Page 36 of The Smart Killer (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #4)
M orning light seeped through the blinds of the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office, casting a somber glow over the war room’s sleek surfaces and high-tech equipment.
Noah had been at the office for hours, navigating the labyrinth of data and leads in the hunt for answers to the smart killer — a name dubbed by Carl McNeal.
As he perched on the edge of a desk, his gaze shifted between the myriad of screens that covered the walls, each a window into the complexity of criminal investigations.
Detective McKenzie, his distinctive Scottish accent cutting through the room, entered first, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
His easygoing demeanor belied the gravity of most situations they found themselves in.
With a wry smile, he cracked a joke. “I sure as hell hope this is important and not about you announcing having a sex change.”
“And steal your thunder?”
“Cheeky bastard.”
Noah pushed off the desk, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Porter not here yet?” he inquired.
“Oh, you know how these rookies are, especially ones who cracked their first case. He’s probably filled his morning with early interviews.” McKenzie’s expression shifted, concerned lines spreading on his face. “Anyway, any good news on Ethan?”
Noah sighed, the weight settling over him like a heavy shroud. “No. He’s in a medically induced coma.”
McKenzie met his gaze, understanding passing between them. “You know you don’t have to be here, Noah.”
“I do,” Noah asserted, his voice firm. “There’s nothing I can do at the hospital. Gretchen and my father are taking turns being there. They’ll keep me in the loop of any changes.”
As the room awaited the arrival of Porter, the silence lingered, punctuated only by the soft hum of the electronic equipment.
The war room had been designed to assist in unraveling the intricacies of criminal cases.
It now stood witness to the personal struggles that entwined with the professional duties of those within its walls.
The screens, once filled with data and potential leads, seemed to mirror the uncertainty that had seeped into Noah’s life, a reminder that sometimes, the most complex puzzles were the ones that hit closest to home.
“So, I caught the tail end of a news report this morning before I arrived. Your brother Ray was interviewed at the bowling alley about the place going up in flames last night. One wounded SWAT guy. He was damn lucky to have survived. Something about a drug ring, a link to liquid morphine. Can you imagine that? Sounds like that shit is back in town.”
“It never left.”
“Yeah, well, whoever was behind it wanted to send a clear message and made sure to keep lips from flapping. The media tried to interview a bunch of teens. None of them mentioned drugs.”
“Well, they aren’t going to announce it, McKenzie.”
He sniffed hard and took a swig of his coffee. “Anyways, they found the owner and one of his employees dead, execution style. Point-blank. You’d think these idiots by now would learn that getting their hands dirty isn’t going to end well.”
“Some are slow to learn,” Noah added.
“And others are quick,” Porter said, waltzing into the office. “Morning, folks.”
“Aye, here he is, the American Sherlock Holmes himself.”
Porter waved McKenzie off. “Please.”
“I caught that interview you did with… what’s his name?”
“Carl McNeal,” Porter said, glancing at Noah. “That guy is just full of stories.”
“That’s not all he’s full of,” Noah replied stoically. “Anyway, shall we get to it?” he said, shifting the conversation away from that scum.
Noah hit a button on a remote, and his gaze flickered over various screens.
The data streaming back across the monitors was related to the Lakeridge case.
Porter was the first to speak. “What am I looking at here?” he asked, directing his question toward Noah, who had been immersed in the case for hours.
Noah, with a heavy exhale, pointed to a particular piece of data. “Another letter.”
Porter and McKenzie exchanged perplexed glances. “And that means?” Porter inquired, his tone tinged with impatience.
“This isn’t over,” Noah stated firmly, his eyes fixed on the letter on the screen.
Porter shifted his weight, a dubious expression spread across his face. “You are shitting me? I came in for this?”
“Our guy is still out there,” Noah declared, his conviction cutting through the room.
Porter pointed first to McKenzie and then to Noah. “He’s joking, right? This is all a big joke?”
McKenzie, his expression grave, bowed his head ever so slightly, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes. He knew Noah well enough to trust his instincts despite initially disagreeing with him.
“The case is over, Sutherland. We have our man,” Porter said.
Noah shook his head, frustration shining through. “No, you led them to believe we had him. I told you that the investigation was still active. I also told you to not jump the gun on giving interviews to the media. Especially that slime ball McNeal.”
