Page 84 of Her Final Hours
Callie thought of the cash that Collins had lost and where it all fell into the picture. Was it payment for trafficking women? A one-time purchase amount or the accumulation of ongoing payments?
Just then, Callie’s phone began to ring, interrupting the tense atmosphere. She checked the caller ID and answered, “Yeah?”
The voice on the other end caught her off guard. It was Alicia. “They’ve taken Noah’s daughter.” Alicia’s voice trembled.
Confusion and concern spread as Callie turned her attention to Patrick, attempting to process both the ongoing spat between him and McKenzie and the distressing news from Alicia. “What?” she exclaimed, her mind picking up speed.
Callie’s expression grew tense as Alicia brought her up to speed on the situation and conveyed the perpetrator’s demands. Alicia sent her a photo of the words she had jotted down, spoken by Jane Doe in her sleep. At that moment, it was just noise in her head. She was already trying to process Patrick’s confession. Callie’s focus shifted to finding Noah and ensuring his daughter’s safety. “Where is he now?” she asked Alicia.
Alicia informed her that he was en route to the doctor’s farm. Callie thanked her and hung up, her mind swirling with worry. She attempted to call Noah’s number, but it just kept ringing. Realization hit hard; the situation had taken a dangerous turn.
“What do they have planned, Patrick?” she asked, full of anger. “They’ve taken an investigator’s daughter,” she said. That caught McKenzie off guard, he looked her way and muttered something, but she was focused on Patrick, her voice shaking with emotion. She had met Mia and understood the pain and loss that Noah and his family had already endured.
Patrick backed away, fear rising. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.
Callie’s frustration boiled over as she fearlessly trudged toward him. “Who has Mia Sutherland, Patrick? Where are they keeping her? Where do they hold them?” she demanded, her voice escalating.
Silence hung in the air as Patrick refused to respond. “I’ve said too much already,” he muttered, regret washing over him. “I’m not going back inside.”
Before Callie could extract more, his trembling hand lifted the gun to his head, and a gunshot echoed through the stormy forest. Time seemed to slow down as the bullet tore through the side of his temple, his body slumping to the ground.
Horror and despair coursed through Callie as the reality of the situation sank in. The stakes had risen to a terrifying height, swirling amidst the storm’s chaos around them — the race to find Noah’s daughter had become more urgent and fraught with danger.
She tried Noah’s number again, but it went to voicemail this time.
30
Thursday, March 22, 10:02 a.m.
They operated under a code of silence.
If it wasn’t for Patrick running his mouth, there was a good chance the connection wouldn’t have been made. Fortunately, no search warrant was required as they had reasonable belief that evidence would be destroyed and others would be placed in danger in the time it would take to secure one.
As such, the scene at the Fish and Game Hunting Club had turned into chaos and intensity. The Adirondack Sheriff’s Office and State swarmed the area, their vehicles lining the gravel road that led to the club’s main building. Flashing lights and blaring sirens pierced the frozen forest, shattering the atmosphere that enveloped the usual hunting grounds.
The relentless snowstorm enveloping the region became the barrier where crime scene tape would have usually been stretched around the perimeter, creating a divide between lawenforcement officers, media, and curious onlookers. Residents had been instructed to stay indoors, the homes serving as fortresses against the raging elements outside. The swirling snowflakes and biting wind had effectively locked down the community, creating an isolated and lonely atmosphere.
The few club members who had braved the weather for early morning breakfast were taken aback as deputies took over, detaining those inside while others diligently searched for evidence.
Inside the building, Callie and McKenzie were on a mission to uncover any clues that could shed light on what Patrick had told them, Mia’s whereabouts, and the location of holding areas. The air inside was tense, thick with the scent of wood polish and lingering anxiety.
They had started their search in an office, hoping to find files or documents that might hold answers. But frustration was mounting, evident in McKenzie’s voice as he slammed shut a metal filing cabinet door. “Nothing! Not a damn thing,” he exclaimed, irritated. “And there’s so much paperwork here we would be drowning in this until next year.”
“Keep looking,” Callie said, scanning the surroundings as she exited the office.
She found herself in a lounge, an inviting space where club members could relax, socialize, and build camaraderie. The walls were adorned with mounted deer heads and skulls of various animals, creating an eerie yet unmistakably hunting-theme ambiance. Taxidermy specimens were strategically placed, their glassy eyes watching over the room.
Adjacent to the lounge was a bar displaying an assortment of liquor bottles, hinting at the revelry that often took place in the room. The sounds of glasses clinking and laughter from past gatherings seemed to echo in the air.
It disturbed and burned her to think that conversations about hunts could involve the capture of young girls.
As Callie continued exploring, she was captivated by the visual narrative of the photographs adorning the walls. Black-and-white and colorful images chronicled the club’s rich history, achievements, and community involvement. Hunters were captured in frozen moments of triumph, posing proudly beside their kills. Fishermen held up their trophy catches, grinning from ear to ear. Group BBQ events showcased a sense of camaraderie and shared enjoyment.
Her gaze shifted to a plaque featuring the club’s charter and founding members, a testament to the roots and values that had shaped the organization. Framed photographs revealed past presidents and officers of the club, highlighting their contributions and dedication. Community service projects and international exchange programs were documented, portraying a sense of global connection and engagement.
How vast was the human trafficking network? She mulled the question, disgusted by its existence.
Her eyes were drawn to an awards and recognition area, where certificates and trophies hung on the walls, honoring the club’s accomplishments. Each one told a story of success, dedication, and the shared passion of its members.
