Page 97 of Silent Bones
“Exactly,” Noah said. “And if Logan knew it, Miles probably did too.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “McKenzie, is the phone gone?”
“No. It’s on the nightstand. We checked it. I had to pry his eyelid open. It was wiped. Factory reset. No texts, no call log, no photos,” McKenzie said.
“Let’s seal the room,” Noah said. “And McKenzie?”
“Yeah?”
“Have Rishi contact the cell company and get every call Logan made or received in the last three days. Also see if he can work his magic on that phone. I want to know if he reached anyone. Especially Mack. Or Luther Ashford.”
“You really think Ashford would be that sloppy?”
“No, but panic can drive people to make mistakes.”
McKenzie nodded and stepped out to make the call.
They left the room in silence. McKenzie stayed at the motel to coordinate. Noah and Callie descended the metal stairs, the motel sign flickering overhead like a faulty warning.
The motel parking lot buzzed with static from radios and idle curiosity from a few locals peering from across the street.
In the vehicle, Noah sat with the engine off, hands still gripping the wheel. He glanced once more at the motel door as it closed behind the techs, the lock clicking like a final nail. Somewhere inside, Logan’s drawings were being bagged and tagged. Somewhere inside, the story was already being rewritten by someone else.
But not this time.
This time, Noah would follow the roots until they broke the surface.
Even if it meant cutting down the whole damn forest.
He tapped the side of his phone, staring down the contact list.
Hawkins. Voss. Forrester.
Callie’s radio crackled to life on her belt. A voice came over. “We just got a 10-13 out near Pine Haven Road. Officer down. Report of a residential break-in, signs of struggle.”
She keyed the mic. “Who’s the registered owner?”
There was a pause. “William Calder.”
Noah was already moving. “We’re on it.”
26
Earlier
It was too quiet on the lake.
The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful but hollow, like the world had pressed mute and forgotten to unpause.
Avery Calder stood barefoot in the kitchen, one hand wrapped around a glass of water, the other stroking the silky head of her father’s retriever, Dusty. He leaned into her leg, warm and dopey, sensing nothing of the unease settling over the house like fog. The sun had slipped behind the pines an hour ago, and now the last shades of dusk were sliding into gray.
She hadn’t meant to stay home alone this evening.
Her father had driven out to Ray Brook for a late meeting, something DEC-related, though she suspected it was more about shielding her from the fallout of the murders. Ever since the police came to the DEC and the whole thing with Stephen exploded, her father had been acting like someone with too many spinning plates. Talking in half-sentences. Grunting morethan answering. Watching her too closely when she said she was “fine.”
She looked out the window. The police cruiser was still there. She'd asked why they needed to be there, and her father had said it was for her safety. Safe? She didn't feel safe at all. If anything, she felt like a prisoner in her own home, watching the world through glass while a uniformed stranger kept vigil outside.
Avery sighed and set the glass on the counter. She reached for her phone. Still no reply from a friend. Just a read receipt from hours ago and that quiet, digital stillness that always made her feel lonelier than no message at all.
