Chapter 10
The morning in Saranac Lake carried the crisp promise of autumn, with mist rising from the water and the kind of clear light that made the surrounding mountains look close enough to touch.
Noah stood at the counter of Blue Line Coffee, waiting for his order and reviewing notes on his phone about a Luther Ashford money trail that had led him forty minutes from High Peaks.
The lead had come from Thomas O'Connell's memory stick, a series of financial transactions that connected Ashford's casino operations to a shell company with an address in Saranac Lake.
Probably nothing more than another dead end in a case full of them, but Noah had learned that the only way to catch criminals like Luther Ashford was to follow every thread, no matter how thin.
"Large black coffee, extra shot," the barista called, sliding the cup across the counter.
Noah added a lid and was reaching for his wallet when a voice behind him made him turn.
"Noah Sutherland."
He squinted at the woman approaching him—mid-forties, graying brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, intelligent eyes that seemed to catalog everything about him in a single glance. She held a thick hardcover book under one arm.
"Do I know you?" Noah asked, though something about her seemed familiar.
She smiled, extending her hand. "Evelyn Cross."
His head went back slightly in recognition.
"Ah, yes. Cross Forensics. You worked a few cold cases in High Peaks a few years back.
Very good work. That led to an arrest." He'd heard about her from other investigators, a former detective turned independent consultant with a reputation for thorough analysis and unorthodox methods.
"Thank you. I've heard good things about your work with BCI as well." Evelyn gestured toward an empty table near the window. "Mind if I join you for a few minutes?"
Noah glanced at his watch—he had time before his appointment with the shell company's registered agent—and nodded toward the table. They settled into chairs that looked out over the lake, where early morning joggers and dog walkers were beginning their daily routines.
"What case are you working at the moment?" Noah asked.
"The Riverside Murders from the eighties. Three children found bound and killed in the woods outside town. Case was officially blamed on satanic cult activity, but the evidence never supported that conclusion."
“Where’s it pointing?”
“To the stepfather of one of the kids.”
“Geesh. Is he still alive?”
“He is.”
Noah glanced at the thick book she'd placed on the table—a comprehensive text on occult practices and cult behavior. "Light reading?"
Evelyn smirked. "You could say that. Amazing how many unsolved cases get blamed on satanism when investigators can't find rational explanations. Usually means they didn't look hard enough at the rational suspects."
"Or someone didn't want them looking too hard."
"Exactly." Evelyn's expression shifted to something more serious. "Speaking of people not wanting investigations to proceed, I heard about the excitement at your town hall meeting the other night."
Noah took a sip of his coffee. "That’s news to me. What about it?"
"Pierce Landry contacted me after the incident. Apparently, things got rather heated between him and some locals. I saw the video someone posted online, your brother handled the situation well."
Noah made a mental note to watch that video later. Ray hadn't mentioned anything about online footage, which suggested the incident was getting more attention than the local authorities wanted. "Landry seems to have a talent for stirring up trouble," he said.
"He also seems to have gained a local assistant. Your daughter, I believe? Mia?"
The coffee turned to acid in Noah's stomach. "My daughter isn't involved in Landry's investigation."
"Are you sure about that? Because from what Pierce told me, she's been quite helpful with local connections and historical context. Bright young woman, clearly has the instincts for investigative work."
Noah frowned. He'd thought Mia understood his position about staying away from Pierce's investigation, but apparently, she'd decided to ignore his concerns.
“Anyway, hat brings you to Saranac Lake this morning?" Noah asked, deliberately changing the subject from his daughter's apparent involvement with Pierce Landry.
"Research for the Riverside case, mostly. Though I have to admit, I'm also following up on some connections I've been tracking between various unsolved cases in the region." Evelyn leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “May I be direct?”
“Please do.”
“What are your feelings about the Ashford family?"
The question hit Noah like an unexpected punch. He set down his coffee cup and studied Evelyn's face, looking for signs of where this conversation might be leading. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I've been connecting dots for the past few years, and a surprising number of them point back to the Ashford estate and his business network. The Riverside murders, a suspicious fire that killed a family in 2018, even some aspects of the Rebecca Hale case."
