Page 12 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)

A bone-chilling cold seeped into their bones as Noah and the team closed in on the secluded farm in a rural part of the Adirondacks. The air was thick with the anticipation of an impending storm, with delicate flakes dancing and twirling, painting the landscape in a pristine white blanket.

Noah lowered the volume dial of the radio after listening to another weather warning. They’d told people to make sure they had enough food and water for three days.

“You know, I saw folks lining up for generators yesterday, a couple even fighting over the last one. I mean, it’s the epitome of stupid to wait until the last minute to get one, but folks don’t learn,” McKenzie said, shaking his head and riding shotgun while Noah drove.

Callie was following in a cruiser close behind.

Rivera had given her a lot of slack, allowing her to assist after hearing how useful she’d been in the previous two cases.

However, there was one caveat. If push came to shove and a call came in, and she was close, she had to attend to that first.

“When will you give me the rundown on this Payton girl?” McKenzie asked.

“I would have figured you would have devoured the articles by now.”

“That’s what my secretary is for.”

“Your what?”

“Secretary.”

“You don’t have one.”

“I do now. Thorne,” he muttered.

Noah shook his head. “Rivera said you’ve taken her under your wing.”

“I have, and I’m squeezing the opportunity for all it’s worth.”

“McKenzie.”

“Ah, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m pulling your leg. That damn girl wouldn’t let me boss her around even if I tried.”

“Good. So you haven’t.”

“Oh no, I have,” he quipped before chuckling. “Not that it did me much good.”

Noah smiled, finding the dynamics between the two amusing.

Gravel and snow crunched beneath the tires as they veered into the long driveway off Decker Road.

The sky, a canvas of leaden gray, hung low over the rugged terrain, casting a shadow over the farmstead behind which the crime scene awaited.

The old, weathered barn stood defiantly against the elements, its wooden beams bowing from the weight of snow over the years.

The fields on either side, once teeming with life, now lay barren and dormant, covered in a glistening layer of white.

The majestic Bouquet River bordered the area, its tranquil waters snaking silently beneath a nearby bridge that arched over its surface.

As he eased off the gas, a chaotic scene unfolded before them.

Adirondack Sheriff’s Office deputies and patrol cruisers were dotted throughout the area.

Their flashing lights cast an ominous glow.

Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the perimeter, marking the boundaries of the investigation.

Curious neighbors, drawn by the commotion, peered from a distance, their expressions a mix of concern and intrigue.

Amidst the flurry of activity, a striking figure caught Noah’s attention.

His long-time friend Alicia Michaels, a game warden known for her expertise, stood engaged in conversation with deputies.

As a full-fledged peace officer who worked with various agencies, it wasn’t unusual for Alicia to be the first on the scene in remote areas like this.

Still, Noah’s surprise at seeing her again was palpable.

They hadn’t spoken in months, ever since he’d shown an interest in buying her property near Ed and finding out that she was dating someone else.

Once, they’d shared more than just a professional connection; time and circumstances had driven them apart.

Now, this unexpected encounter provided an opportunity to catch up, albeit during a grim investigation.

As they exited the Bronco, they were joined by Callie, who trudged through the cold toward them, her breath forming an icy cloud in the air.

He couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unforgiving surroundings.

It was where nature dictated the rules, where survival meant adapting to the harshest conditions.

And against this wintry backdrop, they were determined to unravel what lay ahead, no matter how hard the weather conspired against them.

Outfitted in her green uniform, Alicia glanced over her shoulder as a deputy motioned with a nod. Noah greeted her with a small smile. “Alicia. It’s been a while. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her dark eyes met his with a hint of nostalgia.

She almost looked a little uncomfortable, if her expression was anything to go on.

“Noah. Good to see you.” She smiled at McKenzie and Thorne.

“Yeah, I was just checking licenses up in the area and heard the call come in. I figured I would handle it. The deputies here were telling me about the girl. It seems like you’ve got quite the situation on your hands. ”

“You could say that. So, what’s the situation?” he asked.

