eyes deepening the contrast against the expensive hoodie he wore. Even locked up, he looked like the son of a man who could buy his way out of almost anything.

Finally, Jordan spoke. His voice was low, but it carried in the room.

“I didn’t kill him.”

Noah raised his eyes, meeting Jordan’s for the first time since the boy had been brought in. “Then who did?”

Jordan’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I know who did.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree. Noah leaned forward slightly, careful not to push too fast. “Then we need to tell someone. If you’re innocent, naming the real killer is the fastest way to clear your name.”

Jordan shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

Noah felt the frustration rise, but he kept it buried beneath the practiced calm he’d built over years in courtrooms. “Not yet” in cases like this usually meant “never.” Still, something in Jordan’s tone told him this wasn’t about stubbornness—it was about fear.

“Jordan,” Noah said evenly, “you’re looking at a murder charge. That’s life. Minimum. Do you understand that?”

The boy’s gaze darted toward the door, then back to the table. “You think I don’t get that? I get it. But if I say their name, I’m dead before trial.”

The phrasing landed heavy. Their name. Not his, not hers. Plural.

Noah scribbled a note on his pad—more than one?—but didn’t look down long enough to break eye contact. “So you’re saying there’s more than one person involved?”

Jordan didn’t answer directly. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, a defensive posture that looked too rehearsed for a seventeen-year-old. “You think Bellview’s gonna protect me if I start talking? My family can’t even protect me.”

The mention of his family opened a new angle. “Your father,” Noah said. “Does he know who did it?”

Jordan’s jaw tightened. “If he does, he won’t admit it. He’s more scared of them than I am.”

That was a statement Noah couldn’t ignore. People like Martin Langston weren’t scared of much—not money, not politics, not public image. If he was afraid of this group, they were either untouchable or had enough dirt to bury him for good.

Noah shifted tactics. “Tell me what happened that night. All of it. No names if you’re not ready—but I need the events.”

Jordan hesitated, his fingers drumming against the armrest. Finally, he spoke, his words coming slow at first, like he was testing each one for danger.

“I was supposed to meet him in the woods. Just to talk. He’d been… saying things. About the fire. About who started it. Stuff he wasn’t supposed to know. When I got there…” Jordan swallowed hard. “He was already on the ground. I didn’t see who did it, but I heard them. Two voices. One told the other to ‘make sure he stays down.’ Then they ran.”

Noah wrote quickly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone this sooner?”

Jordan’s eyes flicked toward the one-way glass. “Because the sheriff knows. And if he knows, they know I talked. Then it’s over for me.”

The weight of the implication settled in the room. Noah knew Jordan wasn’t paranoid—he’d already seen enough in Bellview to understand that the lines between law enforcement, business, and whatever shadow network held the town together were more than blurred; they were erased entirely.

“I can protect you,” Noah said. It wasn’t a promise he could fully keep, but it was one he needed Jordan to believe.

“No, you can’t.” Jordan’s voice cracked for the first time. “You can’t protect Ava. You can’t protect Isaiah. You can’t even protect yourself.”

The words hit like a slap. Noah didn’t flinch, but the truth in them dug deep. Ava was missing. Isaiah was holding back the name of his alibi out of fear. And Noah himself had already been threatened more than once.

“What’s your endgame here, Jordan?” Noah asked, voice low. “If you keep quiet, they win. If you talk, maybe—just maybe—you survive this.”

Jordan stared at the table again, his knuckles white where his hands clenched together. “I’ll talk. Just not today. I need… insurance.”

“What kind of insurance?”

“The kind that keeps my dad breathing,” Jordan said flatly.

It wasn’t the answer Noah wanted, but it was more than he’d had yesterday. For the first time since taking this case, he saw the faintest crack in the wall Jordan had built around himself.

Noah stood, gathering his notes. “When you’re ready, you call me. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning. You get one chance at this. Don’t waste it.”

Jordan didn’t look up, but his voice followed Noah to the door. “They’re not gonna let you win, Mr. Keene.”

Noah paused, hand on the doorknob. “Then they’d better be ready to lose.”

Back in his car, Noah sat with the engine off, replaying the conversation in his head. The two voices Jordan had heard in the woods, the fear in his refusal to name names, the way his father loomed in the background like a silent witness who wouldn’t step forward—it all fit into the puzzle, but not in any way Noah could yet see clearly.

Somewhere between the fire, the murder, and Ava’s disappearance, the same shadow kept moving just out of reach. And now he had confirmation—Jordan knew exactly where that shadow lived.

The trick would be keeping him alive long enough to get him to point at it.