Page 18 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

Beside him, McKenzie cracked his knuckles against the doorframe. “You think Jesse’s dad could’ve done it?”

Noah’s jaw tensed. “You’re asking if a man could murder his own son.”

McKenzie shrugged, not glibly. “I’m asking if a man like that could. Theresa wasn’t just talking drama. If it’s true Jesse’s father caught them and beat the hell out of him after, and then Jesse turns up dead?—”

“Doesn’t mean Mark killed him,” Noah cut in. “But it means we have to ask questions we wouldn’t normally ask.”

“Hell of a question,” McKenzie muttered. “I’ve seen controlling dads, but that’s a different breed.”

Noah didn’t answer. His thoughts drifted back to the way Theresa’s voice broke. To what she’d said. Stephen said Jesse’s dad would never let anyone find out. Not in this town. That wasn’t just concern. That was fear.

He shifted in his seat, still feeling the stale weight of the motel coffee and no lunch. His headache hadn’t gone away since morning. It throbbed now behind his eyes. Whatever was happening in this case, it was slipping away from neat explanations.

The phone buzzed in the console cupholder.

He tapped Bluetooth. “Sutherland.”

Callie’s voice came sharp and fast. “Logan Forrester. I found him.”

McKenzie straightened in his seat. “Our missing camper? Are you serious?”

“Where?” Noah asked.

“Pines Edge Motel. Tupper Lake. Room 6. Clerk said he’s barely moved since he checked in, two days ago. Paid cash. Name’s on the registry, real name too.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not yet. Didn’t want to spook him. Figured you’d want to take this one.”

Noah glanced at McKenzie. “We’re on our way.”

He flipped the lights on and accelerated toward Tupper Lake.

The Pines Edge Motel was a place you drove by without noticing, or maybe the kind of place you pretended not to notice. A tired L-shaped strip of two-story rooms with a rusted ice machine and a dented Coke machine buzzing faintly beside the office.

A faded neon sign blinked over the main door: PINES E GE MOTEL. The “D” had burned out.

Three cars were in the lot. One was a sun-bleached Corolla with mismatched hubcaps. Noah pulled in beside it. The rain had picked up, nothing dramatic, just a thin, steady drizzle that gave everything a film of tired shine.

“Looks like a meth bust waiting to happen,” McKenzie muttered as they stepped out.

Noah half-smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

They walked under the sagging overhang to the front office. Inside, a woman in her fifties sat behind the counter in a T-shirt featuring a wolf howling at a red moon. Her name tag read SANDY. She looked up from her Sudoku book, unfazed by their arrival.

“Can I help you?” she asked, voice gravelly with smoke or boredom.

“We’re here about a guest,” Noah said. “Logan Forrester.”

Her brow rose slightly. “The kid in six?”

“That’s him.”

She sighed. “Checked in the other night. Paid cash. Looked like hell. Came out once yesterday for Funyuns and smokes. Other than that, he’s a ghost.”

“He alone?”

“Far as I know. He declined to have his room cleaned. Room reeks of old sweat and something else, but I don’t think it’s company.”

“Anyone else ask about him?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Yesterday, late afternoon. Red pickup parked two spots down. Guy didn’t get out, didn’t ask for a room. Just sat there, engine off. Gave me the creeps.”

Noah and McKenzie exchanged a glance.

“You get a plate?”

She snorted. “You think I walk around memorizing plates? I clock faces, not numbers.”

“Can you give me a description?”

“Average looking.”

“That’s it?” McKenzie asked. “I thought you clock faces?”

“I do. His was average. He was old.”

“How old? Me or him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Appreciate it,” Noah said, sliding his card across the counter. “If anything changes?—”

“I’ll call,” she said, already turning back to her puzzle.

They crossed the lot toward Room 6. The curtain was closed. Dim yellow light glowed faintly behind it. The rain had darkened the concrete, tiny rivulets running toward a clogged drain at the end of the walkway.

Noah knocked once.

No sound.

He knocked again. “Logan? It’s Investigator Sutherland. We need to speak with you.”

Another pause.

McKenzie leaned close. “You sure he’s in there?”

Noah heard movement coming from inside.

The door opened a few inches. Logan Forrester’s face appeared through the crack, unshaven, sunken-eyed, the drawstrings of his hoodie pulled so tight he looked like a kid playing ghost.

Noah flashed his badge, then softened his tone. “Can we come in?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Logan whispered. “I swear.”

“We’re not here to arrest you. We just want to talk.”

