Page 23 of The Catcher
“Any luck?” McKenzie asked as Noah approached.
“A staff member threw it out. We’ll need to scour the local landfill but I’m not sure State will swing that unless it involves searching for a body. The manpower required for that will be extensive.” He held up a scrap of paper. “Barry Carlise. I called him and left a message to see if he looked at it. Let’s hope he did. It went to voicemail,” Noah replied.
“Isn’t that always the way,” McKenzie muttered, shaking his head. “Come on. Lunch is on me.”
As they returned to the vehicles, Noah pulled Sam aside for a word, his expression grave. “Who else knew that you were going out to the forest to propose?” he asked, his voice low.
“Uh, just my sister,” Sam replied.
“Where’s she live?”
“At my house. She’s twelve.”
“That’s it? You’re sure?” Noah pressed, his gaze probing.
“Yeah, why?” Sam asked, growing increasingly puzzled by Noah’s line of questioning.
“No reason,” Noah replied evasively, his eyes drifting towards High Peaks Lake. From their vantage point, he could see all three islands dotting the tranquil waters. Had the weather been better, he might have even been able to make out his home on the far side.
As he climbed behind the wheel to leave the mountain that morning, a sense of unease settled in Noah’s stomach. The revelation that a staff member had disposed of the geocache without proper investigation left him with a lingering suspicion. Could it be possible that this seemingly innocuous action had inadvertently signed the Matthews girl’s death warrant?
7
McKenzie was devouring three fat fries when the phone’s shrill ring pierced the air. Startled, he paused mid-chew, his eyes widening as he glanced toward Noah.
Noah smoothly fished the phone out of his pocket. With a quick swipe of his hand, he wiped his lips with a napkin before answering the call.
“Detective Sutherland. Uh-huh,” he murmured into the receiver, nodding in acknowledgment as he listened intently to Barry Carlise’s account of confiscating the geocache.
He had been hoping for a detailed breakdown of the cache’s contents, but instead, he received a Cliff Notes version of an argument.
“So you intervened?”
“Had to, it was getting out of hand.”
“Do you recall who they were?” Noah inquired.
“Some couple. Early seventies,” Barry replied, his voicecrackling with static. “They got into a spat with a hiker who felt they were littering.”
“Did you get names?”
“No. It was over before it started.”
Noah furrowed his brow, mentally noting down the information. “Are there any webcams directed at that spot?” he pressed further.
“On the peak, it updates every three minutes. But nothing facing that area of the wall,” Barry confirmed, his voice trailing off slightly as if lost in thought.
Just then, the sound of shattering glass broke the momentary silence, causing Noah to turn his head toward the commotion. A waitress hurried past, her face flushed with embarrassment as she scrambled to clean up the mess — a mishap from carrying one too many items.
The atmosphere inside the Big Slide Brewery and Public House just after noon was electric, the lunchtime rush in full swing. The clinking of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the hustle and bustle of the staff created a flurry of activity as they tended to multiple tables, weaving their way through the crowded space with practiced ease.
“And the hiker?”
“He was with a family. Early thirties, roughly. Look, I’m not one for pissing on anyone’s parade, but I felt it was best that I removed it and brought it to my boss to see what he wanted to do with it.”
“Doug Stevens.”
“Yeah. He asked me to toss it out, so I did.”
