Page 34 of Fatal Fame
"Same story. Carl Peterson won't return calls. Rita Morrison claims she has nothing to say. Danny Walsh told me to 'stop stirring up shit that should stay buried,’ which was actually the most communicative response I got."
Pierce pulled up photos on his laptop that Theo had taken that morning. Their rental van now sported the words "GO HOME" spray-painted across both sides in red letters that looked like they'd been applied with more anger than artistic skill.
"When did that happen?" Sienna asked, studying the images.
"Sometime between midnight and 6 AM. Hotel security cameras mysteriously malfunctioned during that exact time window," Pierce said.
"So we're dealing with people who have access to security systems or they slipped someone who worked here some money to disable them," Camila observed. "That suggests more sophistication than random vandalism."
"Or law enforcement connections," Pierce added. "Which brings us back to Michael Torres and the question of how deep this conspiracy goes."
Theo looked up from his tablet. "There's something else. I've been monitoring social media for mentions of black trucks in the High Peaks area. Three different people have posted about seeing a similar vehicle in the past week—dark pickup, tinted windows, no visible plates."
“You mean, the same truck that was in the Hale crime scene photo?"
"Impossible to know from the descriptions, but the timing is interesting. Sightings started the day after we arrived in town."
Pierce felt the familiar tingle of being close to a breakthrough mixed with the growing awareness that it might come at a significant personal cost. "What about that video Wendy mentioned? The surveillance footage that supposedly shows the hooded figure?"
"Still no luck getting access through official channels," Marcus said. "BCI claims it's part of an ongoing investigation, which is bureaucratic speak for 'we're not sharing.'"
"Which brings us to our next problem," Pierce continued. "We're hitting walls everywhere we turn. People who know things won't talk, officials won't cooperate, and someone is actively trying to intimidate us into leaving. We need a way inside this community's wall of silence."
The room fell quiet as everyone considered their limited options. Pierce had built his career on the assumption that persistence and media pressure could crack even the most stubborn cases, but High Peaks was proving resistant to his usual methods.
"What about the girl?" Sienna asked. "Mia Sutherland. She did say she’s got family connections throughout local lawenforcement, she knows the community dynamics, and she's already shown a willingness to help."
Pierce had been thinking the same thing, but he'd hesitated to involve Mia more deeply after witnessing the violence at the town hall meeting. Still, she might be their only remaining path to the information they needed.
"Her father's made it clear he doesn't want her involved," Pierce said.
“She can make her own decisions," Camila pointed out. "And if she's serious about a career in law enforcement, this could be valuable experience. Contact her."
Pierce pulled out his phone and scrolled to Mia's contact information. "I'll ask her to come by the hotel. No pressure, just an honest conversation about what we need and whether she's willing to help."
Mia satin her car outside the inn for several minutes, trying to decide whether walking through those doors would be taking a step toward her future or making a mistake she'd regret for the rest of her life. Pierce's phone call had been carefully neutral—an invitation to discuss the investigation, nothing more—but she understood the implications.
It wasn’t just her father that concerned her now.
The hotel parking lot was nearly empty in the late afternoon, which made her feel more conspicuous as she finally gathered her courage and headed for the main entrance.
Pierce answered his door on the first knock, as if he'd been waiting by the window for her arrival. "Mia, thanks for coming."
The room looked like a war room full of papers and photographs covering every surface, multiple laptops running,the kind of organized chaos that suggested people working around the clock on a complex problem. The rest of the team looked up as she entered, offering polite greetings that carried undertones of assessment.
"Can I get you something?" Pierce asked, gesturing toward a mini-fridge stocked with sodas and water. "We've got snacks too, if you're hungry."
Mia accepted a bottle of water, noting how Pierce seemed to be working extra hard to make her comfortable. The attention felt both flattering and slightly manipulative, as if she was being buttered up for something that might not be in her best interests.
"So," Pierce said, settling into a chair across from her while the rest of the team arranged themselves around the room like an audience for a performance. "I'll cut to the chase. We're hitting walls everywhere we turn in this investigation. People won't talk to us, officials won't cooperate, and we're running out of conventional options for getting answers.”
Mia nodded, understanding where this conversation was heading but waiting for Pierce to make his request explicit.
"Evelyn Cross mentioned that the key to this case probably lies in the files that BCI has—crime scene reports, witness statements, evidence inventories, all the documentation that hasn't been made public. Things that not even she could gain access to. We were hoping that maybe you could speak with your father, see if there's any way to get access to that case file."
The request was loaded with implications about family loyalty, professional ethics, and personal risk. Mia understood that Pierce was asking her to choose between supporting his investigation and respecting her father's explicit instructions about staying away from the case.
"You want me to ask my dad to share confidential police files with a podcast team?"
