Page 5 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)

“I knew this one,” he replied, pointing to the scrawled letters. “Payton Scott.”

“Knew her… as in personally?”

He was riveted, his eyes moving up to the girl’s face, it was pale and still.

What was her connection? Why were all these names all over her body?

“Yeah. She was a childhood friend of mine. I was there the day she went missing.” His head dipped as a rush of painful memories hit him, that fateful day, the police, the press, the endless questions, the onslaught of national attention, suspects, and eventually it fading into obscurity, only known as an open cold case.

Noah glanced at Savannah. “You pulled my file, didn’t you?”

“Part of my job.”

“Then why ask if I knew her?”

“I wanted to see how you reacted. To see if it would be a problem.”

“What if it was?”

“Then I could put someone else on this but… I kind of get the feeling you’d want to handle it.”

Savannah knew him all too well.

As they were exiting the room, questions pervaded his mind.

They headed down to a waiting area where they were able to get a coffee and something to eat. “She doesn’t recollect anything?”

“At least not when asked. That may change moving forward but it’s early right now.”

“You don’t believe she’s a runaway?”

“I can’t say she is or she isn’t. But how many runaways would carve into their skin the names of missing girls? And are we expected to believe she bound her wrists?”

“Then why allow them to run with that theory?”

“Because we need to be careful what information is leaked to the media. We don’t know who is responsible. That’s your job. Find out who she is, why she was in Westport on the train tracks, and how she came to have all those names over her body.”

“She’s just a child. No older than—”

“Mia. Yes. I know. By the way, how is she?”

Noah sighed before taking a sip of coffee and sitting down on one of the many chairs dotted around tables in the room.

It was a cafeteria. A few visitors sat eating, others on phones.

Tension could be felt in the room. The unknown.

The same desire of wanting to be anywhere but there.

“A handful. Let’s put it that way. I have a new appreciation for what Lena had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. ”

“Those teenage years can be rough.”

“You don’t have kids.”

“But I was a teenager… as were you.” She smiled. “Listen, I’ve been in contact with a child psychologist — Dr. Athena Blake. She’s one of the best in the area. Because of the traumatic event, we’re hoping she may be able to assist and provide her expertise.”

“When does she arrive?”

“Tomorrow. She’s out of the county on vacation.

In the meantime, see what you can dig up on those names.

Check on missing girls in the area, and speak to the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office as they were the ones that took Don Hammond’s statement.

He and a colleague found her. He works for the railroad over in Westport.

Maybe he remembers something else. And Noah…

we need to find out whose blood was on her. ”

Savannah’s phone rang, and she answered it. “Yes. All right. I’m on my way.” She hung up. “I’ve got to go. If you need anything, call me.”

“Got it.”

Noah turned back to the waiting room, mentally drained from the day, pondering what this could mean to a case that had haunted him for years.

He returned to the unassuming vending machine for a second cup of coffee, its glowing buttons beckoning him, promising a momentary escape from the weight of the task before him.

There were days when it was too heavy to carry.

With a sigh, Noah inserted a few coins and listened as the machine hummed to life, delivering another steaming cup of sludge into his waiting hands.

The sterile environment around him buzzed with a cacophony of distant voices, beeping machines, and those seeking answers to problems. It was a stark contrast to the turbulence in his mind.

He collected the drink, allowing the aroma to waft toward him and awaken his senses in the late hour. He rarely consumed caffeine after 2 p.m. unless he was on a night shift but with all that had happened, it gave him a fleeting moment of comfort amidst the turmoil.

Planning on waiting around until he could speak with the girl, Noah took a sip of his drink and reached into his pocket to retrieve his smartphone.

With a few swipes and taps on the screen, he navigated to a long-forgotten slew of articles buried within the labyrinth of the internet.

It was the case of Payton Scott, a friend of his who had vanished without a trace roughly twenty-five years ago.

The mystery had consumed his thoughts and haunted him for a quarter of a century.

As the screen displayed her name in stark letters, memories of that night and the days after flooded back with a vengeance.

He remembered police from multiple agencies descending upon Adirondack County, the questioning, and a massive search.

Noah recalled the desperate pleas from Payton’s anguished parents, the theories, the chatter that circled the town, and the dead ends that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Although he was too young to assist back then, as he drank the coffee, he could only imagine the bitter taste of failure that investigators felt.

All these years later, he could still feel the weight of the unresolved questions pressing down on him, the what-ifs, and the helplessness of an entire community.

Payton’s face, frozen in time from a missing poster, stared back at him on the screen, her eyes filled with innocence and the untapped potential of a life cut short.

Suppressed emotion surged through Noah like an electrical current.

Regret, frustration, and an unyielding determination intertwined, fueling his resolve to unravel the mystery and get answers for her family.

As he leaned against a window and browsed old articles, the hospital corridor faded into the background.

He was transported back to the past, the present evaporating as he delved into the depth of his memories.

Time passed fast as he took the final gulp of what was now cold coffee.

His mind was consumed by the case that had shaped his career and haunted his soul. Noah glanced up, noticing the doctor who had spoken to them earlier in conversation with several nurses.

“Hey, uh, doc,” he said, tossing his cup into a trash can as he eagerly made his way over. “Is Jane Doe available to speak to?”

“Afraid not. She’s had to be heavily sedated. I’d recommend coming back tomorrow.”

He thanked him and headed out into the cold night, wondering what answers this girl held to the past.