Page 75 of Twice Missing
"A spiderweb of land claim disputes, protests, accusations by the MMIW regarding the man camps, and the St. Lawrence Sheriff's Office caught in the middle of it all."
"Well I'm glad to see we have narrowed down some suspects and motives," he said sarcastically. "You know, Noah, we could just return to High Peaks and brush this all under the rug."
"I can't do that."
"Would save you a big headache."
"It’s not happening."
"Look man, I know Lena was connected to Emily and somewhere in your brain, you think that by getting justicefor Emily, you will in turn feel better about the way things went down with Lena, but I'm telling you it rarely ends clean. Murder, disappearances, cover-ups, they are always going to be a part of our world and some will be easier to solve than others. But in this case — we have multiple counties, a reservation, a border issue, jurisdiction disagreements, different sheriff offices, human trafficking accusations, drug smuggling, missing evidence, and ten years of he said, she said being brushed under the rug."
"That's why I want to get to the bottom of this."
"No, you want to clear your conscience and nail Ashford. It's personal."
"If he's behind this. If he's behind Lena’s death. If he's the one pulling the strings, keeping people quiet, bankrolling an operation of drugs and human trafficking. Don't you think that's worth stopping?"
"Of course I do. I wouldn't be a detective if I didn't think we could make a difference. But at what cost, Noah? Callie is in the hospital right now, your teens probably traumatized for life, and you — you're on some warpath, some need to prove that you're not your father, that you’re not… some sellout. Well let me save you some time. I know you're not. You are different, but the line between who you are and who you will become blurs the more personal it gets. And believe me, you are the one who is making this personal."
"No, Ashford is."
"There you go again, blaming someone else."
"You think his hands are clean?" Noah shot back.
"It doesn't matter, Noah, what we think, only what we are willing to risk."
Noah groaned. It was all connected somehow. Tugging at the thread tied to Emily's case had only unraveled a longer, tangled line full of knots. It was time-consuming, frustrating, and dangerous.
His thoughts drifted to his children. To Callie. To Gretchen, and what she'd said:Let someone else handle it.It was tempting. It would certainly save him a hell of a lot of time. But a picture was starting to form. It wasn't complete, it was clouded by lies, mistakes, and the passage of time, but it was there.
31
The expansive solar project sprawled across the landscape, its rows of gleaming panels capturing the sun's energy — a technologist's dream come true. In the early afternoon light, the panels shimmered as they stretched from the outskirts of Massena into Brasher.
As Noah and McKenzie approached the facility, they were met with the lively scene of a bustling construction zone. Steel fencing surrounded multiple trailers, and workers in hard hats and bright orange vests moved purposefully throughout the site, their energy palpable in the air.
The air was filled with the low hum of machinery and the occasional shout of instructions. To their left, a finished section of the solar farm stood silent and gleaming, rows upon rows of panels angled towards the winter sky. To their right, in a separate farmer's field, earth-moving equipment carved into the frozen ground, preparing the way for more panels.
Noah and McKenzie exited their vehicle, their shoes crunching on the snow-covered gravel. As they made their way towards the main trailer, they passed several construction workers. Some offered curt nods, while others eyed them with undisguised curiosity.
Climbing the metal steps, they entered the trailer and were immediately enveloped in a flurry of activity. The space was cramped but efficiently organized. A receptionist, a woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun, sat behind a desk, engaged in conversation with a worker whose radio crackled with intermittent chatter. Near the back, two men huddled over a large map pinned to the wall, discussing logistics in hushed tones.
Noah approached the receptionist, who looked up at him with a professional smile. "State Police," he said, flashing his credentials. "Would Abel Davis be available?"
"One moment," she replied, rising from her seat and disappearing through a doorway at the back of the trailer. A moment later, she returned, followed by a large, barrel-chested man with a thick beard and glasses, dressed in a shirt and tie paired incongruously with jeans.
"Afternoon. What is this in regards to?" Abel asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
"We just had a few questions," Noah replied. "Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?"
Abel's brow furrowed. "I'm a little busy right now. You're going to have to be specific."
"It's related to Selena Lightfeather and Kayla Bravebird."
Noah noticed a subtle shift in Abel's demeanor, a flicker of what might have been nervousness crossing his face. "Come this way," Abel said, leading them into his office.
The office was small but well-appointed. A large desk dominated the space, flanked by three chairs. The walls were covered in satellite maps and schedules, and a computer hummed quietly on the desk. Stacks of paperwork cluttered every available surface.