“The farm is owned by Timothy Miller and his wife, Josephine. Both are retired. They have the grandkids with them for the week while their daughter is vacationing in Florida.”

“Nice for some,” McKenzie barked, shivering and tucking his hands into his jacket.

“Anyway, their grandkids found the deceased male. It seems the body got caught up on rocks, just over there,” she said, turning and pointing toward the southern part of the property that backed onto the Bouquet River.

Alicia fell in step as they approached the area behind the farm.

As they made their way toward the crime scene, it was hard not to be captivated by the sheer beauty and desolation intertwined in that remote corner of the county.

It was a place of breathtaking landscapes and hidden dangers, where secrets were whispered among the trees, and the river carried solace and sorrow.

Daylight struggled to penetrate the snowfall, giving the surroundings an ethereal quality. The crunching sound of their footsteps was only broken by the occasional gust of wind.

The local coroner, Oscar Westborough, otherwise known as Ozzy, an eccentric individual known for his unorthodox methods, was already there, diligently documenting the scene.

Decked out in a leather jacket, tight blue jeans, and Doc Martens, he had donned his usual in-ear headphones, which no doubt were obliterating his ears with Black Sabbath or some metal band.

He looked up from a crouched position, his eyebrow raising as they approached.

“Well, well, look at this: the three amigos and my delicious game warden. Between the four of you, we should have this one in the bag by the end of the day,” he said with a chuckle.

Noah smirked, expecting nothing less than Ozzy’s peculiar persona.

He removed his earbuds, pocketing them as he rose.

“And I see they’re still calling you out.”

“Not much choice. The three other coroners have all but gone AWOL. I swear they should pay me more, but what can you do, small-town politics and whatever.”

“New tattoo, Ozzy?” Callie asked, gesturing to his exposed forearm.

“Oh, yeah, got this one last week. Not bad, huh?”

They looked at it, trying hard not to laugh—the words “No Regrets” were spelled No Regerts.

“Yeah, I bet you have no regrets over that one,” McKenzie said, stifling a laugh.

Ozzy offered back a puzzled expression. Noah was quick to move things along.

“So, what can you tell us about the body?” Noah asked.

Ozzy adjusted his round spectacles on the bridge of his nose and motioned toward the deceased, who was still in the same position, washed up on the rocks. “Victim is male, late forties, knife wounds to the body, no wallet or ID. However, it’s a peculiar one.”

“How so? Looks clear to me,” McKenzie said. “Throat slashed. Multiple stab wounds.”

“Sure, the cause of death is obvious, but I’m saying he wasn’t murdered here.”

“How can you tell?”

“Rigor mortis in an unusual position with limbs raised, and a bloodstain on the face and neck that is defying gravity.”

“In English?” McKenzie barked.

“Rigor mortis assists us in estimating the time of death and whether or not he was moved after death based on the body’s position.

There is a lack of decomposition; he’s on his back with limbs raised in the air, indicating his body became rigid elsewhere.

You see how his face is tilted to the right; the blood is to the left.

Rigor mortis occurs after death in whatever position the body was in when it started to set in.

In other words, it appears our victim was bundled into a bag after being murdered, probably to transport the body for disposal, then rigor mortis set in.

The direction of the dried blood should have been toward the right side due to its position, but instead, it’s to the left.

This means the dead body was in a different position to how it’s been found now. ”

“But the river could have done that,” Callie said.

“The blood is dry. I mean not entirely dry, but it was there long enough that the river didn’t have a chance to wash it clean.

The onset of rigor mortis varies based on temperature and conditions.

It usually starts two to four hours after death, takes twelve to develop, persists for another twelve hours, and then takes about twelve hours more to pass.

So, within thirty-six, it’s gone. I estimate that the deceased reached this spot within two to six hours after death, and death occurred about six to twelve hours ago.

Look, I’m just the coroner; this is my preliminary analysis.

Of course, I will be putting in for a full forensic report through the medical examiner — Dr. Adelaide Chambers. ”

Noah got closer and dropped to a crouch. “So, you don’t think he was in the water long?”

“No.”