In October of 2011, 32-year-old civil engineer Lyall Fenwick set out on a 7-day hike through Little White Horse Canyon in the San Raphael Valley Desert of Utah.

On the seventh day, he did not get in touch.

Lyall Fenwick was officially reported missing.

Four years later, a group of cavers exploring a narrow, almost inaccessible cave in the most remote part of the canyon discovered something that prompted them to immediately call the police.

In the depths of the cave, surrounded by dozens of melted candles, sat Lyall Fenwick.

He had been dead for a long time, but the position of his body and the circumstances of the discovery pointed to one thing.

It was no accident.

Someone had deliberately brought him there, lit the candles, and condemned him to a slow death of thirst and hunger in a stone trap.

The sun was already setting when Lyall Fenwick pulled off Highway 70 and steered his battered Ford Ranger toward the Deserts End Gas and Grocery on the outskirts of Green River.

On October 13th, 2011, the thermometer at the gas station read 72° F of warmfall in Utah.

Lyall parked at the pump and got out to stretch his legs after a 4-hour drive from Salt Lake City.

Ernie Garwood, the elderly owner of the gas station, was wiping down the counter when the bell above the door announced a visitor.

Lyall nodded to him and headed for the shelves of dry rations and water.

“How far are you going?” Ernie asked as the engineer placed six energy bars, two bottles of water, and a map of the area on the counter.

“To San Raphael Valley, Little White Horse Canyon,” Lyall replied.

“I’ve been wanting to go hiking there for a long time.” Ernie shook his head.

“It’s a beautiful place, but be careful.

The forecast calls for rain later in the week.

Those canyons could flood in a matter of minutes.

I know, Lyall paid and took the change.

I have a GPS, maps, and 7 days worth of food.

I’ll be back next Tuesday.

Ernie nodded and wished him luck.

Over the years, working at the only gas station at the entrance to the desert, he had seen hundreds of tourists.

Most came back, some didn’t.

At 7 in the evening, Lyall pulled into the Swell Rest Motel, a small building with 12 rooms located a mile from the gas station.

The receptionist, Sarah, gave him the keys to room 3.

The Wi-Fi is weak, but it works, she warned when Lyall asked about the internet.

In the room, the engineer pulled out his laptop and opened his email.

He sent an email to his brother in Denver.

Hi, Mark.

I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the route.

Starting point coordinates 38 795 110 654.

Then I follow the stream to the entrance to the main canyon of Little White Horse.

Then climb to the plateau and go around Cathedral Valley.

I’ll be back in 7 days.

If I don’t hear from you by Tuesday night, call the Emery County Ranger Service.

Lyall added a detailed map of the route and hit send.

Then he closed his laptop, took a shower, and went to bed.

At in the morning on October 14, he was on the road.

40 minutes later, he parked his pickup in a small gravel lot at the trail head.

After pulling on his backpack and checking his GPS, he started deep into the canyon.

A surveillance camera in the parking lot recorded a.m.

October 14th, 2011.

male in gray jacket with backpack enters trail.

This was the last official confirmation that Lyall Fenwick was alive.

7 days later at 30 minutes in the evening on October 21st, Mark Fenwick called the Emery County Sheriff’s Office.

His voice was shaking.

My brother Lyall went camping in San Raphael a week ago.

He was supposed to come back today and call me.

I haven’t been able to reach him for 8 hours.

The officer on duty took down the information and promised to send a patrol to the parking lot.

At 9 in the morning on October 22, two sheriff’s deputies found Lyall’s Ford Ranger in the same parking lot.

The car was locked and the inside was tidy.

On the seat was an open map with a route outlined.

There was no phone, wallet, or other personal belongings in the car.

At in the afternoon, a team of five park rangers and three volunteers set out on the trail.

They searched the entire main route of Little White Horse Canyon, but found no trace.

The next day, 22 more volunteers joined the search.

Divided into groups, they combed both the main trail and side branches.

The rain, which began around noon, quickly turned into a downpour.

The searchers were soaking wet in the cold jets and Sheriff Mike Rodrik frowned at the weather radar.

“If this keeps up, we’ll have to suspend the search until tomorrow,” he told the Ranger Chief.

“And these rains will wash away all traces.” At in the evening, as dusk began to envelop the canyon, the teams returned to base.

Everyone was wet, dirty, and depressed.

Not a single trace, not a single clue.

As if Lyall Fenwick had been swallowed up by the desert itself, Sheriff Rodri stared at the dark, damp cliffs of San Raphael Valley rising in the distance.

One thought kept running through his mind.

Boy, where are you? He felt that this time the search would be long, but even in his darkest predictions, he could not have foreseen that the clue would appear only four years later and would be much more terrible than anyone could have imagined.

The dawn of October 23, 2011 brought cold, clear air to the San Rafael Valley Canyon after a night of rain.

