Page 8 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

T he Adirondack Medical Center looked normal enough at night.

From the outside, it was all sterile concrete and glass, unassuming, even forgettable.

But Noah had always thought there was something off about hospitals in the morning.

The way the sunlight didn’t quite make it past the windows.

Like the building had no interest in pretending things got better here.

He parked close to the entrance, flashed his badge at security on the way in, and rode the elevator with McKenzie in silence. The descent to the basement brought with it a familiar shift of colder air, artificial light, and a faint hum he always heard more in his jaw than in his ears.

McKenzie sniffed and made a face. “I swear this place has its own brand of formaldehyde. Eau de corpse.”

Noah didn’t answer.

They stepped out into the hallway. Tile floors. Fluorescents overhead. Walls the color of wet gauze. The scent of bleach and ghosts hit like a slap, aggressive, clinging. Noah adjusted his coat without thinking. Always the same down here: cold, too quiet, too clean in all the wrong ways.

“You ever get used to this part?” McKenzie asked, rubbing his arms. “I feel like I’m walking into a morgue.”

“We are,” Noah said, pressing the buzzer by the steel door.

There was a delay. Then a loud click, and the door groaned open.

“Showtime,” McKenzie muttered.

Inside, Dr. Adelaide Chambers was already mid-stride.

She emerged from a side room juggling a tablet and snapping on a pair of gloves with expert indifference.

A takeout coffee cup sat behind her on a metal tray, likely hours old but still half-full.

Her lab coat sleeves were pushed up, revealing a faded wrist tattoo and two mismatched bracelets that clicked as she moved.

Her hair, once pink and rebellious, was now a deep auburn pixie shag, sculpted chaos that looked like it had fought a losing battle with a comb.

Tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose, giving her a sharper, more professorial edge, though nothing about her posture said she took herself too seriously.

“Well, look what the department dragged in,” she said, glancing at Noah and then narrowing her eyes at McKenzie. “You still chasing serial killers or just here to get my number again?”

McKenzie smirked. “You already gave me your number. I just keep misplacing it.”

Addie arched a brow. “Mm. Probably between your burner phone and your cholesterol meds.”

Noah cleared his throat. “We appreciate you making time, Addie.”

“For you? Always,” she said, waving them in. “Bodies are prepped.”

The room they entered was stainless steel and shadows. Wall coolers lined the back like lockers from another life. Everything hummed, machines, lights, even the tiles beneath their feet. A rolling table stood in the center, spotless except for a clipboard and a sealed evidence bag.

Addie pulled open one of the drawers and slid it out with the grace of routine. The steel tray groaned slightly before it locked into place.

“I miss when these tours came with coffee and donuts,” McKenzie said under his breath.

Addie ignored him. She peeled back the white sheet, exposing the top half of a young female’s body. Shoulders too narrow. Arms curled inwards, stiff with rigor mortis. Bruising along the collarbone, dirt caked under what was left of her fingernails.

Noah inhaled through his nose. Steady. Clinical. But something in his posture shifted, a barely perceptible bracing, like he was leaning into a wind that hadn’t arrived yet.

Addie moved to the foot of the table and turned her tablet to face them.

“This one’s Rachel Ames,” she said. “Seventeen. Pulled from the tent near the firepit. Preliminary cause of death is blunt force trauma, upper thoracic crush, consistent with repeated high-impact blows. Multiple ribs fractured inward.”

Noah nodded. “What about the tearing?”

Addie tapped the screen and flicked to the next image. “Postmortem. Not precise. Some of the tissue suggests frenzied movement after death… clawing, pulling, not cutting. Like something kept going after she was already gone.”

McKenzie’s face darkened. “In alignment with what an animal might do?”

“Possibly,” Addie said, but her voice had a question mark in it. “But not your usual pattern. I’ve seen black bear maulings, this isn’t that. No clear arc paths, no defensive tearing. This was wild, yes. But not instinctual. It feels… directed.”

Noah looked down at Rachel again. Her face was turned to one side. Peaceful, in a way that made the rest of her injuries seem impossible.

Addie stepped back. “Two of the victims, Harper Lane and Jesse Linwood, had mud caked on their feet and calves. No shoes. No socks. They ran but didn’t get far.”

“So they saw their attacker,” Noah said.

“Seems so. The others were caught off-guard. Still in their sleeping bags.”

She flicked to another photo on the tablet. “Brandon Kent’s injuries are less defined. Same blunt force, but no tearing. But the bruising suggests restraint. Possibly hit from behind.”

McKenzie frowned. “Ambush?”

“Or surprise.”

The hum of the refrigeration unit pulsed louder in the pause that followed.

McKenzie glanced down at the covered body. “This doesn’t feel like a Friday night gone wrong.”

“No,” Addie said. “It doesn’t.”

She turned the tablet toward Noah again and brought up a final image, a set of deep lacerations on one victim’s back. “These are… odd. They resemble animal claws, but the spacing is off. Too uniform.”

“Could it be a tool?”

“Maybe. But even then, it would’ve taken serious strength to get this deep through muscle and bone. Whatever did this was strong. Unnaturally so.”

Noah felt a cold settle in the center of his chest. A weight that had nothing to do with temperature.

“Gut instinct?” he asked.

Addie hesitated. Just for a second. Then her voice softened. “I’m not saying it was animal. I’m saying I’ve never seen wounds quite like this.” She looked between them, eyes darker now. “And I’ve seen a lot.”

Noah waited until Addie had covered the body again before reaching into his coat pocket.

