Chapter 9
Thirty-five minutes east of High Peaks, the landscape shifted from tourist-friendly lakefront communities to working farms and small settlements that seemed untouched by the boutique shops and artisanal coffee culture that had transformed so much of the Adirondacks.
Pierce sat in the passenger seat of their rental van, reviewing his notes while Marcus drove and the rest of the team recovered from the previous night's town hall disaster.
The bruise on Pierce's jaw had darkened overnight, and his split lip served as a constant reminder that his investigation had crossed some invisible line from professional inquiry to personal threat.
"You sure about this?" Marcus asked, slowing for a tractor that was taking its time navigating the narrow road. "After last night, maybe we should be thinking about damage control instead of stirring up more trouble. You heard what that cop said."
"Last night proved we're on the right track," Pierce replied, touching his tender jaw. "People don't get that angry unless you're threatening something they want to keep hidden."
Camila looked up from her laptop in the back seat, where she'd been researching Rebecca Hale's family connections. "I've been going through the old interviews Evelyn Cross provided. Rebecca's sister Wendy was pretty vocal about her theories back then."
"What kind of theories?"
"She thought Rebecca's ex-boyfriend might have been involved. Michael Torres. He used to be a cop. They'd broken up a few weeks before the murders."
Pierce felt his investigative instincts engage. Ex-boyfriends with law enforcement backgrounds who had recent breakups with murder victims—that was exactly the kind of lead that could crack a case wide open. "What happened to him?"
"Still lives in the area. He was there last night. Don’t you remember?”
“I don’t remember much,” he said rubbing his jaw.
“Well I do. He left the police force a few years ago, works in real estate now. But according to the files, he had an airtight alibi for the night of the murders."
"Alibis can be manufactured, especially by cops who know how investigations work."
Elizabethtown emerged from the rural landscape like a postcard of small-town America: tree-lined streets, well-maintained homes, the kind of community where people still knew their neighbors and left their doors unlocked.
Pierce noted the contrast with High Peaks, where his team had been met with suspicion and hostility.
Here, at least, they might be able to conduct interviews without fear of physical violence.
Wendy Sutton lived in a Victorian house on Court Street, its wraparound porch decorated with hanging baskets and wind chimes that created a symphony of gentle sound in the afternoon breeze.
Pierce had called ahead, explaining that Evelyn Cross had provided her contact information and that he was investigating her sister's murder for a podcast series.
She answered the door before they could knock, a woman in her late forties with gray hair and eyes that held the kind of sadness that came from unresolved grief.
“Mrs. Sutton?”
"Pierce Landry?”
He nodded.
She gestured for them to enter.
The interior of her home felt like a shrine to family memory, photographs covering every available surface, mementos from vacations and holidays, the accumulated evidence of lives lived and lost. Pierce noted several pictures of Rebecca and Jacob, frozen in moments of happiness that made their violent deaths seem even more tragic.
"I appreciate you agreeing to speak with us," Pierce said as they settled into a living room that smelled of vanilla candles and old wood. "I know this must be very difficult."
"It's been ten years, Mr. Landry. The difficult part is that nothing's changed.
Rebecca and Jacob are still dead, and whoever killed them is still walking free.
" Wendy's tone was full of the controlled anger of someone who'd spent a decade watching justice delayed.
"When Evelyn called to say you were investigating the case, I thought maybe finally someone would care enough to find the truth. "
Pierce pulled out his recording equipment. "Tell me about Rebecca in the weeks before her death. How was she?”
Wendy was quiet for a moment, her fingers worrying at a tissue she'd pulled from a box on the coffee table. "Not good. She was struggling. Michael Torres had broken up with her, and Rebecca was having a hard time accepting it."
“He was police officer, right?"
She nodded. "Adirondack County Sheriff's Office. They'd been seeing each other for about six months, but it was supposed to be secret because he was married,” Wendy remarked with disapproval. "Rebecca knew it was wrong, but she convinced herself that he was going to leave his wife for her."
"And when he didn't?"