The search operation began with renewed vigor with rescuers from neighboring counties joining the team and a Utah National Guard military helicopter hovering over the red rocks.

Sheriff Rodri stood at a command post set up near the parking lot and looked over a map of the area.

There are thousands of acres of desert terrain here, he told his deputy.

If he went off route, he could have ended up anywhere.

The helicopter radioed in ground.

This is So-Cal 3.

We are now over the central part of Little White Horse Canyon.

Visibility is good, but these rock formations create a lot of shaded areas.

There are hundreds of places where a person can go unnoticed from the air.

The pilot was right.

From above, the canyon resembled a huge sandstone maze cut through by hundreds of narrow corridors, caves, and fissures.

In some places, the rocks rose to a height of 300 ft, creating deep shadows even on a bright day.

Understood, Falcon 3, the dispatcher replied.

Proceed further east to the Black Dragon area.

Meanwhile, ground teams methodically searched every available corner of the main route.

Four search dogs, specially trained to find people, sniffed every rock and bush.

But the wind, which constantly changed direction in the canyons, and yesterday’s rain, almost destroyed all sense.

On the third day of the search, October 25th, one of the volunteers, Jason Miller, an experienced climber, noticed something unnatural stuck on a thorny creassote bush at the entrance to one of the side canyon crevices.

I’ve got something, he exclaimed, cautiously approaching the find.

It was a small piece of navy blue lace, the kind that is usually used to tie hiking boots.

Jason carefully removed it from the thorns and put it in a plastic bag.

Mark, the sheriff, asked Lyall’s brother, who was participating in the search, “Do you remember what color the laces were on your brother’s boots?” Mark thought about it.

dark blue.

He had bought new Colombia hiking boots before the hike.

The team moved along a narrow creasse that opened up after a few hundred yards into a strange maze of rock piles that resembled the ruins of an ancient city.

The locals called this place quarry labyrinths.

“You have to be very careful here,” the ranger leader warned.

“These rocks are unstable.

One careless step and you can fall into an invisible crevice or get a stone on your head.

While the men were discussing the plan of action, the radio came to life.

Base, this is So-Cal 3.

We have completed a flyover of the Black Dragon and French Spring Canyon areas.

No signs of human presence.

We are returning to refuel.

The search in the quarry maze continued for another 5 days.

The teams carefully examined every passage, every cave, but to no avail.

A piece of lace remained the only trace that somehow indicated Lyall’s presence in this part of the canyon.

At the end of the first week of searching, Sheriff Rodri called a meeting at his office in Castle Dale.

We’ve searched over 40 square miles of territory, he summarized, looking at the tired faces of those present with over 70 people, four dogs, and a helicopter.

And we found only a piece of lace that could have belonged to anyone.

What’s next? Mark Fenwick asked quietly.

The sheriff side.

We will continue the search for another week, but if we don’t find anything, we’ll have to scale back the operation.

And so it was.

After two weeks of active searching, most of the volunteers left.

Only professional rangers and Lyall’s closest friends and relatives remained.

A month later, on November 22nd, Sheriff Rodri officially announced the end of the active phase of the search operation.

At a press conference, standing in front of the microphones, he said, “We have exhausted all possibilities.

Mr.

Fenwick is unfortunately still missing as a result of an accident.

The case remains open and we will respond to any new information.

The next day, Mark Fenwick picked up his brother’s belongings from the Swell Rest Motel.

A briefcase with work documents, a laptop charger, a change of clothes, all that Lyall had left behind when he went on his last hike.

He was such an organized person, Mark said quietly to the receptionist, Sarah.

He always planned everything, anticipated everything.

I don’t understand how this could happen.

That afternoon, he picked up his brother’s pickup truck from the parking lot at the canyon entrance.

As he got behind the wheel, Mark noticed an open map and a neatly folded list of equipment on the passenger seat.

Everything was checked off.

Lyall had checked each item before setting out on the route.

Typical of him.

And in the evening when Mark was driving back to Denver, a severe storm broke out over the San Rafael Valley desert.

The rain poured down like a bucket, washing away the last possible traces of the missing man from the rocks and soil.

Lyall Fenwick’s case was filed in the Emery County Sheriff’s Office with a note.

Missing person presumed fatal.

It waited in a cool drawer of a metal closet for four long years before a gruesome discovery by cavers forced the case to be reopened.

On May 23rd, 2015, four amateur cavers from the University of Utah, Alex Foster, Jane Lee, Michael Rivers, and David Clark were given permission to map a remote cave system in the quarry labyrinths area.

The expedition was part of their research project on the geomorphology of Utah’s canyons.

“We’re going to focus on the Devil’s Pass system,” explained Alex, a 25-year-old geology graduate student, as he stood in front of the ranger who was issuing the permit.

“It’s a little studied section with narrow passages and several half-submerged halls.

Ranger Tom Wilson looked at the group suspiciously.