He pulled out the small evidence bag, a ziplock with a few wisps of dirty, dark fur. The kind you’d almost miss if you weren’t looking. But once you saw it, it didn’t look like it belonged.

“I found this at the scene,” he said. “Caught on tree bark near the lake. Thought you might take a look.”

Addie took the bag, holding it up to the light. The strands clung to the plastic like static. Her nose wrinkled slightly.

“Could be animal,” she murmured. “Might be synthetic. Hard to tell with just the eye.”

She set it down on a metal tray beside the roller. “Here’s the deal. I can run a basic microscopy test, maybe get a broad classification like canine, feline, ursid. But if you want anything conclusive, I’ve got to send it to Albany or Syracuse.”

Noah nodded. “How long?”

“Three days if I beg. A week if they’re backed up. And with Labor Day chaos? It will probably be longer.” She looked over her glasses. “Unless it’s a golden retriever in a parka, we’re going to need a specialist. If you know one, you might have better luck getting them to take a look at it.”

Noah reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second bag, this one sealed, labeled, and holding a small plastic pouch with a white powder residue.

“Found this tucked under a patch of moss. Ziplock, mostly empty, but there was enough to test.”

He passed it to her.

Addie glanced at the label, then raised an eyebrow. “So you ran a presumptive?”

“Field test came back inconsistent, but G-series leans toward meth. I want to know if they had any of it in their system and specifically what else is in it.”

She moved to a smaller metal station along the wall and added it to a plastic tray already half-filled with vials, swabs, and tissue samples. She entered the case number into her tablet. “I’ll run a full tox panel on the kids, see what shows up,” she said. “But you know, Noah, it’ll take time.”

“Any guesses?” McKenzie asked. “Would meth make someone… do something like this?” He gestured vaguely toward the table.

Addie tapped the screen, her fingers suddenly more fidgety.

“Meth can cause aggression, paranoia, overheating, even hallucinations in high doses. But it doesn’t give you the strength to crush rib cages.

And it sure as hell doesn’t tear open flesh postmortem like that.

” She paused. “Unless there were others at that campsite using. Someone we haven’t accounted for. ”

Noah stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the tray.

Addie moved back to her main screen. “Here’s another thing.

I didn’t mention it earlier, but” — she flicked to a close-up image of another victim — “two of the bodies have bruising across the back of the shoulders and triceps. Pattern suggests they were hit while running away. Not defensive wounds. Impact from behind. Heavy.”

McKenzie leaned in. “So, they were chased.”

“Maybe. Or blindsided. No sign of hesitation injuries. No raised arms, no fight posture. They weren’t defending themselves, they were just trying to move.”

Addie shifted again. Her tone softened just a notch. “And Rachel, the one we looked at first, she had something under her fingernails. Not dirt. Not consistent with self-scratching.”

Noah straightened. “Skin?”

“Could be,” Addie said. “Could be her own. Could be someone else’s. I sent the sample for DNA analysis, but I doubt I’ll get results for at least a week. Maybe longer.”

“But it might narrow it down,” Noah said. “Or give us a match if we find another suspect.”

“Exactly.”

The hum of the lab settled again, ambient and hollow. Addie’s fingers hovered over the tablet like she didn’t want to tap it yet. Like the next image or data point might tip her into a place she didn’t want to go.

She finally looked up. “Here’s what I can tell you. All four victims suffered from massive trauma. Skull fractures. Rib breaks. One had their spine compressed from a downward blow. None of this was surgical or strategic. It was chaos. Total panic. A frenzy.”

Noah spoke quietly. “Anything ritualistic?”

Addie shook her head. “No signs of that. No carvings. No symbols. Just raw violence.”

Noah stepped back slightly, eyes on the cooler wall. “So we’re looking at what, rage? Revenge?”

“Could be,” Addie said. “But if that’s the case, then someone out there either lost control… or knew exactly how to make it look like an animal did it.”

McKenzie crossed his arms. “You mentioned tearing by claws. Could those be manmade?”

Addie nodded slowly. “Possible. But the depth of the wounds… it’s hard to explain. It’s either someone wielding something heavy, like a weighted claw, or…”

She trailed off.

“Or?” Noah prompted.

She met his eyes. “Or someone with enough strength to do this barehanded. Which isn’t likely unless they are a grizzly bear or…” She didn’t go any further.

The three of them stood in silence for a few beats. The cooling system clicked on in the background, breaking the stillness with a low mechanical hiss.

Noah looked down at the fur bag again.

“This doesn’t feel like a clean kill,” he said. “It feels like a message. Or a cover-up. Or both.”

Addie pressed her lips together. “That’s my guess. I’ve done a lot of backwoods cases, Noah. Bar fights, cougar hunting accidents, even a bear mauling once. But this—” she gestured around the lab, “this isn’t any of those.”

She removed her gloves, tossed them into the bin, and leaned a hip against the steel counter. “I’ll get you what I can,” she said. “But I’ll be honest… I don’t like the way this one’s shaping up.”

She gave him a longer look now. A weight behind her tone. “You look like you already know that.”

Noah didn’t answer.

McKenzie did. “I knew this smelled funny the second you said campground.”

They exited the room a few minutes later, fur and meth logged into evidence, bodies returned to their sterile cells. The buzz of the door behind them felt louder than when they came in, like something had closed, and they weren’t sure what.

As they stepped into the stairwell, Noah said, mostly to himself, “We’re missing something.”

McKenzie adjusted his coat. “Yup. The part where this makes any damn sense.”