Chapter 1 #2
She'd spent the afternoon at the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, digitizing old newspaper archives—the same place her mother Lena had worked as a reporter before her death.
Natalie Ashford had arranged for Mia to learn more about what her mother did investigating cases, helping her decide between following in her mother's footsteps or pursuing her FBI dreams. The Hale coverage had been surprisingly thin for a double murder, a few newspaper reports, one photo of a black truck, witness statements that said nothing, and a conclusion that felt rushed.
Even at eighteen, with no formal training, Mia could see the gaps.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her friend Sarah: You see that podcast guy posted about the Hale murders? Everyone's freaking out.
Mia stared at Pierce's post, at the photo of the black truck that looked hauntingly familiar.
She thought about her grandfather Hugh, how he sometimes got confused these days, mixed up details from old cases.
She thought about her father Noah, working late again on some BCI investigation, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders like all the Sutherland men seemed to do.
And she thought about Rebecca and Jacob Hale, two people who deserved better than a thin file and a town's selective amnesia.
Before she could second-guess herself, Mia typed her response:
ADKLawGirl here. I stand by what I said about being careful.
This case has more layers than the official story suggests.
There are people in town who remember details that never made it into reports.
If you're serious about investigating this, you need to understand that you're not just challenging a case—you're challenging a community's need to move on.
Some doors, once opened, can't be closed again.
She hesitated for a moment, cursor hovering over the submit button. Her father would kill her if he knew she was engaging with true crime podcasters online, especially about a local case. But Rebecca and Jacob Hale deserved someone to care, someone to ask the questions that had never been asked.
Mia hit submit.
Pierce read ADKLawGirl's response with growing excitement. This was exactly what he'd hoped for—a local with knowledge, willing to engage but appropriately cautious. The kind of source that could crack a case wide open.
His phone rang, interrupting his planning. Unknown number, New York area code.
"Pierce Landry."
"Mr. Landry, my name is Evelyn Cross. I'm a retired forensic criminologist, and I understand you're looking into the Hale murders."
Pierce grabbed a pen, instantly alert. Forensic expert calling him directly? This was better than he'd dared hope. "Yes, that's right. How did you—"
"Word travels fast in small towns, especially when someone starts asking questions about old wounds.
" The woman's voice was calm, professional, but Pierce caught an undercurrent of something else.
Concern? Fear? "I worked the Hale case peripherally when I was still active. Consulted on the crime scene analysis."
"And?"
"And I’m interested in helping you.” A pause. "Would you be interested in meeting? I have some thoughts about what really happened that night."
Pierce stepped outside onto the building's rooftop patio, the sounds of LA traffic fading to a dull roar. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reminded him why people moved to California to chase dreams. "I'm very interested. When can we meet?"
"I'm in Saranac Lake. Retired here, many years ago. Couldn't stay away from the case that got away, I suppose." Evelyn's laugh held no humor. "But, Mr. Landry, before you book the flight that I know you're thinking about booking, you need to understand something."
"What's that?"
"The Hale murders weren't random. They weren't a home invasion gone wrong." Her voice dropped. "They weren't solved because certain people didn't want them solved. If you pull at this thread, it won't just unravel a case. It'll unravel lives. Careers. Maybe more."
Pierce felt his pulse quicken. This was what he lived for, the moment when a case shifted from interesting to dangerous. "Are you trying to scare me off?"
"I'm trying to make sure you know what you're getting into.
Rebecca Hale was involved with someone powerful.
Someone who has everything to lose if the truth is discovered.
When she and Jacob were killed, certain evidence disappeared.
Certain witnesses suddenly had nothing to say. Certain files got sealed."
“So there was corruption."
"I'm talking about a cover-up that goes deeper than you might imagine. And I'm talking about people who have killed before to protect their secrets."
Pierce looked out over the sprawling city, at the millions of people living their lives, most of them never touching the darkness he and his team explored. But somewhere in the mountains of upstate New York, that darkness was waiting.
"Ms. Cross, can you meet me tomorrow evening? I'll catch a red-eye tonight."
"Mr. Landry—"
"Pierce. And I appreciate the warning, I really do. But Rebecca and Jacob Hale deserve the truth. Don't you think?"
A long pause. "Yes," she said finally. "I suppose they do. There's a coffee shop on Main Street called the Daily Grind. Meet me there at 7 PM tomorrow."
"I'll be there."
"Pierce?" She used his first name now, her voice softer. "Bring someone with you. Don't do this alone."
The line went dead.
Pierce stood on the rooftop as darkness fell over Los Angeles, the city lights twinkling like stars in a polluted sky.
Below him, his team was packing up for the day, heading home to their trendy apartments and their Instagram-worthy lives.
But tomorrow, they'd all be heading into something different. Something real. Something dangerous.
He pulled out his phone and booked a red-eye flight to Plattsburgh International Airport, then sent a text to Marcus: Change of plans. We're heading to New York tomorrow. Pack the good mics—I have a feeling this is going to be the story that makes us.