Are you sure you want to go in there?” Even our search and rescue teams rarely venture into that part of the canyon.

The area is very dangerous.

“We have experience,” Jane assured him, showing him her caving association certificates, and we will follow all safety protocols.

2 days later, at in the morning, the group went to the cave.

The temperature rose rapidly, reaching 85° F by noon.

The cavers, dressed in special overalls, protective helmets with flashlights, and with backpacks full of equipment, slowly moved along the bottom of the canyon.

“The entrance should be somewhere here,” Alex said, checking his GPS.

“After 20 minutes of searching, Michael spotted a narrow gap between two giant blocks of sandstone.” “I think this is it,” he shown his flashlight inside.

I see a rock shelf that leads down.

One by one, they squeezed through the opening and found themselves in a small cave.

From there, a narrow tunnel led deeper underground.

After 3 hours of cautious descent, squeezing through crevices barely as wide as an adult’s shoulder and crossing several half- flooded areas, they reached a junction.

According to the plan, Alex said, unfolding the map they had drawn as they moved.

We should explore the left tunnel.

It should lead to a large hall.

What about the right one? David asked, shining the flashlight into a narrow passageway.

I’m not sure.

It’s marked as a dead end on the old maps.

David hesitated.

I think we should check it out for the sake of completeness.

Alex agreed and David slowly squeezed into the right tunnel.

This passage was even narrower than the previous ones, and they had to crawl in places.

After 30 feet, the tunnel did indeed end in a dead end, a small cave about 8x 10 ft.

David was about to turn back when the beam of his flashlight picked up something unnatural in the corner.

He drew closer, and his heart skipped a beat.

In the farthest corner of the cave, leaning against the wall, sat the skeleton of a man in the remains of his clothes, dozens of candles stood around him, their wax melted and frozen in bizarre streaks.

“Oh my god,” David whispered.

“Alex, Jane, Michael, come here quick.” One by one, the other cavers squeezed into the cave.

All four of them stood now, frozen in silent shock, illuminating the gruesome scene with their flashlights.

“It’s It’s a body,” Jane muttered.

“And it looks like it’s been here for a long time.” Alex, the most experienced among them, came closer, carefully examining the find, but not touching anything.

The clothes are modern.

It doesn’t look like ancient remains.

Look, these are trekking pants and a technical jacket.

candles.

Michael pointed out there are dozens of them and they didn’t burn out naturally.

It looks like they were melted down on purpose.

Jane pulled out her camera and took a few photos, being careful not to disturb the scene.

We need to notify the authorities, Alex said firmly.

This is clearly not a natural death.

They quickly but carefully left the cave, careful not to destroy any potential evidence.

When the group finally made it outside, it was already evening.

Alex pulled out his satellite phone.

Emergency services.

This is Alex Foster, a caver at the University of Utah.

We have found human remains in the Devil’s Pass cave system in San Raphael Canyon.

The coordinates.

40 minutes after the call, Ranger Tom Wilson and Deputy Sheriff Ryan Clark arrived at the scene.

They listened carefully to the caver’s story, examined the photos, and immediately reported the discovery to Emery County Sheriff Bill Henderson, who succeeded Mike Roderick 2 years ago.

Stay here and show us the exact location tomorrow morning, the deputy sheriff said.

The body has been there a long time.

One night won’t change anything.

The next morning, a full investigation team arrived at the canyon.

Sheriff Henderson, two detectives from the major crimes unit, a medical examiner, and three forensic scientists.

The cave is very narrow, Alex warned.

Only one person can get through at a time, and not one of any build.

Detective Martha Craig, a 40-something woman with a piercing gaze, nodded.

We’ll have to take turns, but first I want to know, did you touch anything inside? No, Alex assured her.

We took a few photos and left right away.

The investigation team began a slow, methodical descent into the cave.

For many of them, it was their first time caving, and it took them three times as long as it would have taken experienced cavers.

Finally, Detective Craig, who was moving first, reached the fatal dead end.

The body was leaning against the wall with its legs stretched out in front of it.

His hands were in his lap.

The clothes had decomposed considerably over the four years, but it was still possible to make out a dark blue jacket and khaki pants.

A battered backpack stood next to them.

The most eerie impression was made by the dozens of candles around the body.

They were arranged in a semicircle and all of them without exception had a strangely molten top as if someone had lit them at the same time and then abruptly extinguished or melted them with fire from above.

My god, Detective Craig whispered, “What happened here?” Dr.

Ramirez, the medical examiner, cautiously approached the skeleton.

I can tell you that the body had been here for several years.

The tissues have almost completely decomposed naturally.

The forensic team began to photograph the scene, carefully marking every detail for further analysis.

Detective, look here.

One of them pointed to the backpack.

The documents.

A wallet with a driver’s license was found in the side pocket of the backpack.

The name on the license shocked everyone.

