Page 8 of Twice Missing
"Noah, you know how it will get handled. You'll be asking why they never asked XYZ. Just run over there. Won't take you more than ten minutes. You can do it on your way back home."
"Why are you pushing, Savannah?"
"I'm not."
"Sure feels like it. You know we have others who could handle this."
"Do you want someone else to handle it or is this so you can pursue the fraud leads?"
"Are you getting pressure from someone higher up to keep me busy elsewhere?"
Savannah went quiet.
"Savannah."
"Like I told you before, shit rolls downhill. I'd rather have you beside me than trying to dig you out of a hole."
"So this is about covering your ass."
"It's about more than that."
"Then enlighten me. Who is pressuring you?"
"Just notify the family. We'll talk later."
As she ended the call, Noah's grip tightened on the phone. Since being reinstated and hearing ex-BCI investigator Thomas O'Connell's account of being let go, he was certain Luther Ashford had someone in State in his back pocket. He just wasn't sure who.
He gave one final glance across the lake, his mind switching back to the present moment. For ten years, it had held onto its secret, preserving Emily Carter's final moments beneath its icy surface. Now, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a golden glow across the broken ice, Noah felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.
3
The Bronco rumbled across the snow-dusted streets of Saranac Lake, its headlights cutting through the early morning. The town, nestled in the heart of the Adirondacks, was alive with the spirit of Christmas. Colorful lights adorned houses, twinkling against the backdrop of snow-laden evergreens. Inflatable Santas and snowmen dotted the front yards, but it all just reminded Noah of the weight he felt in his chest.
As he turned onto Elm Street, Noah's eyes swept over the suburban landscape. The homes here were a mix of partial brick and siding, their shingled roofs blanketed in white. Icicle lights hung from eavestroughs, casting a soft glow on the pristine snow below. A few houses boasted elaborate light displays, their yards transformed into winter wonderlands complete with illuminated reindeer and miniature sleighs.
He pulled up to the Carter residence, a two-story home with dark windows and an empty driveway. He sat for amoment, steeling himself for the conversation to come. The weight of Emily Carter's story pressed heavily on his shoulders as he stepped out.
His knock on the front door echoed in the stillness, met only by silence. As he turned to leave, a gruff voice called out from across the street. "Can I help you?"
Noah spotted a man setting down a trash can at the curb. He made his way over, the snow crunching beneath his feet. Under the glow of a nearby streetlight, Noah took in the man's appearance. He was in his early 70s, with a salt-and-pepper mustache and weathered hands that spoke of a lifetime of hard work. Despite his age, he stood tall, his eyes sharp and questioning.
"I was hoping to speak with Nathan Carter," Noah said.
"You're that cop, aren't you?"
Noah nodded. "That obvious?"
"I've seen your face in the newspaper and on the news," the man replied. "Noah Sutherland. State Police. You're from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation."
"That's right," Noah confirmed, surprised by the recognition.
"Hugh Sutherland's boy," the man said, a hint of familiarity in his voice. "I'm Jim Carter. Nathan is my son. He's working right now. Runs a motel in town. What is this about?"
Before Noah could answer, headlights swept across the street as a Toyota SUV pulled into the Carter driveway. Jim glanced over. "That'll be Gina. My granddaughter. Back from her shift at the hospital."
"The same one Emily worked at?" Noah asked.
Jim nodded, pride evident in his voice. "That's right. Her girls wanted to follow in her footsteps. Though neither one has aspirations of being a doctor. But a nurse is nothing to turn your nose up at. We need our first responders. Not enough of them, I can tell you that. Though a few more than doctors. I have no idea where all the doctors are nowadays. I can barely get in to see mine without waiting months. A friend of mine —"