"She was devastated. Called me crying almost every night, saying she didn't understand how someone could just throw away what they had. She felt used. She kept thinking if she gave him space, he'd realize he'd made a mistake and come back to her."
Pierce exchanged glances with his team. A married cop having an affair with a murder victim, a recent breakup, emotional devastation, the pieces were forming a picture that could provide both motive and means for murder.
"Did Rebecca ever mention feeling threatened by Michael? Or by his wife?"
"Not threatened, exactly. But she was scared of what would happen if word got out about their relationship. Michael had made it very clear that his career would be ruined if anyone found out, and Rebecca was terrified of being seen as the woman who destroyed a police officer's marriage."
"What about alibis? The police must have investigated Michael as a potential suspect."
Wendy's expression darkened. "Oh, they investigated him. Turned out he was working a security detail that night, the Oktoberfest Weekend in High Peaks with dozens of witnesses. Officers often do these things for extra pay. Perfect alibi, almost too perfect if you ask me."
"Too perfect how?"
"Michael Torres had been doing private security work for months before Rebecca's death, but that particular night was the first time he’d done it in High Peaks. Convenient timing, don't you think?"
Pierce made careful notes, his mind already working through the possibilities.
Alibis could be manufactured, especially by someone with law enforcement connections who understood how investigations worked.
A security detail in High Peaks would involve multiple agencies, creating opportunities for coordination, slipping out unnoticed, and cover-up.
"Wendy, I need to ask this directly—do you think Michael Torres killed your sister?"
"I think Michael Torres knew more about Rebecca's death than he ever admitted to police. Whether he pulled the trigger himself or arranged for someone else to do it..." She shrugged. "But proving it is another matter entirely."
They talked for another hour, with Wendy providing details about Rebecca's routine, her relationships with neighbors and colleagues, and her concerns about Jacob's behavior in the weeks before their deaths.
Nothing contradicted the timeline that Evelyn Cross had established, but Wendy's perspective added emotional context that helped explain the personal dynamics that might have led to murder.
"There's one more thing," Wendy said as they prepared to leave.
"If you want to talk to someone who really knew Rebecca, you should speak with Liam.
That's her older son, Jacob's brother. He was away at college when it happened, but he might have insights about his mother's relationships that I wouldn't know about. "
"Where would we find him?"
"He runs a used bookstore here in town. He moved to Elizabethtown to be closer to me after the murders." Wendy wrote down an address on a piece of paper. "But please, don't tell him I sent you. He's very private about the family tragedy, and he might not appreciate me giving out his information."
Pierce pocketed the address, already planning their next move. "Thank you, Wendy. This has been incredibly helpful."
"Just find the truth, Mr. Landry. That's all I've wanted for ten years, someone to care enough to find the truth. I know you’ve received heat over this but I would rather someone is doing something than nothing."
The Book Nook occupied a narrow storefront on Water Street, wedged between a hardware store and a café that had seen better decades.
The building itself looked like it dated from the early 1900s, with tall windows and pressed tin ceilings that spoke to an era when Elizabethtown had been more prosperous than it was today.
Pierce pushed through the front door, triggering a bell that announced their arrival with a sound that seemed to echo through decades of accumulated silence. The smell hit him immediately—mustiness mixed with old paper and mildew that characterized buildings where moisture was a constant battle.
The interior was a maze of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with volumes that looked like they'd been there since the store opened.
Narrow aisles wound between sections devoted to different genres, creating the kind of labyrinthine layout that serious book collectors loved and casual browsers found intimidating.
A large man with thick glasses sat behind the counter near the front, his attention focused on a paperback novel that he held with the careful reverence of someone who understood the value of words.
"Help you find something?" the man asked.
"Actually, I'm looking for Liam Hale. Is he available?"
The man's expression shifted slightly, moving from disinterest to mild suspicion. "You're not from around here."
"No, we're visiting from California. We're working on a documentary about his mother and brother."
"Liam!" the man called toward the back of the store without taking his eyes off Pierce. "Someone here to see you."