Chapter 11
The Adirondack Inn had probably been elegant once, back when High Peaks was still discovering its potential as a tourist destination.
Now it felt like a relic of more optimistic times with faded wallpaper, worn carpets, and the kind of furniture that spoke to decades of budget-conscious renovations.
Pierce sat at the desk in his room, laptop open and case files spread across every available surface, trying to make sense of an investigation that seemed to get more complicated with each new piece of information.
The rest of the Cold Trail team occupied chairs around the room, their usual enthusiasm replaced by the kind of wary tension that came from realizing they'd walked into something more dangerous than expected.
Marcus paced by the window, periodically checking the parking lot as if he expected to see angry locals gathering with torches and pitchforks.
Camila reviewed her notes with focused concentration, trying to find patterns in chaos.
Theo monitored social media feeds on his tablet, tracking online reaction to their investigation.
Sienna worked on damage control, crafting social media posts that would maintain audience engagement without escalating local tensions.
"Okay, let's go over what we have," Pierce said, calling the informal meeting to order. "And what we don't have."
"What we don't have is cooperation from anyone who actually knows anything," Marcus said without looking away from the window. "Torres won't even take our calls. Hung up as soon as you identified yourself."
Pierce nodded grimly. Michael Torres, Rebecca's ex-boyfriend and the married cop with the convenient alibi, had proven impossible to reach. Three attempts at phone contact had resulted in immediate disconnections, and his real estate office claimed he was unavailable for the foreseeable future.
"What about the rest of the names from Keith's suicide note?" Camila asked. “Which by the way, we have Mia to thank for finding out what was on it.”
"Same story. Carl Peterson won't return calls. Rita Morrison claims she has nothing to say. Danny Walsh told me to 'stop stirring up shit that should stay buried,’ which was actually the most communicative response I got."
Pierce pulled up photos on his laptop that Theo had taken that morning. Their rental van now sported the words "GO HOME" spray-painted across both sides in red letters that looked like they'd been applied with more anger than artistic skill.
"When did that happen?" Sienna asked, studying the images.
"Sometime between midnight and 6 AM. Hotel security cameras mysteriously malfunctioned during that exact time window," Pierce said.
"So we're dealing with people who have access to security systems or they slipped someone who worked here some money to disable them," Camila observed. "That suggests more sophistication than random vandalism."
"Or law enforcement connections," Pierce added. "Which brings us back to Michael Torres and the question of how deep this conspiracy goes."
Theo looked up from his tablet. "There's something else. I've been monitoring social media for mentions of black trucks in the High Peaks area. Three different people have posted about seeing a similar vehicle in the past week—dark pickup, tinted windows, no visible plates."
“You mean, the same truck that was in the Hale crime scene photo?"
"Impossible to know from the descriptions, but the timing is interesting. Sightings started the day after we arrived in town."
Pierce felt the familiar tingle of being close to a breakthrough mixed with the growing awareness that it might come at a significant personal cost. "What about that video Wendy mentioned? The surveillance footage that supposedly shows the hooded figure?"
"Still no luck getting access through official channels," Marcus said. "BCI claims it's part of an ongoing investigation, which is bureaucratic speak for 'we're not sharing.'"
"Which brings us to our next problem," Pierce continued. "We're hitting walls everywhere we turn. People who know things won't talk, officials won't cooperate, and someone is actively trying to intimidate us into leaving. We need a way inside this community's wall of silence."
The room fell quiet as everyone considered their limited options. Pierce had built his career on the assumption that persistence and media pressure could crack even the most stubborn cases, but High Peaks was proving resistant to his usual methods.
"What about the girl?" Sienna asked. "Mia Sutherland. She did say she’s got family connections throughout local law enforcement, she knows the community dynamics, and she's already shown a willingness to help."
Pierce had been thinking the same thing, but he'd hesitated to involve Mia more deeply after witnessing the violence at the town hall meeting. Still, she might be their only remaining path to the information they needed.
"Her father's made it clear he doesn't want her involved," Pierce said.
