Page 23 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)
T he snow was relentless, casting a serene white blanket over the landscape.
As they made their way through the wintry weather, Noah hoped, no prayed, that this would be the lead that would yield some answers.
All Week Plumbing was located in a small warehouse on Fox Run Road.
It stood out at the end of a gravel driveway, surrounded by tall, shouldered pines with a fresh layer of snow.
The building was a modest single-story structure made of weathered wood panels, with a sloping roof to shed the snow. The paint on the exterior had faded over time, giving it a rusty and worn appearance.
As they approached, they noticed a couple of plumbing trucks parked outside. The vehicles matched the one they’d seen in the video footage captured by a door camera during canvassing. The snow had settled on the vans’ windshields, but the company logo, All Week Plumbing, was visible on the sides .
Noah parked the Bronco.
As they were taking a closer look at the vans in question, a tall man dressed in blue overalls emerged from the warehouse. His hands were smeared with grease, and he appeared somewhat nervous. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice hinting at apprehension. Noah promptly flashed his badge.
“You the owner?”
The plumber shifted uneasily on the balls of his feet while thumbing over his shoulder. “No, that would be Harry Bromide. He’s inside,” he answered, leading them through a doorway into the warehouse.
The air inside was heavy with a scent of metal and dampness, mixed with the faint aroma of chemicals used for plumbing repairs.
The warehouse was well-organized, with shelves neatly stacked with pipes, fittings, and other plumbing supplies.
Tools hung from pegboards on the walls, and workbenches were scattered across the space, showcasing disassembled faucets and plumbing equipment.
The sound of humming machinery and the occasional clatter of metal tools could be heard, creating a bustling atmosphere.
Noah glanced at shelving jam-packed with spare parts and crates of plumbing fixtures, arranged methodically, awaiting their deployment to upcoming jobs.
The dim lighting, provided by a few flickering fluorescent tubes, cast elongated shadows across the workspace.
“Harry! Hey, Harry!” the plumber called out as they entered a larger area.
“We got visitors,” he announced before pointing Noah toward the owner.
Harry, a man in his late fifties with a bald head, met them halfway, wiping his hands on a stained rag.
Despite his age, he maintained a sturdy build and no-nonsense expression.
Grease stains adorned his hands from years of service that no amount of soap could wash clean.
He wore faded blue jeans and scuffed work boots .
Noah flashed his badge once again. “State Investigator Noah Sutherland and this is Deputy Thorne from the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office. We have some questions for you,” he stated, his tone professional.
Harry looked back at them through suspicious eyes, clearly wondering about the nature of their visit.
“Look, if it’s about my son Patrick missing the appointment with his probation officer, his truck broke down.
I couldn’t spare one of our guys to help him out there,” he explained, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Noah glanced at Callie before replying, finding his response interesting. “It’s not about that. So, your son has a record?”
Harry nodded, his expression a mix of disappointment and embarrassment. “Shoplifting. Multiple offenses. He did a year inside. He made some bad decisions. But I’ve got him working for me,” he admitted, with both concern and pride in his voice.
Noah nodded, acknowledging his statement. “Is he around?” he asked, scanning the warehouse with a curious gaze, taking in the sight of equipment and supplies.
Harry shook his head. “No, he’s out on a job,” he replied. It was clear he was worried.
As Noah’s gaze wandered, he noticed rows of wrenches and other tools and a whiteboard displaying a schedule of upcoming jobs.
It seemed like a typical setup for a plumbing company, organized and well-equipped.
A young lady was sitting at a desk in a separate office, tapping away at keys but observing them keenly.
“How many vehicles does your company have?” Noah inquired.
Harry looked a bit confused by the question but still provided the answer. “Six. Why?” His brow furrowed slightly.
Noah paused before responding. “Did you respond to a job near the hospital last night, around 8 p.m.?” His words hung in the air, creating a moment of anticipation .
Before Harry could answer, Callie confirmed the location by adding, “Off Evans Street or nearby?”
Harry took a deep breath, his demeanor shifting.
“No,” he replied firmly, his eyes meeting Noah’s gaze.
“We don’t get many calls after six because folks know that we charge more.
