Page 7 of The Catcher (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #5)

A fter a second cup, early caffeine jitters took hold, adding to the anxiety he was already feeling.

Closing the folder, Noah stood up from his chair.

It was easy to wallow. Grief had no expiration date.

In many ways, he had every right to disappear into a void of drinking and retreat from society.

There were no rules telling him he couldn’t, but there were consequences.

Life continued. His children’s lives. His work life.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past or let his demons hold him back.

With purposeful strides, Noah made his way out of the sunroom. He glanced down at his phone, noting the time. It was still early. There was plenty of daylight left to visit the crime scene.

“Hey, uh, Ed!”

Ed glanced up from his boat.

“We may have to put that fishing trip on hold until the weekend. ”

“Sons of bitches reeled you back in, didn’t they?”

He contemplated his question for a second before offering an answer. “I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.”

Ed waved him off.

As he headed towards his Bronco, Noah made a mental note to stop by the Sheriff’s Office on the way back to gather any additional information they might have collected.

Savannah was right; cases required as many agencies on them as possible.

He knew no one agency could do this alone, it was a group effort, and he was always grateful for the support, even if it came with its own set of challenges.

With Savannah’s words ringing in his ears, Noah squared his shoulders and set off, determined to bring closure to the families. He only hoped the girl was still alive.

As he made his way to the remote location deep within the High Peaks Wilderness, he was confronted by memories from his childhood that had shaped his life.

Arriving at the trailhead, Noah felt uneasy as he stepped out of the Bronco and into a parking lot in front of a vast forest. A mist hung low among the towering trees, casting an eerie aura over the landscape.

Noah took a moment to steel himself, drawing on his years of experience as a seasoned investigator to push aside his doubts.

It never got any easier. Every case was a lurch into the dark. He often felt like a man swaying at sea, trying to get his balance.

Before him, a group of state troopers greeted him. “It’s good to see you,” one of the troopers called out, extending a hand in greeting.

Noah returned the handshake with a firm grip, his gaze scanning the scene. Day two, and forest rangers, state troopers, and local law enforcement officers were still bustling about, their radios crackling with updates and instructions.

“Any update on the missing girl?” Noah asked, addressing the group as a whole.

One of the officers stepped forward. “Nothing yet. Search and rescue are back at it again today. We’ve got eyes in the sky with FLIR, and we’re combing the area with cadaver dogs, but there is no sign of her. Hopefully, we will find her alive, but it doesn’t look promising.”

Noah nodded, his mind already spinning with the task ahead. He knew the importance of thorough investigation and swift action, especially in cases involving missing persons, but with every passing hour, eventually, it would turn into a recovery mission.

“You heading up to the cliff?”

“Soon. Where was the teens’ truck found?” Noah asked.

“Over there. To the left of that disabled parking sign.”

Noah crossed the lot and scanned the ground, looking for any evidence that might have gotten overlooked. The police would be the last to admit it, but more often than not, if a crime scene was ruined, it was because of them. It was partly ignorance and the rest inexperience.

“Aaron, can you give Sutherland here a ride,” a trooper yelled .

Along the way, his senses heightened. The sounds of the forest erupted, and the rustling of leaves and the calls of wildlife added to the feeling of isolation.

Approaching the scene, Noah’s pulse quickened, his instincts kicking into overdrive. With each step, he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, the familiar chaos of every investigation before answers followed.

It was frustrating. It required a lot of manpower, hours, and a hefty amount of money. Departments were all too eager to sweep it all under the rug and notch up scenes to suicide or some other crime — anything to avoid a long, drawn-out case.

Finally, reaching the clearing where the body was discovered, Noah scanned the area.

“If you need anything. Give me a shout,” Aaron said.

Noah nodded. He took out the photos, held them up, and turned to get a better idea of the exact spot.

He drew close to the edge, the cliff stretching downward into the depths below. The rugged terrain surrounding him was dominated by jagged rocks and tangled undergrowth.

Some of the rocks lining the cliff’s edge were weathered and worn, their surfaces smoothed by years of erosion. Some jutted out sharply, creating precarious ledges, while others formed craggy outcroppings that seemed to defy gravity.