Logan glanced behind him like he expected someone to be there, then slowly opened the door wider. The air that wafted out was a mix of sweat, weed, and fast food. The room behind him looked like it hadn’t been cleaned or opened to light in days.

“You’re not in trouble,” Noah said again. “We just need to understand what happened.”

Logan nodded slowly, like each motion took effort.

“Okay,” he murmured.

Noah glanced at McKenzie again.

They stepped inside.

The room was dim and sour with the smell of damp clothes and old fear. The shades were drawn tight, a blanket draped over one for extra cover. The TV screen pulsed static, no sound, just white flicker bouncing off the walls.

Noah stepped carefully, his boot crunching on a crushed Funyuns bag.

An open pizza box lay half on the dresser, half on the floor, a single congealed slice inside.

Two Red Bull cans. A glass ashtray packed with resin and crumpled gum wrappers.

On the bed sat a stuffed black backpack, partially unzipped, clothes and what looked like a spiral notebook sticking out.

McKenzie looked in the bathroom.

Logan moved toward the edge of the bed and sat, hood still up, eyes low. He wrapped his arms around his knees like a child. His hands trembled faintly.

McKenzie remained standing, arms crossed, leaning near the door.

Noah pulled the lone chair out from the wall and sat across from him. “You’ve been here since Monday?”

Logan nodded, then glanced up quickly. “I just… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Do you know the group in the campsite near you was found dead.”

Another nod. “Yeah. I caught the news.”

“Why were you out there?”

“I had my own site. I was there to fish. My mother didn’t want me going, but I needed… I needed space. Everything was just—” His voice cracked, then faded. “I messed up school. Grad program was going nowhere. My job has been a headache.”

“Where do you work?”

“The local pizza joint in High peaks.”

“Go on.”

“So I thought a few nights in the woods might help me figure some stuff out.”

Noah watched him, calm and quiet. “You were camping alone?”

“Yes.” He rubbed the side of his face, then winced. “Not smart, I know.”

“You have a phone on you?”

“No. I ditched it. It kept buzzing, calls from my mom, from friends I ghosted, just… made everything worse.”

“Extreme.” McKenzie shifted. “So what happened that night, Logan?”

Logan swallowed. He looked toward the window as if the darkness might still hold an answer. “I heard screaming. Maybe around 1 a.m.? It scared the shit out of me. It didn’t sound like a party. It was sharp. Sudden. Like—” He flinched. “Like panic.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No. I… I stayed in my tent. At first I thought it was a bear or something, maybe someone had food out. But then I heard… I don’t know. Movement. Crashing through the brush. More than one thing. I thought maybe it was campers messing around, but it didn’t sound right.”

“You didn’t go look?” McKenzie asked.

Logan turned to him, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red.

“I was high. I smoked a joint before bed. Not meth or anything, just weed. But I was already on edge. Paranoid. I’d seen a guy earlier that day, didn’t recognize him.

He gave me… just… a weird vibe. Real quiet, real still, down near the shoreline.

He didn’t wave back. Gave me the creeps. ”

Noah leaned forward slightly. “Describe him.”

Logan blinked. “White. Baseball cap. Maybe late fifties? Long beard, gray. Wore a poncho or something that looked like military surplus. I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, just stared. Then walked into the woods. That was hours before the noise. Maybe around nine. I figured he was just a hiker.”

McKenzie scribbled something in his notepad.

Noah asked, “So after you heard the screams… what did you do?”

“I panicked. I waited a few minutes, then packed what I could grab and left everything else.”

“We saw you didn’t take your hiking boots.”

“I just ran.”

“In what?”

“Sneakers,” he said pointing to them.

“To where?”

“Bushwhacked to Route 3, flagged a truck, got a ride to Tupper Lake. Told the guy I’d been in a fight with a friend. Paid cash here. Been holed up since. Smoking joints. Watching the news. Waiting for someone to come knocking.”

“And you didn’t reach out to anyone? Call your mom?”

“No. I couldn’t. Not after everything. I thought if I went home, I’d be arrested. Or worse, my mom would think I was involved.”

McKenzie stepped forward. “And you weren’t?”

“No!” Logan said, the word bursting out of him. “Jesus. No. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t even see anyone. I just… I just ran.”

Noah studied him. The kid was unraveling in real-time, shame, fear, confusion all spinning out in his posture, his breath.

“Why here?” Noah asked quietly. “Why this motel?”

“I stayed here once. A year ago. Cheap. No cameras. No questions. Just cash. I just needed… to disappear for a couple of days to get my head right.”