And if I do get one, you can be damned sure it’s logged, and I check the books every morning.
So no, there was no call at that time over there,” he explained, his voice laced with frustration.
“Perhaps in a different area of town?” Noah asked, wondering if one of them had attended a call and swung by the hospital.
“No.”
Noah took a few steps forward, his gaze still fixed on Harry. “Not to sound accusing, but… you wouldn’t cover for your son, would you, Mr. Bromide?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
Harry laughed, but it was short-lived. He tossed a rag over his shoulder.
“When I found out my son had shoplifted, I marched him down the police station myself to return what he’d stolen.
He did time because of me,” he replied, his voice firm and resolute.
“And you can fact-check that. So no, I wouldn’t cover for him.
Anyway, why are you asking?” he inquired, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.
Noah shifted his weight from one foot to the other, maintaining an unwavering gaze. “That’s good to know. So, no calls, no vans, no emergencies last night?” he reiterated, searching for any inconsistencies in Harry’s response.
Harry’s frustration billowed over as he responded. “Like I said, no. Now, can you tell me why this concerns us?” He sat at an oily wooden table, grabbing a pack of Marlboro Lights and tapping one out with a practiced motion.
Noah’s expression remained serious as he leaned forward slightly. “We’re looking into an attempted abduction,” he stated, watching Harry’s reaction closely.
Harry raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched across his face. “Abduction? The last I heard, we’re in the plumbing business, detective, not kidnapping,” he said, his chuckle fading as he realized the gravity of the situation. Noah’s seriousness was evident.
Callie pulled out her phone and displayed an image of the van they had seen in the video. Harry’s eyes widened, studying the image intently. “Huh,” he murmured, his brow creasing. “Well, that certainly looks like one of ours, but it can’t be because….” Harry began, but Noah interrupted him.
“You had no calls last night,” Noah stated firmly.
Harry jabbed his cigarette toward him. “Bingo! Now had you gotten a license plate, maybe I could have helped narrow it down. However, perhaps one of the guys nipped out to the convenience store last night,” he suggested.
Noah frowned, sensing that Harry might be holding something back. “What do you mean?” he probed, determined to get more.
Harry took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and sipped coffee from a mug.
“Well, they take the trucks home. As I said, I know their schedules. If they want to get started first thing in the morning without coming here, they bring the trucks home with them. I like my guys to be efficient in time management, if you get my drift. The sooner they finish their work, the sooner they can go home. We only book so many calls daily,” he explained, his gaze fixed on them both.
Noah narrowed his eyes, a hint of skepticism still lingering. “I imagine you log your miles for tax write-offs?” he inquired, testing his response.
Harry chuckled lightly. “I would if those were leased. I own them. So no, I don’t,” he replied. “Besides, I always found that was just a headache. Keeping track of receipts and whatnot.”
“And yet you keep track of their schedules.”
Harry turned and tapped the board. “Pretty simple. Darcy logs it into the computer and then writes it on the board. That way, the guys know, and so does the IRS.” He made a point to clarify that he was running an above-board operation. He took another drag on his cigarette.
Noah pressed on, his tone steady. “What about using GPS to track their movements?” he asked, hoping for any potential leads.
Harry shook his head. “No need for it. Our calls are within the county, and I only hire local guys who know the area like the back of their hands,” he affirmed, a touch of pride evident in his tone. “And even if I chose to, what they do in their downtime is up to them.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And you trust they are where they say they are at all times?” he questioned, gauging Harry’s reaction.
Harry rose from his chair with a mask of annoyance, his posture becoming defensive. “Detective, I don’t employ bums, and I sure as hell am smart enough to run a solid background check on every employee,” he retorted.
Noah couldn’t resist adding a final comment. “Except on your son, whose background you already know,” he stated pointedly, reminding Harry of the discrepancy in his trust.
That was the final straw.
Harry’s gaze bounced between them, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Unless there is something else I can help you with, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m a busy man,” he replied curtly, hinting at the end of the conversation.
Callie swiftly intervened, her voice soothing the tension. “ Thank you for your time, Mr. Bromide,” she said, attempting to maintain a polite and professional manner.