Lyall Fenwick.

Craig read.

Date of birth.

That’s the same guy they were looking for four years ago.

Sheriff Henderson wiped his sweaty brow.

Jesus, we thought he’d fallen into some ravine or gotten swept away in the rain.

But he was here all along.

Yes, Craig replied gloomily, surveying the strange scene.

But I’m sure of one thing.

He didn’t just get lost and die.

Someone put these candles there.

Someone created this theater.

and I intend to find out who it was.

Lyall Fenwick’s case was reclassified.

He turned from a missing person into a murder victim.

On May 25th, 2015, the entrance to the Devil’s Passage cave resembled a field headquarters.

Yellow police tape cordined off a 100yard radius around the rocky crevice.

Detective Martha Craig was leading a team of investigators on one of the most complex forensic operations in the county’s history.

I want controlled access, she ordered.

Everyone who goes down must wear a hazmat suit and follow the marked path.

No touching the walls unless absolutely necessary.

Due to the narrowness of the passages, the work progressed slowly.

Each item was carefully photographed before being moved.

Forensic scientist Dr.

Ramirez conducted a preliminary examination of the remains right in the cave.

Judging by the state of decomposition and the conditions of the cave, death occurred approximately 4 years ago, he reported over the radio.

There are no obvious bone fractures or other injuries visible to the naked eye.

Cause of death? Craig asked.

Preliminary exhaustion and dehydration.

There are no signs of foul play, but a full analysis in the lab is needed.

Forensic scientist James Woo carefully examined the candles.

They are all the same size and composition, he said.

Ordinary paraffin candles that you can buy in any supermarket.

There are about 43 of them.

43? Craig asked again.

Why such a strange number? I don’t know, Wu replied.

But they form an almost perfect semicircle around the body.

And they all have the same melting pattern.

They were set on fire at the same time.

And then the top part seemed to be deliberately melted.

Under Craig’s direction, the investigators methodically examined every square inch of the cave.

“Take the body out last,” she ordered.

All the physical evidence first.

Lyall’s backpack turned out to be the most informative find.

It contained no food, no water, no GPS, no flashlight, nothing that could have helped survive.

But his personal belongings remained untouched.

A wallet with $270 in cash, credit cards, a notebook, and a photo of his family.

This is not a robbery, Craig said.

If someone wanted to rob him, they would have taken the money.

In the corner of the cave, CSI Woo found a metal toolbox.

Wasach tools.

He read the inscription on the side.

He carefully packed the discovery in an evidence bag, taking samples of the unknown reinous substance found inside.

When the body was finally ready for transportation, Dr.

Ramirez performed a final on-site examination.

He was not tied down or restricted in his movements.

The doctor concluded, “The posture indicates that he simply sat down and waited to die.” “In a cave that is extremely difficult to get into,” Craig added.

“And with these candles, was it a ritual, a suicide, or a murder?” Ramirez added quietly.

Someone could have brought him here, left him without the means of survival, and sealed the exit.

Evacuating the body became a separate logistical operation.

Special stretchers had to be designed to fit through the narrowest parts of the cave.

It took the team 4 hours to bring Lyall Fenwick’s remains to the surface.

That evening, Sheriff Henderson held a meeting at the makeshift headquarters.

“What do we know?” he asked, looking at the evidence that had been collected.

“Ly Fenwick died of dehydration and starvation,” Craig answered.

He was in a cave which is extremely difficult to get into by accident.

Candles were placed and lit around him.

His personal valuables were not stolen, but everything that could have helped him survive was gone.

It was clearly not an accident.

Theories? The sheriff asked.

Suicide.

One of the detectives suggested maybe he was depressed.

Craig shook her head.

Why go so far? This is one of the most inaccessible caves in the region and these candles.

No, something’s not right here.

So, it’s murder.

Sheriff Henderson concluded.

Someone brought him into the cave or lured him in, took away his means of survival.

Perhaps they organized this strange ritual with candles.

The question is, who and why? I intend to find out, Craig said firmly.

I suggest we start with his personal and professional life.

We’ll check out anyone who might have had a motive to harm him.

The sheriff nodded.

The case is officially classified as a homicide investigation.

Martha, you’re in charge.

Bring in all the resources you need.

Craig took one last look at the photos from the cave.

A gruesome scene with melted candles around a man left to die in absolute darkness and silence.

Someone hated you very much, Lyall Fenwick, she whispered.

And I’m going to find out who it was.

Martha Craig and her partner, Detective Paul Donovan, were on a plane bound for Salt Lake City.

A laptop on the table between them showed a file on Lyall Fenwick, a 32-year-old civil engineer whose remains they had discovered in a cave hundreds of miles from home.

So, Wasatch Constructors Craig Red worked there for 6 years as a project engineer.

Single, no children.

His closest relative is his brother Mark in Denver.

I’ve already contacted his brother.

