Page 85 of Silent Bones
The weight of the realization settled over them like a heavy blanket. They weren't just investigating murders, they wereuncovering institutional corruption that reached into their own department.
Rishi's voice was barely above a whisper. "If they can access our systems, they know everything we're doing."
Noah stared at the redacted document on screen, those thick black bars hiding the truth Dale had tried to tell. "We're not just hunting a killer, we’re fighting a system that buried the truth once and is willing to kill to keep it buried."
The cursor blinked steadily on Rishi's monitor, marking time in a room that suddenly felt far less secure than it had moments before.
Someone wasn't just covering up the past, they were actively working to control the present.
Night had settledover the lake by the time Noah pushed through his front door, the weight of the day's revelations following him like a shadow. His home felt different now, less like a sanctuary and more like another place where secrets could hide in the corners.
He flicked on the kitchen light and surveyed the chaos spread across his dining table: case files, photographs, sticky notes creating connections that seemed to grow more dangerous with each passing day. The bourbon bottle sat untouched where he'd left it, catching the overhead light like amber glass.
Noah poured two fingers but didn't drink. Instead, he pulled out a fresh legal pad and began reconstructing the timeline with brutal clarity:
AUGUST (LAST YEAR): Teenage group camps illegally above Wallface. Their activities trigger landslide that kills family below. Dale Thurston files report blaming the teens forthe deaths. Report gets buried, tragedy gets listed as natural accident. Dale forced into early retirement?
AUGUST (THIS YEAR): Same teenage group goes camping at Middle Saranac Lake. All four found dead, murders staged as monster attack. Stephen escapes but is later killed.
Below the timeline, he mapped the connections:
The Cover-Up Network: Someone with administrative access to law enforcement systems. Someone who could bury Dale's report, force his retirement, and now monitor their investigation in real time. Someone with enough institutional power to protect privileged teenagers and sacrifice an honest ranger.
Noah circled four questions that burned at the center of everything: WHO PROTECTED THE TEENS LAST YEAR? WHY KILL THEM THIS YEAR? WHAT IS MACK’s INVOLVEMENT? DID THERESA VOSS HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT?
The digital tampering Rishi had uncovered proved the cover-up was still active. Someone was panic-scrubbing files, staying ahead of their investigation, protecting secrets worth killing for.
His phone buzzed. A text from McKenzie: "Can't sleep. Keep thinking, what if the murders aren't random? What if someone wanted revenge for what really happened at Wallface? Did someone connected to the family that died there, find out the truth and come after the teens?“
Noah stared at the message, pieces shifting in his mind. If Dale's report was accurate, if the teens really had been there and caused that family's death, then they weren't just victims of the system's corruption, they were witnesses to it. Was one of them preparing to speak out? Had Stephen shared the truth with Theresa? Had she helped Stephen?
He typed back: “Let’s meet early tomorrow. We need to dig deeper into who had the authority to bury Dale's findings."
"And who's still willing to kill to keep them buried," McKenzie replied.
Noah set the phone down and stared at his timeline. The pattern was becoming clear: institutional corruption begets violence, cover-ups create killers, and the truth has a way of clawing its way to the surface no matter how deep you bury it.
But now they faced a terrifying reality. They weren't just investigating murders, they were threatening to expose a conspiracy that reached into the very systems meant to protect and serve. Someone with control over badges and authority and system access was watching their every move, anticipating their discoveries, working to stay ahead of justice.
He couldn’t help wonder if Luther was the puppet master.
22
Mack was linked to the case. They just weren’t sure how until the second warrant came through. All the pines above Cold Brook Road creaked in the morning breeze, their high branches whispering secrets only the wind could carry. McKenzie shifted in the passenger seat of Noah’s cruiser, chewing at the corner of his thumb. Ahead, a narrow dirt trail twisted through the brush, rutted, wet in patches, barely navigable by anything that wasn’t lifted and armed with four-wheel drive.
Noah lowered the binoculars.
“Truck’s coming up the north approach,” he said, voice low but certain. “It’s him.”
Behind them, a line of dark vehicles lay hidden under camo netting, a quiet joint task force of DEC officers, narcotics detectives, and multiple state troopers. No lights. No sirens. Just engines off and radios turned to a whisper.
McKenzie adjusted the strap of his vest, eyes still on the trail. “You really think he’s dumb enough to show up with game strapped across his rig the same day we’ve got a warrant?”
“I don’t think he’s dumb,” Noah said. “I think he’s used to being ignored.”
The hum of an ATV broke through the treeline. Then the growl of tires on gravel. A moment later, Mack Hawkins emerged from the forest on his four-wheeler, a gutted whitetail deer folded over the back like a bloody saddlebag. His face looked hollow, cheeks sunken, the red of his eyes washed pale by meth and sleepless nights. His hands shook slightly as he pulled to a stop outside his ramshackle cabin.
Noah signaled with two fingers.
