Page 23 of The Catcher (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #5)

“ A nother teen has gone missing,” Porter said, blowing into the command post at the State Police Department in Ray Brook like a whirlwind.

Noah barely blinked, staring at his bright computer screen.

He was lost in the conversation of the previous evening.

He’d been chewing over what Callie had told him about her and Luke, and then the awkward moment that followed.

He’d left her apartment early that morning before she woke up.

However, he’d wondered if she’d heard him but said nothing.

It was better that way. Save the embarrassment of having to go into some apology that would make things even more awkward.

“The parents of Colt Banning called late last night to say he never came home from a party.” Porter paused. “Thoughts?”

Noah snapped out of it instantly, his hand accidentally toppling his half-filled cup of coffee. “Shit,” he said, jerking backward away from the desk and reaching for handfuls of tissues.

Porter sighed, shaking his head at Noah’s absentmindedness. “You alright there, Noah? You seem a little distracted.”

Noah hastily cleaned up the spill, his mind still partially stuck in the morning fog. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just zoned out for a moment. It was a rough night. Not much sleep.”

Porter raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced. “Well, you better get your head squared away. We need all hands-on deck for this one.”

Noah nodded, the seriousness of the situation finally sinking in. “Right, sorry. Are there any witnesses?”

As Porter filled him in on the details surrounding Colt Banning’s disappearance, Noah listened intently, pushing aside his distractions.

“Parents spoke to his friends. They told them a couple of teens saw him leave through a side door at the house, but that was the last sighting. His buddy said he went to use the washroom and was supposed to leave with them. A canvass of the area yielded one of his sneakers found at a nearby defunct gas station, along with drag marks.”

“And the home?”

Porter glanced down at his tablet. “Belongs to the home of a teen whose parents were away for the weekend.” He glanced at Noah’s screen. “Found anything of interest?”

“Found?”

He motioned to the computer Noah was staring at. “ Aren’t you going over the evidence from the Matthews girl?”

“What evidence? McKenzie gathered it. He’s supposed to bring it in this morning,” he replied, looking at his wristwatch. “Which reminds me. Where is he? He’s supposed to be here by now.”

“Phone him.”

“Already have, twice.”

“Try Callie.”

“Rather not.”

Porter raised an eyebrow.

Noah was quick to explain. “I meant. I think she worked a late shift last night.”

Terry Braithwaite stood by the window, a folder in hand, chewing on a toothpick.

“Speak of the devil. Looks like your boyfriend just rolled up,” he said.

“You make quite a pair between his tardiness and you hitting the bottle. I always thought you were gunning for that brunette over there, but now I can see the connection.”

“Screw you, Terry.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” he said, wandering off.

Terry had been riding his ass for the past year about his close ties with the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office only because he’d been in line for the position with BCI but was turned down by Savannah.

Since then, he’d been taking personal jabs, looking for any reason to show a lack of work ethic by Noah, and calling his position “The Sutherland Privilege.”

Rumors had even swirled in the Department that Noah was involved in some menage a trois with Savannah and her lesbian love. Savannah had reprimanded Terry over that one, but that hadn’t eased the remarks.

“Aye, so this is where all the magic happens!” McKenzie said in his thick Scottish accent as he entered through double doors. “A real coffee machine. How come the state can swing that, but the county gives us the dregs? I wouldn’t be surprised if we are getting your hand-me-downs.”

“You’re aware you’re an hour late,” Porter said.

“Aye, laddie, and I’m good-looking to boot.” McKenzie grinned as he replied, brushing past him like he was just the help. “Be a good lad, and go get me a coffee. Black, two sugars.”

Porter didn’t budge.

McKenzie slumped down in a chair across from Noah. “You look like shit.”

“Feel like it.”

“Callie find you in the end?”

“Yeah. Look, she said you had some evidence?”

“Well, it’s not evidence so much as it is directions. It took me some time to find them, but they were there — at the swimming pool. That’s why I was late,” he said.

“I thought it was because you were getting your beauty sleep?”

“What?”

“Callie said.”

“She misunderstood. I said I would need my beauty sleep by the time I got done. I worked through the night. I am exhausted. ”

“Why did you work through the night? You had Noah,” Porter said.

“No, he was occupied, analyzing the previous evidence.” He glanced back at Noah and winked. McKenzie was covering for him.

“Then I could have helped.”

“Porter, you are light years away from trumping my experience in the field. That’s why Noah handed off the evidence collection to me and let you handle the death notification.”

“I figured I got the shit end of the stick.”

“Anyway… I found it," McKenzie said, tossing an evidence bag on the table. Noah peeked inside before slapping on some latex gloves and removing a magnet with GPS coordinates on the back.

Noah was confused. “I thought our guy was done.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not over,” McKenzie said.

“Oh, and I got some results back from Addie. It seems the Matthews girl was intoxicated. Her blood alcohol level was 0.13. There was no way in hell she was getting out of that pool. Treading water with your hands tied behind your back is hard enough, but doing it while intoxicated? Yeah. Anyway, I figured if our perp wasn’t done and this was how he led us, how would he tell us again?

Sure, he could phone it in, but he stands the risk of us pinpointing his location, even recording his voice.

No. He already has our attention. So, I brought up the geocaching app and checked the map.

Interestingly, a new geocache page was approved and published two days ago.

A new multi-geocache existed. And look where it is,” he said, leaning forward and showing Noah the map.

The icon was on the swimming pool building.

“Just our luck.”

McKenzie continued, “That’s right. So, I followed the instructions on the page, used the GPS, and found that magnet behind one of the pool signs. He’s not done.”

“How can you be sure?” Porter asked.