Donovan said he’s shocked.

He thought Lyall had died in an accident in the canyon.

And the reason for the hike, why did he go alone to such a remote place? According to his brother, Lyall loved lonely hikes, a way to relieve stress.

Although he did mention something about problems with a client before he left.

On May 26th at in the morning, the detectives arrived at the office of Wasach Constructors, a modern glass and concrete building in Salt Lake City’s business district.

I’m Helen Wallace, general manager.

A slender, middle-aged woman introduced herself.

We’re shocked to hear the news about Lyall.

The police interviewed us four years ago when he disappeared.

This time we have a body, Craig replied calmly.

And the circumstances of his death are consistent with murder.

Tell us about his last weeks at work.

Helen looked away.

There was one difficult project.

I was remodeling a warehouse in Green River for Canyon Land Holdings.

There were problems with meeting deadlines and quality.

What kind of problems? The client, Mr.

Fin Wayne, insisted on using cheaper materials than the project had provided for.

Lyall refused to sign the permits.

There was a conflict.

The detectives went through Lyall’s personal belongings that remained at the company, his desk, locker, and documents.

Among the papers, they found copies of correspondence with Canyon Land Holdings.

Dry but intense messages about no compromise on security.

Jim Garrison, a colleague of Lyles, told us more.

Gregory Wayne is a local businessman with a dubious reputation.

Lyall discovered that he was using lowquality cement that could cause the walls to collapse.

He refused to turn a blind eye.

How did Wayne react? He threatened to sue, to fire me, to do anything.

The last time I saw Lyall, he was nervous.

He said he had received a warning.

“What kind of warning?” “I don’t know.

He didn’t go into details.” Craig and Donovan looked at each other.

“Where can we find this Wayne?” Craig asked.

The next day, the detectives arrived in Green River.

Canyon Land Holdings was located in a small office on the main street.

Gregory Wayne, a burly man in his 50s with graying hair and a cold gaze, received them without enthusiasm.

Yes, I knew Fenwick.

I worked with him on the reconstruction of the warehouse.

A simple workplace dispute, he said, slumping in his chair.

When he disappeared, the police were already questioning me.

And now we found him dead, Craig replied.

in very strange circumstances.

Wayne shrugged.

Sad.

But what does that have to do with me? Where were you between the 14th and 21st of October, 2011? In Moab with my wife.

We were on vacation.

You can check.

After the meeting, the detectives visited the warehouse where Lyall worked.

A young construction worker, Eric Thompson, recalled the conflict.

Wayne was furious.

He shouted that Fenwick would be sorry if he didn’t sign the documents.

He said that Craig asked again.

Yes, he did.

The detectives found another clue at the local Canyon Land supplies store.

Did anyone buy this special quick attach rock compound shortly before Lyall disappeared? They asked, showing the results of the lab analysis.

The salesman checked the archives.

Yes, Mr.

Wayne ordered three bags.

He said he was repairing a mine entrance on his property.

In the evening, Craig received the results of a detailed analysis of the substance from the metal box.

It matches the stuff they sell at the store in Green River, she told Donovan, and the stuff Wayne bought before Lyall disappeared.

Motive, opportunity, means, Donovan summarized.

But there’s still not enough direct evidence to make an arrest.

Craig nodded.

Then we keep digging.

We expand the circle of interviewees and check Wayne’s alibi for the Moab vacation.

At 11 in the morning on May 29, a team of six officers led by Detective Craig arrived at Gregory Wayne’s home with a search warrant.

The two-story red brick mansion stood on the outskirts of Green River, surrounded by a high fence.

Gregory Wayne, police.

We have a warrant to search your residence, Craig announced into the megaphone.

Wayne’s wife, a pale woman with a tight smile, answered the door.

Gregory wasn’t home.

He went to Prices on Business.

We’re going to search the place anyway, Craig said, according to the warrant.

The officers methodically searched every room.

In the garage, they found a tool kit, including metal boxes similar to the one found in the cave, but none with specific scratches or damage that would prove a connection.

Detective, come here.

One of the officers called from the back room.

In the corner of the warehouse were three bags of a special mixture identical to the one found in the cave.

Craig took samples for comparative analysis.

This is proof, she said.

Wayne returned an hour later while the search was still in progress.

His face trembled with anger but quickly took on an indifferent expression.

This mixture, he calmly answered the question.

I use it to reinforce old mine workings on my property.

Anyone in the area will confirm that this is a common practice.

And where were you during the period of Lyall Fenwick’s disappearance? Craig asked.

I was on vacation with my wife in Moab.

We stayed at the River Canyon Motel.

Check their records.

Wayne’s wife confirmed the alibi, but something in her eyes betrayed uncertainty.

The next day, Craig found a former employee of Wayne’s, John Simmons.

“Yeah, I worked for him in 2011,” said Simmons, a mechanic at the auto repair shop.