The drop was daunting, the distance to the bottom around 25 feet.

Noah peered over the edge, his eyes tracing the sheer face of the cliff as it disappeared into the shadows below. Loose soil and debris littered the rocky slope, evidence of the treacherous terrain.

Below, the ravine widened into a rocky basin, the ground strewn with boulders and fallen branches. A small stream trickled through the rocky landscape, its gentle flow echoing softly against the stone walls.

As Noah compared the photos to the location.

The boy was without clothes except for boxers, a black blindfold, and a red hunter’s hat.

The boy’s wrists were bound tightly behind his back, and the rope was attached to a thick, heavy branch that pulled at his arms. It seemed to indicate either he’d been tied to a tree and had managed to break the branch loose, or it had been done to prevent him from trying to bring his wrists around under his legs — commonly done by those seeking to escape police handcuffs.

The sight of the injuries to Pete Landry’s body was a stark reminder of the brutality of crime. It was hard to tell if he’d been beaten or fallen multiple times.

Was it a crime or a game that had gone wrong?

He could see how easy it would be to conclude either.

High schoolers were known to park in secluded areas to make out, but that usually involved staying in the vehicle. If it was a crime and the unknown subject had brought the boy out into the wilderness, what was the purpose?

“Why here?” he asked himself aloud, turning around and picturing the boy being pushed off the edge or unable to see and accidentally tumbling over.

Were you running from someone? he thought.

The location was off the beaten trail. It wasn’t a clearing that appeared to be frequented by campers.

Reaching the area would have required some effort, even more so at night.

Noah glanced at the crime report for clarity.

Twenty feet northeast of the victim, a geocache container was found below a tree among the leaves.

The hidden container is a green metal ammo can.

It contained the following items: a weathered log book inside a plastic bag for those who found the container in the past. Dates and signatures are on it.

A ring in a small velvet box placed there the afternoon before by the witness to give to his girlfriend, and items that he did not include — a lock of blonde hair believed to belong to the missing girl, Hailey Matthews.

A hair sample was sent to the State Lab for analysis to be compared with hair taken from a brush at her home.

Noah made his way to the tree noted by a yellow police evidence triangle. The container had already been collected for evidence, but Noah had clear photos of it and all the items found inside.

His gaze turned back to the report.

In addition, a faucet handle was recovered.

Slightly rusty. The analysis came back negative for latent prints.

Beside that was a key. A note underneath the lid of the container read: “This is a multi-cache. The posted coordinates you are at provide a gadget you have to solve to get the coordinates to stage two. Stage two will lead you to the location of stage three. At stage three, you will find a container of swag.”

Noah thumbed through the photos. Gadget?

Where was the gadget? There were no photos.

Puzzled, he pulled out his phone and called McKenzie.

While waiting for him to pick up, Noah noted he had two bars on his phone.

Plenty to make a call. Why hadn’t the teen made a call for help?

Better question: Where was his phone? One thing he knew about teens was that they usually had their phones in hand.

“Lazarus! Finally, back from the dead,” McKenzie said in his thick Scottish accent. “I thought I would never hear your voice again.”

“Funny.”

“I assume Savannah released you from your prison, or are you calling from the High Peaks Brewery?”

“McKenzie, where is the gadget?”

“The what?”

“The gadget. I’m out at the site where the youth was found. The geocache container referenced a gadget under the lid, but I don’t see it in any of these photos.”

“It wasn’t logged as evidence?”

“It’s not mentioned in the report.”

McKenzie sighed. “I should have gone there myself, but I was tied up with the tail end of another case, so I arranged for Callie to go out there.”

“I thought Rivera didn’t want her involved in any more cases.”

“Aye, she doesn’t. She’s back on patrol, writing tickets after that little slap she gave that fellow. But that doesn’t mean she can’t come in handy.”

“McKenzie, that doesn’t help me.”

“Aye, I don’t know, maybe one of those little sods took it and didn’t mention it. ”

“Who?”

“The couple who found the body. I can phone the kid if you think it’s important.”