Page 53 of The Catcher
McKenzie’s voice cut through the moment of triumph, reminding them of the unresolved issue. “Hold on a minute. What about Central Park?” he questioned.
Noah exchanged a quick look with Porter beforerushing out of the room, leaving McKenzie to grumble about their next challenge. “Here we go again!”
As the sirenwailed and strobe lights flashed, the police cruiser raced along Camp Colby Road, cutting through the lush greenery of the Adirondacks. The midday sun cast dappled shadows across the winding road, creating a picturesque scene as they sped toward their destination.
McKenzie, seated beside Noah in the front of the cruiser, took advantage of the brief lull in urgency to bring Noah up to speed on the location.
“The state owns it,” McKenzie began, his voice barely audible over the wail of the siren. “The Department of Environmental Conservation has three summer camps for children; one is Camp Colby, alternatively known as Camp Intermission. It’s for 12 to 17-year-olds. They hold a Teen Ecology Camp there for a week in July and August so they can learn about conservation. You name it, they do it. Camping, archery, climbing, hiking, fishing, kayaking, hell, even a firearms safety course. Not bad. That’s a far cry from my shitty summers on Long Island.”
As he drove, Noah darted glances out the window at the scenery. Tall trees lined the roadside, their leaves rustling in the breeze as the cruiser sped past. Occasionally, they passed by small clearings where bright sunlight illuminated patches of wildflowers and ferns.
As they approached their destination, the two-story mansion once owned by William Morris came into view,its imposing facade standing against the backdrop of the forest. Multiple outbuildings dotted the landscape, their weathered exteriors hinting at years of use and history.
Noah’s eye caught kayaks stacked, old tire swings, and tiny cabins in the woodland.
McKenzie continued his briefing. “Get this; the summer camp doesn’t use the mansion. Apparently, the staff housing, cafeteria, and offices operate out of the outbuildings, and they have bunkhouses for the campers. It’s crazy to think that a vacation home like that, used by some of the biggest names in showbiz, is unused. They should give it to me.”
They swerved up near the front of the offices. Noah got out and glanced at the mansion. It stood as a relic of a bygone era, its weathered exterior bearing the scars of time.
The top half was made from clapboard siding, and the foundations were made from stone. However, now it looked worn, weathered, and forgotten, with peeling paint and crumbling masonry hinting at years of abandonment.
Ivy snaked its way up the walls, weaving a tangled web of greenery that seemed to envelop the mansion in a shroud of mystery. Noah noted two lower basement windows that gaped like empty eye sockets, their shattered panes reflecting the desolation that pervaded the estate.
Once a welcoming entrance, the front porch now sagged under the weight of neglect, its steps worn and uneven from years of disuse. A sense of foreboding could be felt, as if the mansion held dark secrets within its decaying walls.
“All right, folks, look lively!”
As the search began, state troopers, local officers, and sheriff’s deputies fanned out in every direction, calling out “Colt. Colt Banning!” in unison. Amidst the flurry of activity, Noah’s keen eye caught sight of a man raking fall leaves nearby. Approaching him, Noah wasted no time in getting to the point.
“You in charge?” Noah asked.
The man looked up from his task, shaking his head. “No, just here to winterize the place,” he replied, gesturing towards the sprawling estate behind him.
“Have you seen anyone driving in and out of here over the past day or two?”
The man shook his head once more. “Nope. My crew and I arrived this morning. Barring a few locals on canoes out on the lake, it’s just been us. We get the place ready every winter. What’s this about?” he inquired, curiosity etched in his features.
“That’s all, thanks,” Noah said dismissively, pivoting away without further explanation. It was standard to ask questions, but divulging details wasn’t necessary.
Heading towards the nearby lake, Noah’s hand instinctively brushed against his sidearm as his mind churned with thoughts of the case. The sprawling property, the evidence found, and the recent discovery of the Walkman overlapped.
“This is going to take all day,” McKenzie remarked. “The property is huge. This has to be over 300 acres. If that boy is here, he could be anywhere.”
Over the next twenty minutes, they meticulouslycombed through the property, leaving no stone unturned in their search.
Porter’s voice broke through the tension. “He’s gotta be here.”
McKenzie's frustration boiled over. “Son of a bitch!” he snapped. “I’m tired of these games. How the hell is he staying one step ahead of us?”
“Maybe he works for us,” Porter suggested, hinting at the recent corruption scandal within the Adirondack Sheriff's Office that had led to a new sheriff being appointed.
Noah pondered this possibility, but something didn’t sit right with him. There was a personal element to this case that transcended mere corruption. Before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, Noah’s phone rang, interrupting his train of thought.
It was Rishi.
“What you got?” Noah asked.
“Did you guys check the other side of the tape?”