The week the engineer disappeared.

I remember Wayne did talk about going to Moab, but he definitely disappeared for a day or two.

He said he was going to scout for new hunting grounds.

Did he often hunt in San Rafael Valley? Every season.

He knew those places like the back of his hand.

Later at the sheriff’s office, Craig and Donovan discussed strategy.

“We have a motive,” Craig said.

Wayne was angry with Lyall about the project, threatening him.

There’s the possibility that he knew the area well and we have a questionable alibi.

But direct evidence is not enough to make an arrest, Donovan replied.

The adhesive mix is sold in every hardware store.

Then we’ll create pressure, Craig decided.

We’ll conduct another interrogation, but with new information.

We’ll make him nervous.

That afternoon, Wayne was summoned to the sheriff’s office.

Craig sat down across from him, putting some photos from the cave on the table.

“You know what’s interesting about this case, Mr.

Wayne?” she began.

“These candles, 43 candles arranged in a semicircle, all melted in the same way.” Wayne stared at the photo in silence.

“And the metal box,” she continued.

“So special with traces of a special mixture.

You know, the lab identified the exact chemical composition.

Very specific.

What’s your point, detective? Wayne asked coldly.

I think you lured Fenwick into the cave.

Perhaps he threatened to expose your fraudulent dealings with the materials.

You took his food, water, lantern, everything he needed to survive.

You lit candles to show him how slowly the light goes out, and you left him to die.

Wayne remained calm.

It’s a fantastic story.

Where is the evidence? It will turn up, Craig promised.

Someone always knows more than they’re telling.

After Wayne left, Sheriff Henderson shook his head.

He’s coldblooded.

He won’t crack.

Then put him under surveillance, Craig said.

And I want to check the records of gas stations near the canyon since Fenwick disappeared.

The detectives drove to the Desert’s End Gas and Grocery.

Old Ernie Garwood, who had worked there for years, helped them get to the archives.

“I had to keep these records for the IRS,” he explained, pulling out yellowed papers.

“Yes, here.

Not many customers that day.

A Ford Ranger, that’s Fenwick’s, right?” “And a dark Chevy Tahoe filled up at .

” “License plate?” Craig asked quickly.

“It’s listed as UYX297.” An hour later, they got the information.

The SUV belonged to Canyon Land Holdings, Gregory Wayne’s personal vehicle.

“He was lying,” Craig said triumphantly.

“He wasn’t in Moab.

He was here when Lyall disappeared.” “Still not enough to make an arrest,” Donovan said.

“He could say he was just driving by.” “Then we need someone who saw them together,” Craig decided.

“Someone who knows more about the events of that day.” Their search took an unexpected turn.

The owner of the Swell Rest Motel recalled that the day before Lyall disappeared, Wayne had stopped by to ask about new guests.

“He asked if we had an engineer from Salt Lake City staying with us,” the owner said.

“I didn’t think much of it at the time.” “He was hunting Fenwick,” Craig said, tracking him down.

In the evening, the officer who had been watching Wayne’s house reported back, “The suspect was on the phone in the backyard.

He said the phrase, “They know.

Time to clean up the mess.” Craig felt her heart speed up.

He was going to do something.

Increase surveillance and keep looking for witnesses.

In the sheriff’s office, she looked thoughtfully at a map of the area.

“There’s a link somewhere we’re missing,” she said.

someone who saw more than they told.

And I intend to find that person before Wayne gets to them first.

On May 30th, after 9 hours of searching the databases, Detective Craig finally found a lead.

The license plate number UYX297 appeared in a police report of a minor accident in Phoenix, Arizona 3 years ago.

The driver wasn’t Wayne, but a man named Michael Torrance, listed as an employee of Canyon Land Holdings.

Torrance, Craig muttered.

That’s who could have been with Wayne that day.

The search led to an unexpected discovery.

Michael Torrance had quit Wayne 2 months after Lyall’s disappearance and moved to Phoenix.

He now worked as a security guard at a shopping center.

Craig and Donovan immediately flew to Arizona on a hot May day.

They met Torrance after his shift.

The 40-year-old man of strong build refused to talk at first.

“I don’t know anything about that story,” he said, glancing nervously around the parking lot.

“Mr.

Torrance,” Craig said calmly.

“We know you were Wayne’s driver and bodyguard.

We know his car was near the canyon the day Lyall disappeared.” I don’t.

Torrance trailed off.

Look, Wayne is a dangerous man.

He’s got connections everywhere, even on the police force.

If he finds out, I’ve been talking to you.

We can protect you, Craig assured him.

But we need the truth.

After a long negotiation, Torrance agreed to a formal interrogation at the local police station.

Wayne really hated Fenwick.

He began sitting in the interrogation room because of that warehouse project.

Fenwick was threatening to file a complaint with the regulatory authorities about the quality of the materials.

