Page 39 of Fatal Fame
"Keep them separated until we can conduct formal interviews this afternoon. I want individual statements, not coordinated stories."
"Roger that. Noah... there's something else. When I mentioned that we'd found evidence of violence at the scene, the team exchanged looks that weren't exactly surprise. More like... confirmation of something they were already expecting."
If Pierce's own team had been anticipating violence, it suggested either they'd received threats he hadn't shared with police, or they knew more about his final hours than they were admitting.
“Document everything."
As crime scene processing continued, Noah coordinated the multiple aspects of an investigation that was growing more complex by the hour. The discovery of the burned cabin had transformed a missing person case into something that resembled organized crime: the deliberate elimination of evidence, the careful planning, and the resources required to pull off such an operation.
His phone buzzed with a text from Mia:Dad, I just heard about Pierce on the police scanner. Is it true? I want to help. Can I come down there?
Noah felt his stomach drop. His daughter's involvement with Pierce's investigation had been a source of constant worry, and now that involvement might make her a target for the same people who had apparently eliminated the podcaster.
He called her immediately, knowing that keeping Mia away from the scene was crucial for her safety.
"Mia, stay home."
“But Dad, I could help?—"
"You could get yourself killed." The words came out harsher than Noah intended, but the fear behind them was genuine. "We have evidence of violence at this scene. We don't know whathappened to Pierce, and we don't know if whoever took him is still in the area."
"Someone took him?”
“You aren’t to mention that.”
“But if he's hurt, or if he's out in the woods somewhere?—"
"We will find him. Professional search teams are handling it. K9 units, helicopters, trained personnel who know how to process a crime scene without compromising evidence." Noah softened his tone slightly. "Mia, I know you are eager, but I need you to trust me on this. Stay home, stay safe, and let me do my job."
"Do you think Pierce is dead?"
The question hit Noah harder than he'd expected. His professional assessment of the evidence pointed toward exactly that conclusion, but saying it out loud would make it real in ways that might devastate his daughter.
"I think Pierce is in serious trouble, and I think the people responsible are dangerous enough to eliminate anyone who gets in their way. That includes you if you start asking the wrong questions about the wrong people."
14
Hours later, Mia sat in her car outside the Adirondack Inn, gripping the steering wheel while her father's words echoed in her mind.Stay home. This is a police matter now.The dismissal stung more than it should have, but what bothered her most was the finality in his voice, as if Pierce's disappearance had already been written off as a lost cause.
The hotel looked different in the harsh morning light, its faded Victorian charm unable to mask the tension that seemed to emanate from the building itself. Three sheriff's department vehicles sat in the parking lot alongside a High Peaks PD cruiser, their presence announcing to anyone who cared to look that something significant had happened.
Mia pulled down the vanity mirror and checked her appearance, smoothing her dark hair back into a ponytail and making sure she looked like someone who belonged at the scene rather than a curious teenager playing detective. She'd learned from watching her father that confidence and purpose could open doors that hesitation and uncertainty kept locked.
The hotel lobby smelled of stale coffee and industrial carpet cleaner, with an underlying mustiness. The desk clerklooked up as she entered, his expression shifting from polite professionalism to wariness when he noted her youth.
“Hi, I’m here to see Deputy Callie Thorne," Mia said with the kind of authority she'd learned from years of watching Sutherland family members navigate bureaucratic obstacles. "My father asked me to deliver a message."
The clerk scrutinized her then consulted a clipboard that seemed to contain more information than a simple guest registry. "And your father is?"
"Noah Sutherland, BCI." The magic words that opened doors throughout the Adirondack region, carrying the weight of four generations of law enforcement credibility.
"Oh." The clerk's demeanor shifted immediately. "She's upstairs coordinating interviews. Elevator's right there, but you'll need to check in with the officer posted on the second floor."
Mia thanked him and headed for the elevator, her heart rate increasing as she realized she was about to walk into an active investigation scene. The elevator car was small and shabby, with mirrored walls that reflected her nervous energy back at her from multiple angles. She pressed the button for the second floor and tried to project the kind of calm competence that would get her past whatever security was waiting.
The elevator doors opened to reveal exactly what she'd feared, and hoped for. Callie stood in the hallway with another deputy, both of them looking over as the elevator arrived. Callie's expression went through several stages: surprise, recognition, suspicion, and finally a kind of resigned amusement.
"What are you doing here?" Callie asked, stepping forward to block Mia's path down the hallway.
