Page 13 of The Smart Killer (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #4)

T he second crime scene was touted as unusual.

Seven miles outside of High Peaks, in Saranac Lake, one town over, a family had been found dead inside a state-of-the-art home.

The call had come into dispatch just after eleven from a grandmother who was supposed to go out with her daughter for breakfast. After a no-show, she’d driven over to check in on her and gotten no answer.

Without a key to enter the property, she phoned to ask for a wellness check.

Unfortunately, due to an influx of calls, a miscommunication led to a mix-up in the address and a delay in Saranac Lake police contacting the local State Police.

It took Noah less than twenty minutes to get there despite heavy traffic and declining weather conditions.

“Is this rain ever going to let up?” Porter said, peering out while Noah was on a phone call with Ray.

Noah nodded, gripping the wheel tightly as he continued his conversation. Over the speaker, Ray said, “So Officer Headley will be there to meet you. Keep me informed. Media thinks we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

“Alleged.”

“We’ll see,” Ray muttered before he hung up.

Minutes later, he swerved into the closed-gate community, noting the sign outside for modern homes from a company called Lakeridge Homes. The same company had built the neighborhoods in High Peaks.

The rain fell relentlessly, creating a melancholic rhythm on the roof of the Bronco as it wound its way through the suburban maze. Plots that had been sold but not yet built on were dotted throughout. They were in different stages of development.

“I wonder how much one of these homes goes for?”

“Probably more than yours and my wages,” Noah replied.

The houses were imposing, upscale residences with meticulously manicured lawns and sleek, modern designs. Despite the dreary weather, the neighborhood exuded an air of affluence and sophistication.

Porter noted the same cameras throughout.

“You would think privacy laws would prohibit so many cameras. Who buys these places?”

“People with more money than sense,” Noah said.

Noah parked near the cordoned-off home, where yellow police tape fluttered a warning in the rain-soaked breeze.

Saranac Lake Police Department cruisers were positioned strategically, flashing blue and red lights cutting through the grey gloom.

Media vehicles lingered nearby, as reporters pressed for an interview.

A drone drifted above and tried to capture a bird’s-eye view of the madness.

The house stood as a beacon of modernity, a symphony of glass and steel with state-of-the-art technology.

At least, the blurb on the advertising billboard in front of the subdivision claimed it was.

“All right, let’s do this,” Noah said, climbing out and going to the rear of his trunk.

He removed a set of blue latex gloves. He glanced at Porter and handed him a pair.

“Step where I do,” he instructed, a note of seriousness underlying his voice.

Porter grinned back, eager but amused by his attempt to baby him.

Approaching the doorway, they were met by Officer Headley, a seasoned cop with a weathered face and eyes that had seen too much. “Nothing has been touched,” Headley stated grimly. “It’s exactly the way we found it.”

Noah frowned as he scanned the door. “No keylock?” he inquired, noting the absence of a conventional lock.

“That’s right, the last house was burned down so you wouldn’t have seen much of the tech.

” Headley gestured to a small round camera.

“Eye recognition. It scans the pupils of the occupants and unlocks the door. Smart technology. We had to contact the company that builds these to get an override. The place is more secure than Fort Knox. You might want to put these on,” he said, handing him footwear grips with metal studs. “It’s kind of slippery inside.”

“What?”

He pushed the door open, and they were greeted by the sight of ice.

The scene inside was chilling. The once elegant living space was now transformed into a frozen tableau.

Ice clung to the walls, and the floors were a treacherous surface of slippery frost. It was a thin layer, cracked by officers who had entered.

Although it was light outside, with the lights off in the interior, they had to use flashlights to see anything. Beams shone around the dark space.

Noah’s breath fogged the air as he surveyed the room, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and concern. “What the hell happened here?” he muttered, his mind racing with questions and possibilities.

“We have our theories, but let me show you something first,” Officer Headley said, leading them into the heart of the frozen nightmare — the kitchen.

The air was thick with a biting cold, and the room felt like a mausoleum.

The family, a man, a woman, and a child no older than eight, were huddled around the table, frozen in a tableau of despair.

Their faces, contorted in fear, were forever etched in an expression of terror.

It looked like they had been caught mid-meal, their lifeless eyes staring into the abyss.

Icicles hung precariously from every conceivable surface, sparkling in the dim light like deadly stalactites.

The room was a chilling spectacle, a horrifying testament to the unforgiving power of the cold.

In the center of the table, amidst the tragedy, were candles — dozens of them, their wicks untouched by fire.

Beside the candles lay a box of matches, scattered haphazardly as if someone had desperately tried to light them.

Noah bent over, his gloved fingers gingerly prying the matchbox away from the thin ice. The ice shattered like glass shards. “They tried to light candles to keep themselves warm,” he said aloud, his voice barely audible over the freezing silence of the room.

Officer Headley nodded, his breath forming frosty clouds in the frigid air.

“Tried. But couldn’t get them lit. From what we’ve deduced, it’s just a theory based on connecting the dots.

The sprinkler system turned on at night, flooding every room with water, covering the walls, the floors, and the family while they slept.

Every room has them,” he said, pointing up.

“Fire deterrent. Not that it helped that family in High Peaks, right, detective?”

“Right,” Noah said, still immersed in the crime scene.

Headley continued. “Anyway, the air conditioning, which was running then, malfunctioned and dipped into minus temperatures.” He walked over to the wall and tapped a panel. “It basically turned the house into a damn walk-in freezer.”

“I thought air conditioning units couldn’t fall below a certain temperature,” Porter said.

“And I thought police work involved chasing bad guys, not a ton of paperwork. I guess we’re both disappointed.”

“It’s a serious question.”

“Do I look like I understand the finer points of this crap? This is just a theory. Ask the company who makes the technology.”