What happened on October 14, 2011? Port.

Wayne took me with him to San Raphael Valley.

He said he was going to show the engineer who was boss.

We stopped at the entrance to the canyon.

He told me to wait in the car and he took a backpack and started walking along the trail.

What was in the backpack? I don’t know exactly.

A rope, some tools, and a package of candles.

A lot of candles.

It seemed strange at the time.

Craig felt her heartbeat quicken.

What happened next? Wayne came back 5 or 6 hours later.

He was dirty, sweaty, nervous.

His backpack was empty.

He told me not to say a word to anyone.

He said that the problem was solved.

Did he say anything specifically about Fenwick? Not at the time, but a few days later when the search began, he laughed and said that no one will ever find someone who doesn’t want to be found.

Torrance leaned closer.

The strangest thing is the backpack.

After the trip, Wayne gave it to me and told me to get rid of it.

The backpack was dirty with some stains.

I didn’t want to be complicit, but I was afraid to throw it away, so I just left it in my garage in Green River.

“Do you still have that backpack?” Craig asked abruptly.

“Yeah, when I moved, I took it with me.

It’s in my closet.

You never know what might be needed as evidence, just in case.

” Two hours later, the detectives were standing in Torrance’s small apartment.

From the back closet, he pulled out an old khaki backpack.

“Here,” he said.

“I didn’t touch anything.” Craig carefully took the backpack, packed it in an evidence bag, and sent it to the lab.

The results of the forensic analysis came back the next morning.

Inside the backpack, they found microscopic particles of wax identical in composition to the candles from the cave.

More importantly, they found fabric fibers that matched Lyall Fenwick’s jacket.

It’s a direct connection, Craig told Sheriff Henderson in Triumph.

Wayne’s backpack contains evidence of his presence in that cave.

Is it enough for an arrest warrant? The sheriff asked.

“Absolutely,” Craig nodded.

“Torrance’s testimony, the evidence backpack, Wayne’s lying about his whereabouts.

It’s all coming together.” Henderson signed the warrant.

“Take him in, but be careful.

He’s dangerous.” That same day, a team of six officers surrounded Wayne’s house.

The operation went quickly.

The suspect was arrested on his way home.

“Wayne looked shocked at first, but quickly composed himself.” “You’re making a big mistake,” he said coldly as they handcuffed him.

“My lawyers will have you ground to a pulp.” “At the station, Craig conducted a formal interrogation.” Wayne was confident, denying all the accusations.

But when she laid out the photographs of the evidence and read Torrance’s testimony, his composure faltered.

“Torrance, that rat,” he hissed.

“He doesn’t know anything.

He knows about the backpack with the candles.

He knows you were in the canyon that day.” The detective began to press methodically, describing the details of the find in the cave, the location of the candles, the body’s posture, the signs of slow death from dehydration.

With each detail, Wayne pald more and more.

Stop it, he finally whispered.

“Tell me what happened,” Craig suggested.

“It’s your only chance to get a commutation.” Wayne was silent for many minutes, then sighed and began to speak.

“I didn’t plan to kill him,” he said quietly.

“I just wanted to scare him, make him sign the papers.

I knew he would be in the canyon.

I asked around at the motel.

I found him on the trail.” And what happened? We had a fight.

He threatened me again with inspections and fines.

He said he would destroy my business.

Wayne was silent.

I hit him.

He went down.

I panicked.

I took him to a cave I knew well.

I pushed him inside and blocked the entrance with a stone, securing it with mortar.

“And the candles?” Craig asked, feeling that he was hiding something.

“They were in his backpack.

I threw them into the cave and lit them.

I didn’t want him to be in the dark.” Wayne avoided her gaze.

I thought he’d find a way out or be found.

I didn’t want him to die.

Craig didn’t believe him, but she had enough to accuse him.

Gregory Wayne, you are under arrest for the first degree murder of Lyall Fenwick, she officially announced.

As the officers led Wayne away to a cell, Craig remained in the interrogation room looking at the photos from the cave.

43 candles melted in a special way.

Wayne hadn’t told the whole truth, but is what they know enough.

The Emery County courtroom was packed.

On February 4th, 2016, the trial of Gregory Wayne began.

The 8-month delay between the arrest and the trial gave the lawyers time to prepare, the prosecutors to gather additional evidence, and the press to turn the case into a sensation.

Detective Craig sat in the front row watching Wayne, dressed in an expensive suit, enter the courtroom, accompanied by two bodyguards.

He had lost weight but carried himself with confidence.

His lawyers had filed six motions to quash his arrest and release him on bail.

All of them were rejected.

Attention.

Emery County Court is now in session in the case of state of Utah versus Gregory Wayne.

The baleiff announced Judge Robert Gil, a 65-year veteran of the judicial system, looked sternly at the audience.

I remind everyone to remain quiet.

Prosecutor Murphy, you may begin your opening statement.

