Page 122 of Silent Bones

"He wanted out?"

"Wanted out, wanted to talk to police, wanted to clear his conscience." Mack's voice turned bitter. "Kid was young, dumb, and had become a liability. Couldn't have him running his mouth about what he'd seen."

Noah leaned forward. "So you hanged him in that motel room."

"Made it look like suicide. Guilt over those teens dying, or whatever story people wanted to believe."

“So you entered through the rear window?”

“Had to, you’d posted a cop out front.”

McKenzie stepped away from the wall. "What about the smuggling route? How extensive is this network?"

Mack's eyes lit up with something that might have been pride. "It’s wide. It's like veins across this state, Detective. You think this is just some local operation?"

"Tell me about it."

"I start at my dock near the silver Airstream, southwest end of Middle Saranac Lake. That's my staging area, hidden from the trails, just off Coreys Road. Perfect spot to prep product and coordinate drops."

Noah opened his folder and pulled out a map of the region. "Show me."

Mack traced a finger across the waterways. "Middle Saranac Lake east through the Upper Locks at the Saranac River outlet. I operate those manually, nobody bothers checking them at night. From there into Lower Saranac Lake, then eventually to Lake Flower, which gets me right into downtown Saranac Lake."

"How often?"

"Two, three times a week. Early morning fog is best, no boat traffic, minimal DEC patrol. I use several small coves on Lower Saranac as floating drop points. Waterproof bags tethered to buoys, sometimes submerged boxes with GPS markers."

McKenzie was taking notes now. "Who picks up the product?"

"Network of dealers. Some local, some from downstate. Money flows back the same route in reverse." Mack paused, studying Noah's expression. "This operation moves serious weight, Detective. We're talking millions in product annually."

"And you're what, middle management?"

"I handle physical logistics. Transportation, security, elimination of problems." The last phrase hung in the air like a threat.

Noah sat back in his chair. "That's good information, Mack. You said you want immunity from the death penalty for the two murders, but New York doesn't have the death penalty."

Mack's laugh was harsh. "I wasn't referring to the state murdering me."

Noah cocked his head, then understanding dawned. "You're scared. You're scared someone is going to kill you in prison."

Mack nodded. "You think this conversation stays secret? You think the person who gave me orders doesn't have reach inside state facilities?"

Noah thought back to Lena’s ex-boyfriend, Aiden West. He’d been murdered at the Adirondack Correctional Facility.

"Okay, then you've got to give me something more. At least tell me who's running this operation."

"I need something for my plea deal first. I can't give you all of it. I've already confessed to two murders and told you the smuggling route. Now I want a lawyer and the rest has to be in writing."

Noah felt frustration building. They were so close to breaking open what could be the largest drug network in the North Country, but Mack was holding the most important card.

"Help me understand the scope here," Noah pressed. "You're saying this network extends beyond the Adirondacks?"

"Buffalo to Albany to the Canadian border. Lake Champlain, the Saint Lawrence Seaway, dozens of remote drop points in state parks and wilderness areas. ATVs, boats, even snowmobiles in winter. It's a supply line that's been operating for years."

McKenzie leaned forward. "How many people are we talking about?"

"Dozens of transporters, maybe a hundred dealers, money handlers, security personnel. This isn't some mom-and-pop meth operation, Detective. This is industrial-scale drug distribution with military-level logistics."