“Because look at the name assigned to the geocache page.”

They both leaned in to see it on McKenzie’s phone. PLACED BY: HAILEY MATTHEWS

Noah scrunched up his nose.

“Hold on a second. You’re telling me she posted a geocache at the location where her body was found?” Porter asked.

“No. It wasn’t her. It’s our perp,” Noah said. “Her phone was also missing.”

“Bingo,” McKenzie said. “I think our perp used Hailey’s phone to publish that geocache to make it clear it was him.”

“But her phone hasn’t given off a signal,” Porter said. “We checked with both phone companies.”

“You’re right; it hasn’t since the day of the disappearance.

I got in touch with the Geocaching company.

They told me that when someone sets up one of their own geocaches, you know, takes a container and hides it, the page has to be reviewed before it’s published.

That one was sent in on the day the two teens went missing.

It took less than twenty-four hours to go live. This sicko is not done. ”

“Well, news flash, we already know that,” Porter said, handing him the report on the latest missing teen.

Noah’s attention returned to the present as he rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on McKenzie.

“Those coordinates. Where do they go?” Noah asked McKenzie, his voice laced with urgency.

“Somewhere not far from here, in fact, a spot right here in Ray Brook near the Ford dealership. There’s an old phone booth — probably one of the last in the county. It’s a two-minute drive. I went there but couldn’t make sense of the puzzle.”

His mind raced as he processed the information.

Determination flashed in Noah’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” Noah declared.

They all hurried out of the command post, their footsteps echoing in the corridor as they made their way to awaiting cruisers. Noah took the lead, his sense of urgency palpable as he directed them toward the location McKenzie had mentioned.

With sirens blaring, they sped towards the designated spot.

As they swerved into the High Peaks Ford parking lot, which was filled with gleaming cars, Noah’s eyes zeroed in on the wooden phone booth near a wooden fence.

It stood tall and weathered, a testament to a bygone era.

Few such booths remained in the Adirondack region, a relic of a time before cell phones dominated communication.

“You know, I’ve passed this every day for the past year and never seen it,” Noah remarked .

“Who would?” McKenzie replied, his gaze scanning the booth’s unique features. Its Adirondack style, with a peaked roof and wooden siding, made it blend seamlessly with its surroundings, yet its presence was still unexpected.

Strangely, despite its apparent disuse, the phone booth still housed a phone, its wires dangling uselessly.

It was a curious sight, a reminder of when pay phones were lifelines for communication in remote areas like the Adirondacks.

Yet, even here, where modernity had taken over, the booth remained a silent witness to a changing world.

Noah took out his phone and used the geocaching app to look at the map. Then, he clicked on the icon to bring up the page with instructions on what to do.

McKenzie chimed in. “All it says is phone the number, but it doesn’t give us one, and even if it did, the phone isn't connected.”

Noah looked over the description again at the coordinates and the GC code page. He then stepped inside the booth and scanned the old relic of a phone. A weathered sticker provided some information.

For emergencies, dial 911. For refund or repair, dial *88. Local calls are 50 cents for 15 minutes; change is not provided. There are no incoming calls.

Then he saw a number that was always listed on every phone booth, along with the phone’s address at the bottom. Noah picked up the receiver. There was no dial tone. He tapped in the number listed below the phone handle and waited. Nothing happened.

He set the receiver down.

“Already tried that,” McKenzie said.

Ignoring McKenzie’s comment, Noah carefully examined the phone booth’s exterior, scanning the faded text for clues. A glimmer of hope sparked in his mind as he read through the instructions printed on the booth.

“There’s something here,” Noah said, pointing to a small slip of paper tucked behind a weathered piece of plexiglass. He pulled it out with cautious fingers, revealing a hidden number underneath.

The one behind the paper matched the one below with the address. That’s when he tried something. He dialed the number again, this time on his phone. Immediately, he was connected with an automated message. It was a riddle.

“In the year 2024, a mystery unfolds,

Two years prior, a life foretold.

At seventeen, they met their fate,

Now, tell me, friend, what was their birth date?”

“What did it say?” McKenzie asked.

Noah had to phone it again to get it to replay. “"Write this down," he said. As he read out the words, Porter scribbled in a small notebook.

“Well, that’s easy, it’s 2007,” Porter said.

“No,” Noah said. “It’s 2005. You need to account for the two years prior. ”

Noah picked up the old phone receiver and tapped in 2005.

Click.

A mechanism unlatched a hidden compartment. McKenzie below the phone and pulled out a dusty box.

“Son of a gun!” Noah exclaimed, his curiosity piqued as they opened the box to reveal its contents: an old Walkman with tape inside. A sticker of ducks adorned the back of the Walkman, adding to the mystery.

Noah placed the Walkmans headphones on his head and pressed play.

A tape crackled to life, transporting him back in time with voices, laughter, and splashing water. A conversation unfolded, offering cryptic clues about a destination and the changing seasons.

A bell rang out.

“Bring in the kayaks,” someone could be heard saying in the distance.

Then it went quiet, and a young female voice asked someone, “It won’t be long before this is all frozen over. Where do you think they go?”

To which someone replied, “Somewhere warm. South. Central Park.” The other girl laughed.

“That’s not warm.”

“Warmer than here.”

Laughter erupted, and then the recording cut off. Noah rewound and played it again.

“What have we got?” Porter asked, his gaze fixed on Noah.

“I’m not quite sure,” Noah admitted, a sense of confusion clouding his thoughts.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this recording held a more profound significance, perhaps another puzzle to unravel.

One thing was clear: the last time they encountered this on the mountain, they weren’t given coordinates but a puzzle to solve.