District Attorney Paul Murphy, a tall man with graying temples, stood up.

Your honor, jury, today we are trying a heinous crime.

Gregory Wayne, motivated by greed and anger, lured Lyall Fenwick into a remote cave, took away all means of survival, and condemned him to a slow, agonizing death.

The defense was represented by lawyer James Simmons, known for successful murder cases.

Members of the jury, my client admits that he had a conflict with Mr.

Fenwick.

He admits that he left him in the cave after an argument, but he did not intend to kill him.

It was an accident, a tragic mistake, but not premeditated murder.

The court heard witnesses for 3 weeks.

The first to speak was Michael Torrance.

Wayne was obsessed with revenge.

He said that Fenick would destroy his business.

He said he would wipe the smile off the face of that smug engineer.

When Torrance was asked to describe the events of that fateful day, he described in detail how Wayne had taken a backpack with strange objects.

How he returned a few hours later sweating and silent.

He told me to forget everything I had seen.

When the search began, he laughed and said that no one will ever find this nerd.

Forensic scientist James Woo presented the results of the examination of the backpack found on Torrance.

Inside, we found wax particles identical to the candles from the cave.

We also found microfers of fabric that exactly match the victim’s jacket.

This undoubtedly links the owner of the backpack to the crime scene.

Medical examiner Dr.

Ramirez described Lyall’s death in detail.

The lack of water and food led to a gradual exhaustion of the body.

The process lasted at least four to 5 days.

Consciousness remained until the last hours of his life.

It was a slow and painful death.

When the prosecutor asked about the candles, the expert answered, “Their location and the way they were melted indicate a ritualistic nature.

It was not done for lighting.

It was like a countdown.” Mark Fenwick, Lyall’s brother, testified with tears in his eyes.

“My brother was an honest man.

He was just doing his job, not compromising on quality or safety.

And for that he was condemned to such a horrible death.

Finally, it was time for Gregory Wayne’s testimony.

Against the advice of his lawyers, he decided to speak.

Yes, I found Fenwick in the canyon.

He began.

We had a fight.

I hit him and he fell down.

I got scared and took him to a cave I knew.

Yes, I blocked the entrance.

Yes, I threw lighted candles inside, but I didn’t want to kill him.

I thought he would find another way out or someone would find him.

Why 43 candles? The prosecutor asked.

Wayne was silent.

Why did you melt them in a special way? Was it some kind of ritual? I just lit them and threw them, he answered.

In his closing arguments, the prosecutor emphasized the premeditation of the actions.

Gregory Wayne had a motive.

Revenge.

He had a plan.

He found Fenick in the canyon, prepared a cave.

He took away the means of survival, lit candles in a bizarre ritual, and left the man to die a slow death.

This was not an impulsive act.

It was a premeditated, brutal murder.

The defense insisted that there was no premeditation.

My client pleads guilty to manslaughter.

Yes, he acted unreasonably, but he did not plan his death.

He succumbed to emotions and made a mistake that he regrets.

After 6 hours of deliberations, the jury returned with a verdict.

We, the jury, find the defendant, Gregory Wayne, guilty of aggravated first-degree murder.

Judge Hill announced the verdict a week later.

Given the extreme cruelty of the crime, the premeditated nature of the acts, and the lack of remorse, the court sentences him to life without parole.

Wayne stood still as he was led out of the courtroom.

Martha Craig watched him, but she did not feel satisfied with victory, only devastated.

Even after his confession, even after his sentence, Wayne never revealed the true motive for his actions.

Why the candles? Why 43? Why the ritualistic nature? A week after the verdict, Craig visited Mark Fenwick, who was staying in Green River to settle her brother’s affairs.

We got justice, she said.

But did it bring any relief? Mark shook his head.

You know, I keep thinking, why didn’t Lyall try to get out? He was an experienced hiker.

Why didn’t he use the candles as a tool? Why didn’t he just sit there? Maybe the entrance was securely locked.

Perhaps Wayne had done something else that he hadn’t admitted to.

Maybe, Mark answered quietly.

But now we’ll never know.

Later that evening, standing on a rocky outcropping overlooking San Raphael Valley Canyon, Craig watched the sun set behind the red rocks.

The wind whistled between the rocks, creating a sound like a soft moan.

As the sunlight faded and darkness grew, Craig couldn’t help but think of Lyall sitting in total darkness, watching the candles go out one by one, his last companions, before meeting death.

The case was closed.

The killer was convicted.

But the canyon still kept its secrets.

It was here long before people and will remain after them, majestic and indifferent to human tragedies.

For the canyon, Lyall Fenwick’s story was just a brief episode in eternity.

Another soul swallowed up by the red rocks and the boundless silence of San Raphael Valley.

The detective took one last look at the canyon entrance and walked to the car.

Justice was served, but the peace never returned.

Some questions will remain unanswered forever.