“Alejandro could have sent that letter ahead of time before he died. That’s proof.”
“Not exactly, but…”
“Just admit you’re pissed because I solved it. I said it was him when we met him, and he ran. But you wouldn’t listen to me. No, I lack the experience, you said.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied.”
“Ay, ladies. Calm down.” Both of them were glaring at each other as McKenzie continued.
“There’s no point in you two comparing dick sizes, as I’m sure you’ll find that both of you fall short of mine, so how about we just focus on this case.
” He pointed at Porter. “And you, rookie, show some respect and hear him out.”
“Thank you, McKenzie,” Noah said. “I’m pretty sure Savannah asked you to shadow me, not the other way around.”
“Oh, screw you, Sutherland.”
McKenzie lifted a finger while placing his other hand on his zipper. “I swear I will flop mine out right now and end this spat if you two don’t drop it.”
Porter raised a hand in the air, shaking his head.
“This is bullshit,” he said, slumping down into a seat.
“Well, go on then. Let’s hear your theory.
” He sipped at his coffee. His skepticism was evident as he grappled with the implications of Noah’s revelation.
Once a symbol of clarity and strategy, the war room had become a battleground of conflicting perspectives.
The tension in the room mirrored the discord that had infiltrated the investigation.
Noah pointed to the screen. “This letter was sent to my father.”
“Hugh?” McKenzie asked in surprise. Noah nodded. “But his home isn’t one of the builds from Lakeridge or anywhere near the neighborhood.”
“I know, which got me thinking about why he would receive one. You see, we’ve been so focused on Alejandro because of his past—”
“And the letters found at his house and his confession. Let’s not forget that,” Porter added, cutting him off, wishing to make it clear that they had good reason to look in his direction.
Noah shot him a glare. “Well, that’s the thing...” Porter offered back a confused expression. McKenzie leaned in; his curiosity piqued. “What if Alejandro wasn’t responsible?”
Porter squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“You think he was the scapegoat?” McKenzie asked.
“Maybe. Or just the connection we’ve been searching for.”
Porter screwed up his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Murderers are rarely random. There is something that ties them together. Something that allows us to build a profile. We’ve been trying to find a connection between all these deaths.
None of the families knew each other. None of them worked for Lakeridge.
There doesn’t appear to be any animosity towards them.
So why them? Of course, it made sense to think that it was related to Alejandro after he was caught spying on these exact homeowners.
But now my father has received one of these letters.
At first, I thought it was because he was tied to Alejandro’s arrest. But he wasn’t involved in the arrest of Alejandro, nor was Luke, nor was Ray.
And as you said, Hugh doesn’t live in a Lakeridge neighborhood.
So, what connection ties my father to these other three?
” He paused, allowing them to think it over before continuing.
“The smart home system. What if our perp has no connection to the people but to the system itself — the company.”
McKenzie frowned and said, “You think he’s trying to sabotage Lakeridge?”
Porter leaned back in his seat. “You have lost me.”
Noah sighed. “Okay, let’s go back to Alejandro. What do we know about him?”
“He was a tech for Lakeridge. He installed the systems. He was fired for spying on the video feeds of families. He got sent away for 53 months and then released,” Porter said.
“He liked to watch,” McKenzie added.
“Right on both counts. Alejandro knew how that system worked. He knew how to access it with authorization and without. Now, if the motive was to kill these families out of revenge, why go to all the trouble of sending letters to warn them ahead of time?”
“To toy with them,” Porter said. “Some murderers get off on the fear they instill before they commit murder.”
“Okay, but what if he wasn’t toying with them, and he genuinely felt remorse for what he had done before he got sent away?”
There was a pause as they mulled it over.
“Then he would have had to know beforehand what was about to happen to those three families,” McKenzie said.
Noah pointed at him. “Exactly. His words before he died were… ‘They didn’t deserve to die. I couldn’t go to the cops. They wouldn’t have believed me. I wanted to warn them before he got them.’” He paused. “Before he got them. Alejandro knew they were targeted and who was behind it.”
“So why not just say his name?” Angus asked.
“Well, that’s the thing, I don’t think he knew.”