Page 16 of Twice Missing
"It could have been taken out while they were investigating and wasn't returned," Lopez offered, his tone suggesting this was a common occurrence.
McKenzie scoffed, tossing down another stack of papers. "One glance at this and it's clear it amounts to a whole lot of nothing."
Lopez's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think we've been chasing our tail all these years?"
Noah leaned forward, his mind working through the implications. "Did you ever get pestered by Nathan Carter? Like phone calls each month?"
"No," Lopez replied, shaking his head. "Beyond the interview with him, we haven't heard from him since. We occasionally update the family, but it's always the daughters we speak to."
"What was the general theory?" Noah asked, his instincts telling him there was more to this story than the files revealed.
Lopez hesitated before answering. "That the husband had something to do with her disappearance, that she was in some love triangle. But there's no evidence to prove that."
"But that was the consensus," Noah pressed.
Lopez nodded, a hint of resignation in his voice. "How many cases have we seen where the husband or wife was behind it, or an ex-lover?"
"More times than I can count," Noah agreed, his mind racing. "Emily was last seen getting in her truck and driving away from the hospital. She was alone. Now we know she was struck on the back of the head. That meant she had to have stopped somewhere on her route home. If we find out the where and why, we might find out by who."
Noah stood abruptly, his chair scraping against thelinoleum floor. "McKenzie, follow up with some of those who gave statements, dig deeper." He paused. “Oh, and ask the family if they remember their mother owning a Native bracelet.”
"Where are you going?" McKenzie asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"FCI in Ray Brook," Noah replied, his tone brooking no argument.
McKenzie's eyes widened in realization. "Wait. Hold up. You're not going to speak with who I think you are, are you?"
Noah paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "If anyone knew about that case, it would have been him. Not everything ends up in a report. Nearly every case I've broken has come from reading between the lines."
"Maybe there's nothing there," McKenzie cautioned, concern evident in his voice.
"Maybe so," Noah conceded. He knew that sometimes, the most crucial information lay not in what was written, but in what was left unsaid.
As Noah made his way through the precinct, the buzz of activity faded into the background. His mind was already at FCI Ray Brook, preparing for the conversation ahead. He knew the risks of dredging up old connections, of stirring the pot of a case long gone cold. But the image of Emily Carter's body, preserved by the icy waters of Upper Saranac Lake, drove him forward.
Outside, the winter air chewed at his skin as he made his way to his Bronco. The streets of Malone were quiet. Storefronts were decorated with twinkling lights andfestive displays. The difference between the holiday cheer and the grim reality of his work wasn't lost on Noah.
As he started the engine, Noah's phone buzzed. A text from Mia: "Dad, when are you coming home? We need to talk about Christmas plans."
The message was a reminder of the balancing act he constantly performed —dedicated investigator and present father. With a sigh, he typed out a quick reply: "I'll be home tonight. We'll talk then. Love you."
Pulling out of the parking lot, Noah set his course for Ray Brook. The drive would give him time to think, to piece together the fragments of information he'd gleaned from the old case files.
7
The sprawling complex of FCI Ray Brook rose from the Adirondack wilderness like a misplaced chunk of urban infrastructure, a nightmarish sight sandwiched between Saranac and High Peaks. Its concrete walls and gleaming razor wire stood in jarring contrast to the serene pine forests and mountain peaks surrounding it. As Noah veered down the winding road, the facility loomed before him, a monstrous beast of brick and mortar, dominating yet shrinking against the majestic natural backdrop.
Designed to house more than 800 men, this medium-security fortress had a cold, institutional presence. Yet there were echoes of its Olympic past — the bones of the 1980 Olympic Village still visible beneath the prison's grim facade. Noah imagined the hope and excitement that once filled these grounds, now replaced by confinement and regret.
The main building loomed large, its rows of narrowwindows staring blankly outward like hundreds of unblinking eyes. Guard towers punctuated the perimeter at regular intervals, watchful sentinels scanning for any sign of trouble.
The facility's proximity to Adirondack State Prison and Noah's workplace made it an ever-present reminder of the thin line between freedom and confinement, a reality that weighed heavily on his mind as he parked. Theories swirled in Noah's head as he recalled the unexpected acceptance of his visitation request. His curiosity about the reason only fueled his racing thoughts.
Daniel Roberts, the disgraced former sheriff of Adirondack County, was now an inmate here, his fall from grace precipitated by revelations of corruption and his involvement in the murder of Luke, Noah's twin brother. The two hadn't exchanged words since that fateful night of Roberts' arrest. He hadn’t seen him since court. Noah had harbored no desire to speak to the man who had shattered his family, yet here he was, drawn by an inexplicable need for answers or closure.
As Noah stepped out of his car, the looming prison walls seemed to mock the very concept of justice he once believed in. The thought of facing Roberts after all this time sent a chill down his spine, but he steeled himself for the confrontation.
Noah pushed out of his vehicle, pulling up the collar on his navy peacoat around his ears to keep him warm.
