Page 93 of Her Final Hours
Maintaining his composed demeanor, Noah expressed his interest. “I’d love to see it.”
Aiden swallowed audibly, his anxiety palpable. “Sure,” he replied, leading Noah toward the garage. As the door lifted, revealing the contents within, Noah couldn’t help but notice the white covering draped over the vehicle. It stood there, almost like a spectral presence, obscuring what lay beneath — a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of restoration that Noah had expected.
As Noah stood there, his gaze fixed upon the white-draped truck, a storm of emotions raged within him. Aiden remained unaware of the intricate connections that led Noah to this moment and the conversation he’d had with Deputy Thorne. She’d reached out, revealing a chilling discovery — a truck linked to Otis Lee, a man arrested on solicitation charges involving a minor, one state over in Burlington, Vermont. The timeline sent shivers down Noah’s spine, coinciding eerily with the abduction of his friend Payton Scott decades ago. The truck in question, buried within the depths of the NCIC offline search records, had resurfaced, only to reveal that it was registered under Aiden’s name and purchased from a police auction.
As Aiden pulled the tarp away, he still appeared oblivious to the secrets that now weighed upon Noah’s shoulders.
“You painted it,” Noah asserted, his voice steady but laden with gravity. Aiden’s surprise flashed across his face, prompting Noah to press on. “It was blue, yes?”
A moment of hesitation danced on Aiden’s features before he replied.
“That’s right. It looked weathered, so I gave it a fresh look.”
Noah nodded knowingly, his eyes scanning every inch of the truck. “So, it wasn’t because your father asked you to, was it?” Aiden’s throat tightened, but Noah continued before he could utter a word, full of accusation and understanding. “I see you removed the light bar.”
Realization began to dawn upon Aiden as if he understood that the façade he had carefully constructed was now being dismantled under Noah’s scrutiny. With a flicker of trepidation, Aiden responded. “It’s over there. I was planning to put a new one on.” He pointed toward a corner of the garage, where the removed light bar sat.
Noah crossed the space, drawn to the corner like a moth to a flame. Pulling back the cover, he revealed the light bar that once adorned the truck — the same one that had been etched into his memories since that fateful night when he was sixteen. A wave of memories surged, the echoes of conversation with Payton and Jenna Moulton, the subsequent aftermath of Payton’s disappearance. Noah’s eyes fixated upon the light bar; his mind flooded with the haunting images of a past he had never forgotten.
He refrained from touching it, knowing the truth he sought lay not in the physical object before him but in the depths of Aiden’s secrets. Aiden stood there, witnessing Noah’s silent contemplation, realizing that his carefully concealed guilt was now laid bare in sight of the one person who had persevered in his search for answers.
Aiden glanced out of the garage, whether he was searching for solace in the wintry landscape or wondering if a fleet of cruisers were about to descend upon his property.
“Did he ever confess to you his involvement in abductions?” Noah paused. “Your father is Otis Lee, yes?”
He glanced back at Noah; his head dropped; defeat etched on his face as he realized the charade had come crashing down. With a heavy sigh, Aiden nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes,” he confessed. “My mother remarried. We took on our stepfather’s surname. My real father was a drunk, a violent one, abusive.”
Noah cut in, curiosity getting the better of him. “And yet you had to know him. When did you meet with him, before or after he was incarcerated?”
Aiden looked embarrassed; he was hesitant to reply. “After. I just wanted to know him more. Understand him.”
Noah maintained his gaze, searching for truths hidden beneath Aiden’s admission. “And did you? Understand?”
Aiden responded quickly, almost defensively. “Only about his use of alcohol, not about anything else.”
Nodding in understanding, Noah probed further, his tone laced with irony. “You were able to look past his wrongdoing. I mean, being a pastor and all. Forgiveness and whatnot.”
Aiden was quick to defend his beliefs. “God’s grace is for everyone. He didn’t come for the well but the sick.”
Noah’s smile held a touch of cynicism. “That’s very reassuring. I wonder if the parents of those Otis took would feel the same way? Did your mother encourage these meetings?”
Aiden shook his head, a touch of vulnerability creeping into his demeanor. “She never knew.” His guard slipped, and he began to walk around the garage, eyeing Noah across the truck. Frustration and weariness resonated in his voice as he confronted Noah’s reasoning for visiting. “So, what, Noah? You here to arrest me for buying a truck that belonged to my father? Is that it? Could a court prove that I bought it to conceal some evidence from the past? The crime lab in Vermont looked over that truck. Whatever could have been found would have been found. I did nothing wrong.”
Noah circled the truck, closing the distance between them, his voice steady but laden with gravity. “If that was all it was, maybe so. But it’s not, is it, Aiden?”
Aiden’s expression shifted to confusion; he was unable to fully comprehend Noah’s accusation. Noah pressed on, his words resonating with an unsettling truth. “Lena wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying you because I returned to town, as you once said. It was because of this. Because of who your father was. You told her, didn’t you?”
Aiden scoffed, a mix of bitterness and resignation in his reply. “No. She found out. Like you, she was quite the investigator. She did a background investigation because I didn’t want to discuss my family much. I think you can understand that, right? But we can’t run from the past, can we, Noah?”
Understanding dawned upon Noah, his own struggles with Hugh Sutherland and his family lending him empathy. He nodded, acknowledging the past. “Is that why you killed Lena?” His words hung heavy in the air as Aiden sought solace, running his hands over the truck, his touch seeking comfort in the metal confines of a vehicle that held his family history, sins, and secrets.
Aiden shook his head, desperation gripping him. “I…” he began but trailed off, his gaze shifting nervously towards Noah. But Noah didn’t let him find his voice. He pressed on, recounting the intricate web of suspicions and evidence that led him to this moment.
“On the surface, it did look like Lena had taken her own life or fallen victim to that dog-stealing group,” Noah began, his tone measured yet charged with conviction. “But I’ve met many a liar, and when Teresa said she let her go, I believed her. She never changed her story. So… we assumed Lena drowned, you know, took a wrong turn, and it was just an accident. Until the medical examiner found fentanyl in her system and told me she was dead before hitting the water.”
Aiden’s eyes glazed over. Distant memories flashed as Noah unraveled the truth. “Then I got thinking to myself. As a pastor, you operated a drop-in center for the homeless and drug users. Fentanyl users,” Noah stated, his voice cutting through the tension in the garage.
Aiden’s gaze remained fixed on Noah. Noah continued, unwavering. “I also remember my kids saying that Lena was hesitant to move in with you, that you were pressuring her. I think that day, after Teresa let her go, she came here, and something transpired. You exposed her to fentanyl and then disposed of her in the Mazda at the gorge.”
