Page 90 of Fatal Fame
"That we may never know, or if we do, it will come out in time. Maybe she did kill him. Or maybe she just covered it up and someone else did it. For now, we'll have to assume it was to keep him quiet. Maybe he knew something he shouldn't have."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the steady beeping of medical equipment and the distant sounds of hospital activity in the corridor.
"What's next for you?" Gideon asked. "After all of this, have you changed your mind about law enforcement? You still going to join the FBI... or follow in your father's footsteps?"
"I'm considering all options."
"So it hasn't left a bad taste in your mouth?"
"Quite the opposite."
Gideon grinned, and for a moment, the tubes and machines faded into the background, replaced by the familiar dynamic of two investigators who'd shared something extraordinary.
Another nurse entered the room carrying a tray of food that looked marginally more appetizing than typical hospital fare.
"Well, I should leave you to it," Mia said, standing and adjusting the chair back to its original position. "I'll visit again soon."
"I expect you to," Gideon said with the warmth of genuine friendship. "And Mia? Don't let anyone convince you that what we did was reckless. Sometimes justice requires people willing to take risks."
The late afternoonsun filtered through the windshield of Noah's Ford Bronco as he drove through the tree-lined streets toward Hugh Sutherland's house. The autumn colors were at their peak, painting the landscape in shades of gold and crimson that made even familiar neighborhoods look transformed. In the passenger seat, Mia watched the scenery pass while Ethan sat in the back, his arms crossed.
"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Noah muttered, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
"Dad, family is family, right?" Mia said. "Enjoy the evening, please. I know it means a lot to Grandpa."
"I just..." Noah glanced over at his daughter, then caught Ethan's eyes in the rearview mirror before going quiet. The weight of family dynamics and unresolved tensions filled the vehicle like an unwelcome passenger.
"You know, I just wanted to acknowledge the digging around you did, your persistence in the case. If it wasn't for you and Gideon..." he began to say.
"And Evelyn Cross. Don't forget her. A lot of it was her laying the foundations."
"Of course, Evelyn. You're beginning to see how it takes a team." Noah paused, choosing his words carefully. "Anyway, Ijust wanted to say..." He glanced in the rearview mirror again, making sure Ethan was listening. "I wanted to say to both of you, well done. Ethan, your insights helped as much as yours did, Mia."
For a brief moment, Ethan smiled.
They pulled into Hugh's driveway behind Maddie’s and Ray's vehicles—a silver Lexus and a practical Honda that spoke to their different approaches to success and family life. The house looked the same as always, its white colonial facade and black shutters projecting an image of stability that Noah knew was more fragile than it appeared.
"Well, let's do this," Noah said, turning off the engine.
As they prepared to get out, Noah's phone rang. McKenzie's name appeared on the display, and Noah hesitated before answering. Police calls during family time rarely brought good news.
"McKenzie? What's up?"
"I dug around like you asked," McKenzie's Scottish accent carried through the speaker. "The glove was there at one time. We have confirmed it was removed by Anita. Where, we don't know."
Noah felt his investigative instincts sharpen despite the family setting. "Why keep it though?"
"What?"
"I mean, I've been thinking about the black truck. Anita didn't own one. You ran her vehicle history. Neither did Travis Rudd. I can't help wondering if there was a second person at the Hale house that night."
"If there was, any evidence linking them to that place is gone."
Noah nodded, even though McKenzie couldn't see him. The case was officially closed, but loose ends had a way of unraveling carefully constructed narratives. He ended the call and sat in thedriver's seat for a moment, lost in thought about evidence that disappeared and trucks that were never identified.
His phone buzzed with a text message from Savannah: "Congratulations on handling the case while I was away. I have good news to share when you're free to talk. A friend offered to pay for treatment. The treatment seems to be working. It’s the first real hope we've had."
The message revealed a vulnerability in Savannah that she rarely showed, a glimpse behind the professional competence that defined their working relationship. Noah understood the weight of watching someone you loved fight for their life, the desperate hope that came with experimental treatments and generous friends.
