Page 11 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)
Later, Noah stepped out of his Bronco and glanced around the large parking lot in front of the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office.
It was practically full, barring a few patrol vehicles that had left tire marks on their way out.
As the office was attached to the jail, there was always a steady flow of inmates being booked in and others being released.
Many who had gotten out of the drunk tank were easily spotted — bleary-eyed, waiting on a ride, trying to bum a cigarette from anyone who walked by.
“You don’t have a ciggy, do you?”
“Don’t smoke. Sorry,” he replied. He adjusted his coat and pulled up his collar to shield himself from the cold wind that had swept through the rural community.
Pushing wide the heavy wooden doors of the office, Noah entered a bustling atmosphere.
The main room hummed with activity, filled with desks and officers overbooked with paperwork and engrossed in their duties.
Beyond plexiglass and a worn counter sat Maisie, the friendly face that greeted visitors and provided information.
She glanced up from her paperwork, her eyes brightening as she recognized Noah.
“McKenzie in?” Noah said, leaning on the counter.
“Out back. Been a while since you’ve been here; you won’t recognize the place,” she said, returning a smile, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.
Maisie pressed a button beneath the desk.
The faint buzzing sound signaled that he was now granted access.
He thanked her and made his way toward the rear of the office, passing officers who exchanged nods.
The hallway leading back was lined with faded photographs from newspapers and framed commendations, a testament to the office’s history of solving cases.
It was typical of small-town policing, where appearances were everything.
High Peaks had his father to thank for that.
He was all about reminding his officers of their progress and the stamp his family had put on the history books.
As he continued on, Noah noticed renovations. They’d expanded the back, adding a newly created room off to his right. A glass wall revealed a glimpse of what lay inside — the modern space was adorned with sleek flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls.
As he entered the room, Callie Thorne, a young and sharp-witted deputy, took note of him, offering a smile. She had always been one to question and challenge theories, keeping investigations grounded in reality.
Detective Angus McKenzie was engrossed in giving some spiel to the deputies. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie in the air. Noah stood at the back, taking it all in, impressed by the digital hub for investigation.
“Well, you know what to do; get out there and make it happen.”
Chairs screeched, deputies rose and passed him, and chatter drifted.
McKenzie’s eyes lit up with a mix of enthusiasm and determination as he caught sight of Noah.
“What do you think?” McKenzie exclaimed, his voice full of pride as if introducing his first child.
Noah raised a finger. “You championed the creation of this room?”
“Of course,” he shot back, his Scottish accent as thick as ever.
Callie shook her head, muttering something behind McKenzie so he couldn’t hear.
Something along the lines of he had very little to do with it.
“I envisioned this place, bringing the slow world of High Peaks into the future with a place for us to review cases, study suspect profiles, and piece together the puzzle that will eventually land me in the hall of fame. ”
“You’ll be in a wheelchair before then,” Callie commented, passing him and greeting Noah with a hug.
“Aye, lass, you’ll be in hot water if you keep up with those cheeky comments.”
“Ignore him. He’s been ranting about this place for the past two weeks. It was the brainchild of Sheriff Rivera.”
“My vision. She implemented it,” McKenzie was quick to say. “Let’s be clear.”
“Oh please, you wanted a corkboard,” she said.
“Aye, it worked for us in the Big Apple.”
“Yeah, when was that, the 1930s?” Callie joked.
“See what I have to put up with, Noah? These millennials don’t know how to respect their elders.”
“I was born in ’97.”
“Exactly.”
“That makes me Generation Z.”
“Makes you a damn idiot.”
Noah was quick to intervene. “Well, regardless, it’s impressive.”
McKenzie stepped back, admiring it. “Beats the old paper mugshots,” he piped up, taking out a cigarette he wouldn’t light and sticking it between his lips.
“Everyone nowadays is trying to get away from cutting down more trees. I like to think I’m doing my best to help with the ozone layer and the walruses. ”
“Walruses?” Noah asked.
“You know, the beasts in the Arctic. Someone has to save them.”
“You look like a damn walrus with that cigarette hanging out of your mouth,” Callie said, shaking her head.
“The feeling is mutual, lass.”
“Anyway, what have we got here?” Noah asked.
“I pulled the case files on each of the names on Jane Doe’s body,” McKenzie said, picking up a remote and tapping it a few times. Nothing happened. He slapped it against his hand. “Why is this damn thing not working!”
“Because that’s a different remote,” Callie said, scooping up another remote as she passed him, and hitting a button a few times.
“This controls them.” Before him, the screens lit up, divided into different sections, displaying photographs of young girls ranging in age from about thirteen through to seventeen.
Noah got closer, absorbing the visuals. The faces of several stared back at him, their names etched into his memory.
Each image held a story, a potential connection to the mysterious girl who appeared in Westport.
He scanned each face and all the details that went with them, location last seen, date of disappearance, family, friends, and potential suspects looked at over time.
He continued strolling before stopping and fixing his gaze on Payton Scott.
Frozen in time, a bright-eyed brunette, she was only sixteen when she went missing.
Callie sidled up beside him. “You never told me you were there the day she went missing.”
“Never felt the need to say. Didn’t speak about it much then either. My father said it was best to keep quiet. Words only got people in trouble, and he was already tackling it. He seemed confident he could find her or at least find out who took her. He came up short.” His chin dipped for a moment.
“Anyway, regarding the names etched into Jane Doe’s skin,” McKenzie explained. “Most were reported missing from nearby towns and cities; at least ten are from different counties but all within New York state. No bodies found.”
Callie chimed in, her voice steady and analytical.
“We’ve been cross-referencing the details, looking for patterns, and digging deeper into their backgrounds.
So far, the common thread among the victims, at least with the towns and cities nearby, is they attended the same summer camp here in the Adirondacks. ”
Noah’s mind began to race as he absorbed the information.
The pieces of the puzzle and the past were starting to come together, but many questions remained unanswered.
Did the summer camp have anything to do with them going missing?
Or was it just a coincidence? So many young kids went to camps.
He was one of them, and in the Adirondacks, they were plentiful.
The question was, how did Jane Doe fit into this twisted web?
McKenzie continued as he squinted. “One a year. No known witnesses. No strong lead barring our Jane Doe. I figured investigators would have made a connection by now.”
“It’s possible they did but didn’t find anything,” Callie added. “Besides, these girls are from different counties. They didn’t go missing at the camp. The camp was just one thing that connected them.”
Noah turned, a determined glint in his eye. “We need to look into that. Speak with camp counselors. Anyone who can tell us who was overseeing the girls.”
McKenzie looked his way. “I’d imagine we could glean a lot from your father. He was sheriff at the time when most of these girls went missing. The only other sheriff was the one you put away and is sitting behind bars. I’m not sure he’d be open to a conversation.”
“No, but it might explain why some of these cases were brushed under the rug,” he muttered.
McKenzie agreed, a steeling resolve settling across his features. “I’m not sure we will have much luck. We don’t know who this girl is, where she came from, what happened to her, or even if she’ll regain her memory.”
“Then our work is cut out for us,” Noah said.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Noah, McKenzie, and Callie were just about to delve into the digital crazy wall, their collective minds and skills intertwining to make connections and solve the mystery that had gripped Adirondack County when a deputy stuck his head into the room.
“McKenzie. We’ve got a lead on a male whose blood might be a match for the blood that was on the girl.”
“Fantastic. Bring him in.”
“Kind of hard; he’s dead.”