Page 54 of Silent Bones

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.”

13

Noah rubbed a thumb into the corner of his eye as the call came through. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours, and even that had been fractured. McKenzie was already sipping his second thermos of coffee when Savannah poked her head through the briefing room door.

"Warrant came through. Hawkins’ Airstream. We’ve got the green light."

Callie looked up from her phone. “Finally. That thing’s been sitting there like a goddamn time capsule.”

They headed out fast. The forest felt heavier than usual. Dense heat clung to the air, and distant thunderheads bruised the northern sky. Noah drove the gravel road slow, tires crackling as they turned toward the small forest cut where the Airstream sat, gleaming like a coin flipped face-up in the brush.

"Let’s see if the bogeyman left us a present," McKenzie muttered.

Noah parked. No signs of life. Just the silver tube of the trailer, tucked between overgrowth and pine, quiet and smug like it had been waiting.

Noah stepped up first, gloves on, hand brushing the cool metal skin. An officer busted open the door, as they weren’t able to get keys from Mack. He had managed to slip past the patrol officer they had stationed outside his home. No one had seen him since.

The door gave a long, dry creak as he opened it. A strong smell hit them immediately. “That’s…” McKenzie said, pulling his collar up.

“Bleach,” Callie finished. “And lemon cleaner," she added under her breath.

Inside, the space was tight, low-ceilinged. Gleaming counters. Fold-down table neatly aligned with its brackets. Sheets folded. No dust, no crumbs. Every surface had that artificial gleam that only happens when someone scrubs for show.

Callie crouched by a narrow drawer. “Travel mug. Two protein bars. An old copy ofSurvive! Quarterlymagazine.”

McKenzie tapped the fridge open. “Four bottles of water. A six pack of beer. That’s it.”

Noah checked a small cubby above the sleeping berth. Empty. The bed looked barely used, though the sheets had been washed recently. He could still smell the lemon detergent under the chemicals.