Porter nodded. “And then... what? Soaked and cold, the family decides to get dressed, gather around the table, and light candles? Why not leave?” Porter said.

“You are a detective, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“He’s in training,” Noah muttered, still captivated by the morbid scene. “And to answer your question, Porter. For the same reason the others didn’t leave the house on the night of the fire,” Noah said. He lifted his eyes to the windows, which were still covered. “They couldn’t.”

“Correct,” Officer Headley said. “They are built with retractable polycarbonate shields. The company that makes these tried to get the system working, but everything is frozen solid. Even when we could override and manually open the door, we had to use the RAM to break in.”

“And yet outside, it’s a warm, rainy day.”

Headley glanced at Porter, eyebrow raised. “We figure neighbors couldn’t hear them because of the heavy downpour and the sealed windows.”

“And no phone calls were made?”

“Seems not. Yep. Smart technology. Not so smart, eh, detective?”

“That will be all, officer,” Noah said. “You can wait outside.”

“Will do.”

“Oh, one last thing,” Noah said. “When you entered, were there any other footprints in the house besides the family’s?”

“None. That’s how we deduced the route they took.”

He walked out, leaving the two of them alone. Noah rose and shone his flashlight around the room. “Just a word of advice,” Noah said, shining the light in Porter’s face. “It helps to not tell officers to fuck off. You never know when you will need their help.”

“Likewise,” he said.

“The whole I’m above your pay grade might have worked where you came from, but here, people get their backs up quickly.”

“He was being an asshole.”

“Everyone is. Get used to it,” Noah muttered, walking over to the panel on the wall. They walked through the home over the next ten minutes, examining everything meticulously.

“Had I known, I would have brought my skates,” a male voice said behind them. Porter turned and shone his flashlight in the direction of the hallway. Noah didn’t even need to look. “Porter, meet Oscar Westborough, otherwise known as Ozzy. One of Adirondack County’s coroners.”

“One? Only, you mean, the other three just claim the title and the paycheck,” he said, slipping and sliding into the kitchen. He stopped in front of Porter and extended a hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

Porter didn’t shake it, so Oz withdrew. “I’m just here to examine and pronounce death. I will be out of your way real soon.”

“No need, we’ve done that for you,” Porter said sternly.

Noah cut him a glance and narrowed his eyes. “Ozzy, this is Declan Porter, my assistant.”

“Assistant?” Porter stammered.

“Sorry, I meant coffee boy,” Noah said. “Which reminds me. I could use one. I think I saw a café on our way in. Be a sport and go grab us a couple. I like mine black. How do you take yours, Oz?”

“Cream, two sugar. Thanks.”

“Do I look like a bitch, Sutherland?”

Noah shone his light into Porter’s face, making him squint.

“I’ll let Officer Headley answer that one. On your way out, tell him he’s good to send in forensics.”

Porter stood there for a second longer before exiting.

“I sense dissension among the ranks,” Oz said, setting his case on the table.

“Oh, you know how some can be, ego before brains.”

Oz snapped on gloves and crouched beside the victims. “I heard about Callie’s sister. That’s a damn shame.” He moved on to the female. “I imagine she’s taking some time off.”

“She is.”

“And Angus?”

“Just biting at the bit to get involved, but for now, this is touching a little too close to home.”

“But not for you?” Oz asked, stopping what he was doing and looking directly at him.

“Hey, uh, Oz. I was going to ask you. You’re part of the music scene in town, right?”

“Yeah. I play bass. You should come out and watch us play sometime. We got some cracking tunes. If headbanging is your thing.”

“So, you must hear from time to time about the kinds of narcotics being distributed.”

He laughed. “I’ve crossed paths with a few dealers; why?”

“You heard of a guy named Zeke? Hangs around the bowling alley. Known to distribute narcotics?”

Oz scratched his head. “Can’t say I have. But I can ask around.”

“Appreciate that.”

“You know I saw your boy the other night. Ethan, correct?”

Noah looked up from what he was doing. “Where?”

“We had this gig at one of the local bars. He wasn’t inside. Don’t worry about that. But I saw him lingering around with other kids his age. Figured they were there to hear the music through the windows. Some of them do that.”

“He see you?”

“Yeah. He came over and was all chipper. Seems as though he’s handling the death of his mother pretty well. Must have been hard on him.”

Noah knew otherwise. He hadn’t seen him smile since the death of Lena, so to him, that was unusual.

“The friends he was with, were they drinking?”

“If they were, I never saw anything. Then again, kids are kids. Hell, I bet you stole some of your liquor from your father’s cabinet when you were a teenager.”

“No.”

“No?”

Noah shook his head. It wasn’t that he was averse to getting a bit tipsy or stepping over the line when he was a teenager; it was just he’d seen the effect that alcohol had on his father. And if there was one thing his father monitored like a hawk, it was his alcohol.

“You ever seen anything like this?” Noah asked.

“Outside, yes. In a house? Only in the winter, but that’s with the elderly. But, I haven’t seen ice inside, especially in the summer months.”

“Take a look at this,” Noah said, showing him the control panel for the air conditioning.”

“Yeah, that would do it. Thirty-two degrees or less can cause death in as little as 15 to 45 minutes. Add to that being soaked to the bone, and you have a recipe for disaster. I will send my report to Addie, but from what I can see, it’s straight-up hypothermia.”

Porter returned with a tray of coffee; forensics wasn’t far behind him. Noah plucked his cup out and took a sip.

“Great job. Just the way I like it.”

Noah passed by him, the thin ice crunching beneath his boots.

Porter whirled around. “Where are we going?”

“To see what kind of connection there is between the victims and learn more about Lakeridge homes and how the technology works.”