Page 12 of Silent Bones

“What’s pulling you off center?”

She hesitated. “The spacing on the claw marks is unusual. Big. And the pattern of the tents, it’s just…” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “It’s probably nothing, but it’s sitting wrong.”

Noah closed the folder, tapping the edge lightly against the table. “Who is leading it right now?”

“McKenzie and Callie are still on-site. DEC’s got their people there. Addie Chambers is standing by for postmortems.” Savannah’s mouth twitched faintly. “I wanted you to see it before the bodies were moved. Photos are one thing; the crime scene is another.”

He nodded slowly, a familiar shift sliding into place, the detective part, the part that clicked over even when the rest of him wanted to stay on that lakeshore with his kids.

“Has the media gotten wind of this yet?” he asked.

Savannah gave a wry breath of laughter. “Not yet. But give it an hour.”

“And DEC?”

“They’re calling it a possible bear attack. Mayor’s office is pushing to keep it quiet, high season, big money, campers everywhere. They don’t want to scare people off unless we’re sure.”

Noah leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Any witnesses?”

“One. Potentially at least.” Savannah’s expression tightened. “Logan Forrester. Camped at another site just north.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He hasn’t. He wasn’t at his campsite but all his belongings are.”

“So maybe he’s a victim.”

“No blood. His tent is still in order. He left his stuff behind. We’ll need to track him down along with Stephen Strudwell.”

“Stephen Strudwell?”

She tapped the report. “There were five teens registered to camp, four were found dead, the fifth is missing.”

“A possible suspect?”

“Possibly, or another victim. That’s for you to find out.”

Noah filed the name away, feeling the weight of it settle alongside everything else.

Savannah nudged the folder toward him again. “I need you on this. Go to the scene. Talk to Addie. Let me know what we’re looking at.”

His hand stayed on the folder as he looked out. The town stirred to life: shop doors opening, people emerging with their morning coffee, sunlight climbing through the pines.

But in here, the air was thick, quieter.

Noah drew a slow breath, the peace of his morning already a memory, the weight of the case pulling at his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

4

The aluminum hull of the small patrol boat scraped into the rocky shallows. Noah stepped out, grabbing the dock post as the vessel rocked behind him. A thin veil of mist clung low over the lake, curling like smoke between the tree trunks lining the shore. From here, the campsite was little more than a clearing framed in pine and silence.

He followed a narrow footpath up from the dock, the soles of his boots crunching across old pine needles. The air smelled of wet moss, mud, and the sour tang of a burned-out fire. Savannah had asked him to see the site firsthand before the bodies were moved. She’d said the photos didn’t do it justice.

She wasn’t wrong.

The yellow perimeter tape fluttered gently across the brush ahead. Beyond it, the clearing unfolded in fragments: a shredded tent caved in like a collapsed lung, gear scattered across the dirt, blackened remains of a firepit at the center. Stillness hung over everything, broken only by the occasional murmur from techs cataloging evidence.