“You said you left your gear behind?”

“Yeah. Tent, sleeping bag, stove, even my phone charger. I was too freaked out to go back.”

“Did you see anything?”

Logan nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe flashlights. I thought maybe the rangers were already responding to the screams or something.”

“Do you think that man you saw earlier could’ve had anything to do with it?”

“I don’t know. He just… he gave me a bad feeling. Like he was watching more than he should. But I figured he was staying at another campsite. The sites are spread out along the water. It’s not uncommon to see others.”

“Were you taking any meth that night?”

“No. I don’t touch that. Just weed.”

The room fell quiet. The static on the TV flickered like an old ghost behind them.

“Are you going to take me in?”

Noah stood. “You’re not under arrest. And you’re not being charged.”

Logan blinked. “Then… I can go?”

“No. You’re not going anywhere. You’re the only witness we have in an active investigation. You’ll stay in town. Here at the motel. A deputy will be parked out front. Understood?”

Logan nodded.

McKenzie added, “We’ll need your clothes. Bag. Everything from the trip.”

Logan looked like he wanted to protest, but slumped back against the wall instead and went about collecting clothes he wore that night. He’d had a friend bring some fresh clothes by.

Noah turned to leave, then paused. “Is there anything else? Anything you remember, no matter how small?”

Logan stared at the carpet, then whispered, “It sounded like more than just people screaming. It sounded… like something big. Something angry.”

Noah’s gaze held him. “What do you mean? Something… human?”

Logan didn’t answer but a shake of his head implied something else.

Back outside, the night air had gone colder, damp with oncoming rain. The hum of the old motel sign buzzed behind them, flickering over cracked gravel. Somewhere near the vending machine, a moth battered itself against the fluorescent glow, frantic and aimless.

Noah paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching the light from Logan’s room spill weakly through the drawn curtain. A shadow moved. Logan pacing.

“You buy his story?” McKenzie asked, voice low, arms crossed over his chest.

Noah exhaled slowly. “I buy that he’s scared. That he heard something.”

McKenzie frowned. “But what the hell did he hear? You think he saw the killer?”

“I don’t think he knows what he saw. The weed probably didn’t help.”

McKenzie’s voice tightened. “We’re chasing shadows, Noah. First Theresa points at Jesse’s father, now we know Stephen’s a victim, not a perp. Now Logan’s painting bearded drifters in the woods and growling sounds in the dark? Fuck, I have no idea what to believe.”

“He’s not the first to mention a strange presence out there.” Noah looked toward the road, where distant headlights flared and faded.

They started walking back toward the SUV, boots crunching in the wet gravel. Thunder rumbled low, barely more than a groan in the mountains.

“If someone is tying up loose ends, we should keep eyes on him,” McKenzie said.

Noah nodded. “We’ll have Callie check in with him. And put a patrol on the place.”

At the vehicle, McKenzie paused, hand on the door. “I wonder if Jesse’s father could’ve done it?”

The question stopped Noah cold.

Mark Linwood.

The man who was accused of reacting to Stephen and Jesse.

The man with a temper and reputation for control.

The one who might’ve seen his son’s sexuality, or secrets, as threats to his reputation.

Noah considered what Theresa had said. That Stephen was scared.

That Jesse had been hit. That someone was willing to go to extremes to silence the past.

McKenzie clicked his fingers. “Noah, you with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Could he kill his own son?” McKenzie pressed.

Noah opened his door slowly. “Some men don’t see family when they look at their sons. They see a reflection. They see shame. Or something they want to erase.”

“You think that’s motive?”

“I think it’s enough to question him.”

Noah settled behind the wheel, silence growing between them. The wipers dragged once across the windshield, dry and squeaky. A gust of wind stirred the edge of the parking lot. Before he could start the engine, he glanced in the side mirror.

A red sedan sat at the far end of the lot. Dark inside. No headlights. Too clean for this place.

“You see that?” he asked.

McKenzie turned. “Which one?”

“Far end. Red Toyota.”

McKenzie squinted. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Could be nothing. Could be someone keeping tabs.”

McKenzie pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the license plate, then leaned back. “Want me to call it in?”

“No,” Noah said. “Let’s not spook them yet. We’ll run it later.”

He eased the car into reverse, then pulled slowly onto the road. Logan’s motel room shrank behind them in the mirror, just one more anonymous square of light in a row of decaying secrets.

His phone buzzed.

It was Callie.

A text came in: “Mack’s cabin is as clean as a whistle. Either he knew we were coming, has nothing to hide, or he got help.”