Noah felt his pulse quicken. This was exactly the kind of connection he'd been hoping to make, someone else who'd noticed the patterns, who'd been tracking the threads that led back to Luther.
"I've been working the Ashford angle since I came back to region,” Noah said carefully. "Money laundering, racketeering, possible connection to several suspicious deaths. But proving it is another matter entirely."
"Evidence has a way of disappearing when it points toward certain people," Evelyn said, echoing something Noah had heard from Thomas O'Connell. "Witnesses develop amnesia, files get misfiled, investigations get reassigned to less persistent detectives."
“You understand then.”
She nodded.
“You think someone’s protecting him?”
“Yes, and themself. I think Luther Ashford has been very careful about cultivating relationships with people who can make problems disappear. And I think those relationships extend beyond the obvious criminal connections."
Noah found himself leaning forward, drawn into the conversation despite his usual caution about discussing ongoing investigations with civilians. "What kind of relationships?"
"Law enforcement, local government, business leaders. The kind of people who can influence investigations from the inside." Evelyn paused. "I've been keeping notes, tracking cases, building timelines. It's not enough for criminal charges yet, but it's starting to paint a picture."
"I'd be interested in seeing those notes."
"And I'd be interested in seeing yours. Perhaps we could arrange dinner sometime? Compare findings, see if our separate investigations might complement each other?"
Noah considered the offer. Collaborating with an independent consultant could provide access to information and perspectives that official channels couldn't offer. But it could also compromise his ability to use any evidence they developed in court proceedings.
"Let me check my schedule," he said finally. “My work has a way of consuming all available time."
"I understand." Evelyn collected her bag, including the occult book, and then handed him her card. "Don't hesitate to call."
As she stood to leave, Evelyn paused. "Noah, about your daughter—she's eighteen, right? Old enough to make her own decisions about what risks she's willing to take?"
"She's old enough to think she can make those decisions," Noah replied. "That doesn't mean she understands the consequences of making the wrong ones."
"Maybe the answer isn't keeping her away from dangerous investigations. Maybe it's teaching her how to conduct them safely."
Evelyn left him sitting alone with his coffee and a dozen new questions about how much trouble Mia had gotten herself into while he'd been distracted.
The house felt different when Noah returned that evening, quieter. He'd spent the day following up on the Luther Ashford lead in Saranac Lake, which had turned out to be another carefully constructed dead end.
Noah settled into his recliner with a beer and the case files he'd brought home, spreading documents across the coffee table in patterns that helped him visualize connections and timelines.
He was deep in concentration when he heard Mia's car in the driveway, followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing with the careful quiet of someone trying not to attract attention.
"Mia?" he called.
"Hey, Dad," she said as she appeared in the living room doorway. "How was your day?"
"Where have you been?"
The question hung between them, loaded with implications they both understood. Mia's hesitation before answering told Noah everything he needed to know about how she'd spent her time.
"Just around town. Research for my gap year project."
"What kind of research?"
"Local history, mostly. Newspaper archives, that sort of thing." Mia moved into the room but remained standing, as if she was preparing to make a quick exit if the conversation turned confrontational.
"Mia, I ran into Evelyn Cross today. She mentioned that you've been working with Pierce on his investigation. Is that true?"
The shift in Mia's expression was immediate —surprise, guilt, defiance, and something that might have been relief at having the secret exposed.
"Dad, I can explain—"
"I thought we had an understanding about staying away from his investigation."
“No, we had a conversation where you told me what you wanted me to do. That's not the same thing as an understanding," Mia said. "I'm eighteen years old. I can make my own decisions about who I talk to and what I'm interested in. And I am not going to rehash this again.“
Noah set down his beer and turned to face her fully. "This isn't about your age or your independence. This is about your safety. Keith Dwyer is dead, Mia. Someone connected to this case committed suicide rather than face whatever consequences he was afraid of."
"Or someone killed him and made it look like suicide."