By the time the coroner’s van pulled away, the town had already begun rewriting his life in hushed, speculative fragments. Neighbors remembered late-night drives, muffled arguments, the way his porch light stayed on long after midnight. Detectives moved methodically, but even they couldn’t ignore the impression that nothing here was random. The body’s placement, the carefully disturbed underbrush, and the absence of any personal belongings suggested someone had taken time—too much time—to control what would be found.

In the days that followed, the investigation exposed a pattern of quiet desperation: unpaid debts, strained relationships, and a string of calls made but never answered. Each new piece of evidence pushed the case further from the comfort of accident or misfortune. What began as a missing-person report hardened into a deliberate act, leaving those who thought they knew him to confront a cruel truth: someone had planned for him never to come home.