Page 80 of Vanish From Sight
Callie ignored him and continued. “Mr. Hawthorne?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t recall you being this outspoken when you were here with Mr. Sutherland. Maybe you only take orders from those who you respect.” He glanced at McKenzie. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, detective.”
Callie pressed him further. “Mr. Hawthorne. Was it a hazing? And if that hazing was covered up, what else has been covered up here?”
Hawthorne ignored her, continuing on as if she wasn’t even speaking. “But that’s the thing about High Peaks Academy. We’ve yet to run into that kind of work. Since the 1950s, we’ve yet to have a woman as rector. In other places, sure. Here? Not yet.”
“Answer the question,” Callie said.
“Careful, deputy. While you are here, you are a guest, and as such, I would ask you to extend the same respect and courtesy that we have to you. Don’t force me to call a lawyer.” He narrowed his gaze. “You want to know if hazing still occurs and how we deal with them? Fine. I strongly ensure that order is maintained here as does my staff. We follow whatever governing rule is over us and guidelines given. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have been around for sixty-two years. We’ve yet to have one official complaint. But let me be clear. Unlike other boarding schools, we are dealing with the most troubled youth that this nation has, and maybe that comes with a little friction… what is the term?” he asked, turning to Helen but she never got to answer before he continued. “Iron refines iron. That’s it.” He stabbed a finger at her. “So, if a few of the youth happen to rub shoulders with one another to work out a few differences and neither I nor my staff witnesses it, then so be it. It comes with the territory and those we work with but it does not affect our success rate one iota. And that’s all that matters to those who pay to have their children here. You want to come here and make statements like that idiot Nate Sawyer — that the Academy is covering up things to save face — go ahead. But you won’t get far. There is nothing you can say or accuse us of that we or our lawyers haven’t heard before, but believe me, Deputy Thorne — you are going to need more than accusations, assumptions and a scrappy old police report to prove it. Good day.”
He handed back the paper.
McKenzie took it and gave Callie a stern look. That was enough.
As they walked toward the door, McKenzie looked back. “Mr. Hawthorne. One last thing. We are going to need a list of the names of students that Katherine counseled in the past two years and a copy of any and all reports that she did file. You do have those, yes?”
“I’m sure we can accommodate that. Erin will assist you.”
“Much appreciated.”
They turned to leave.
“Just one last thing,” Hawthorne said.
They glanced back. “Yes?”
“For the future, it’s Rector Hawthorne.” He smiled, doing exactly what McKenzie had done to him.
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday, November 22, 5:30 p.m.
The darkness felt suffocating.
A silence had fallen over the Adirondacks except for the sound of an 18-wheeler tow truck that was using a rotator to haul the crumpled Mazda out of the gorge. Pulsating red and blue lights from police cars cast an eerie glow over the rocks and trees surrounding the crash site.
Noah stood at the edge of the road; his gaze fixed on Lena’s vehicle. The tow truck whined as it slowly pulled the Mazda up the steep embankment. A state patrol deputy and other law enforcement from the county stood nearby talking. Noah couldn’t hear the conversation. His mind was elsewhere, circling between what he would tell Mia and Ethan to replaying the events of the night over in his head.
While the empty SUV was lifted onto the flatbed of the tow truck, his thoughts returned to the EMTs who had only ten minutes ago emerged through the forest, carrying Lena’s bodyon a stretcher. Noah had watched numbly as they loaded her into the back of the ambulance and drove away to the hospital for the medical examiner to determine the cause of death. Noah couldn’t fathom that she was gone. It seemed unthinkable. Like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
He'd been standing there for what felt like hours, waiting for the tow truck driver to lower the Mazda. Finally, with the SUV on the flatbed, Noah approached, his heart racing to see if there was anything inside out of the ordinary.
As he explained to the driver that he needed to look inside, Savannah Legacy, his supervisor from State Police Troop B, arrived.
“Noah,” she said softly. He glanced back. She shook her head. “I am so sorry. I just got word that it was Lena. Listen, go be with your kids. We’ll take care of everything from here.”
Still in shock, Noah glanced back at Lena’s vehicle. “I can’t, not yet,” he replied. “I need to see inside. I need to know what happened.”
Savannah looked at him sympathetically. “Noah, please. Let us handle the investigation. You need to be with your family.”
“And I will but…” Before she could stop him, he climbed up onto the flatbed truck and made his way to the driver’s side. Gloved up, he opened the door. An overflow of river water poured out, covering his boots. Shining a light inside, he noted there was nothing jammed against the accelerator. The amber glow of the flashlight illuminated the seat and then the gear stick.
“Noah,” Savannah said.
He turned. “It’s in neutral, Savannah.”
He didn’t need to explain what that could mean. “Make sure you get forensics to brush for prints. No mistakes on this one. Have them use cyanoacrylate and dust with a black powder.” Degradation of prints played a role, but submerged prints nowcould be detected up to six weeks, although usually after ten days, it got harder. Still, because prints were made by the oil from the ridges of skin, there was a chance they still existed. A lot of factors came into play: the surface of material and its porosity, time submerged, the type of water source, whether it was fresh or salt water, and the reagents used in recovery.
