Page 57 of Twice Missing
Noah sighed, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "What Gretchen said about Carl McNeal. Thedamn guy has gone off the grid. No one knows where he is."
"But you said he was in a state when you saw him," McKenzie countered.
"Yeah, but..." Noah trailed off, his brow furrowed in thought.
McKenzie leaned back in his seat, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "Noah, we all know big life changes can send people over the edge — a job loss, a death of a loved one, these kinds of things have taken down some of the strongest. I wouldn't be surprised if he's sitting in a bar somewhere drowning his sorrows."
The trees of the landscape blurred in Noah's peripheral vision as the cruiser wound around the roads heading north. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the crunch of tires on the snow-dusted asphalt.
"No, it's not that," Noah finally said, his voice low and intense. "It's what he told Gretchen. That there was more to Lena's death." He took a deep breath before continuing, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Look, I phoned the prison this morning and found out that Carl showed up there on the morning of Aiden's death. There's a record of not only that but a call made to the prison a few days before. I think Aiden knew more. I think Carl stumbled across that information while going through the files at the newspaper."
McKenzie listened intently as Noah laid out his theory, connecting the dots between Carl's disappearance, Aiden's death, and the lingering questions surrounding Lena'smurder. The implications were staggering, potentially linking Luther Ashford and Noah's father to a web of deceit that stretched back years.
"You think your father is doing Luther's dirty work?" McKenzie said softly, voicing the thought Noah had been trying to avoid.
Noah nodded, his expression pained. He didn't want to believe that his father had gotten his hands dirty like Sheriff Daniel Roberts, but the possibility loomed large in his mind. Maybe Luther had found a way to reach him, to compromise the integrity Noah had always associated with his father's tenure as sheriff.
McKenzie, sensing the weight of Noah's thoughts, reached for his pack of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips, a habit Noah recognized as a sign of stress. He never lit it, but it seemed to give McKenzie a sense of control over his racing mind.
"So was Aiden an errand boy for the Ashfords?" Noah mused aloud, his voice tinged with frustration. "Did he take the fall for her death? Did he even kill her, or was he just a patsy? A scapegoat for someone else who used his truck? Or was it possible that it just came down to him being worried about his own life?" He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I just have so many questions. And without knowing where Carl is, and now that Aiden is dead, I fear I won't get the answers."
"How long was Aiden with Lena?" McKenzie asked, trying to piece together the timeline.
"Several years," Noah replied, his voice softening at the memories. "I always got the sense that he cared for Miaand Ethan. I think he felt like a stepfather to them even though Lena hadn't married him. Lena cared for him too. That's why it was such a hard pill to swallow to find out he was behind her murder."
The conversation petered out as they crossed onto the reservation. The landscape shifted subtly, the architecture and signage reflecting the unique culture of the Mohawk people. They were hoping to speak with Jacob Moon, Kayla's ex-boyfriend, to get a better idea of where she was at mentally in the months before her disappearance.
As they neared the address punched into the GPS, a plume of dark smoke rising in the air caught their attention. Rounding a bend, they were met with a scene of controlled chaos. Tribal police cruisers, their lights flashing against the gray sky, formed a perimeter around a blackened trailer. Fire trucks stood at the ready, hoses snaking across the snow-covered ground. EMTs moved with purpose, their bright jackets standing out.
Neighbors huddled in small groups, their breath visible in the cold air as they whispered and pointed. Children peered out from behind their parents' legs, eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination.
"Let me guess, that's Jacob's place," McKenzie said, his voice grim.
Noah nodded, his jaw set. "God, I hope he's still alive."
Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they pulled to the side of Mohawk Lane. The acrid smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of pine and snow. Noah and McKenzie got out, their shoes sinkingslightly into the fresh powder as they approached the cordoned-off area.
A tribal officer, his face ruddy from the cold, held up a hand. "You'll need to stay back," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Noah flashed his credentials. "I'm with State Police."
The officer's expression hardened. "Then you really need to stay back," he said, before shouting over his shoulder. "Lieutenant, we got State Police here."
Through the crowd, Noah spotted a familiar face — Detective David Oates, the same man they'd spoken to at the station. Oates' eyes narrowed as he caught sight of them. "I'll handle this, Pete," he called out, making his way towards them with purposeful strides.
"I thought I told you folks State doesn't have jurisdiction here," Oates said, his breath forming small clouds in the cold.
Noah cut straight to the chase. "Is he alive?"
"Who?" Oates asked, though his tone suggested he knew exactly who Noah meant.
"Jacob."
Oates nodded towards an EMT van parked nearby. "Yeah. Damn kid was lucky."
Noah turned to head in that direction, but Oates' voice stopped him. "You want to tell me why you're back?"
"I didn't know you knew we were gone," Noah replied, a hint of challenge in his voice.