“She can make her own decisions," Camila pointed out. "And if she's serious about a career in law enforcement, this could be valuable experience. Contact her."
Pierce pulled out his phone and scrolled to Mia's contact information. "I'll ask her to come by the hotel. No pressure, just an honest conversation about what we need and whether she's willing to help."
Mia sat in her car outside the inn for several minutes, trying to decide whether walking through those doors would be taking a step toward her future or making a mistake she'd regret for the rest of her life.
Pierce's phone call had been carefully neutral—an invitation to discuss the investigation, nothing more—but she understood the implications.
It wasn’t just her father that concerned her now.
The hotel parking lot was nearly empty in the late afternoon, which made her feel more conspicuous as she finally gathered her courage and headed for the main entrance.
Pierce answered his door on the first knock, as if he'd been waiting by the window for her arrival. "Mia, thanks for coming."
The room looked like a war room full of papers and photographs covering every surface, multiple laptops running, the kind of organized chaos that suggested people working around the clock on a complex problem.
The rest of the team looked up as she entered, offering polite greetings that carried undertones of assessment.
"Can I get you something?" Pierce asked, gesturing toward a mini-fridge stocked with sodas and water. "We've got snacks too, if you're hungry."
Mia accepted a bottle of water, noting how Pierce seemed to be working extra hard to make her comfortable. The attention felt both flattering and slightly manipulative, as if she was being buttered up for something that might not be in her best interests.
"So," Pierce said, settling into a chair across from her while the rest of the team arranged themselves around the room like an audience for a performance.
"I'll cut to the chase. We're hitting walls everywhere we turn in this investigation.
People won't talk to us, officials won't cooperate, and we're running out of conventional options for getting answers.”
Mia nodded, understanding where this conversation was heading but waiting for Pierce to make his request explicit.
"Evelyn Cross mentioned that the key to this case probably lies in the files that BCI has—crime scene reports, witness statements, evidence inventories, all the documentation that hasn't been made public.
Things that not even she could gain access to.
We were hoping that maybe you could speak with your father, see if there's any way to get access to that case file. "
The request was loaded with implications about family loyalty, professional ethics, and personal risk. Mia understood that Pierce was asking her to choose between supporting his investigation and respecting her father's explicit instructions about staying away from the case.
"You want me to ask my dad to share confidential police files with a podcast team?"
He leaned forward. "We're not asking for anything that would compromise ongoing investigations or violate legal protocols," Pierce said quickly.
"Just access to information that could help us understand what was done, what wasn't done, and what everyone said at the time. Right now, we're working blind."
"And if my father says no?"
Pierce exchanged glances with his team, and Mia caught the silent communication that passed between them. They'd discussed this possibility and had backup plans that they weren't sharing with her.
"Then we'll respect his decision and find other ways to get the information we need," Pierce said. "But honestly, Mia, you might be our last and best hope for getting to the truth about what happened to Rebecca and Jacob Hale."
The appeal to her sense of justice was carefully calculated, and Mia recognized the manipulation even as she felt its emotional pull. Landry was good at his job, which included knowing how to motivate sources to take risks they might not otherwise consider.
"I'll try," she said finally. "But I can't guarantee anything. I'm already having my own issues with my father about this case. He doesn't want me involved or anywhere near the investigation."
"Why do you think that is?"
Mia considered the question, thinking about her father's protective instincts and his fear of losing another family member to violence. "He thinks it's too dangerous. And after Keith's death, maybe he's right."
"Or maybe he knows something about the case that he doesn't want exposed," Camila suggested. "Small-town law enforcement can be very protective of their own."
The implication that her father might be part of a cover-up made Mia's temper flare. "My father is one of the most honest cops I know. If he's not sharing information, it's because he's protecting people, not hiding crimes. Heck, he wasn’t even here ten years ago."
"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," Camila said quickly. "Just that there might be professional or personal relationships that complicate his willingness to cooperate with outside investigators."
“But your grandfather was,” Sienna added. Mia met her gaze. “He was sheriff at the time.”
Pierce stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. "Mia, we understand this is asking a lot, but you did ask if you could help. I’d appreciate anything you can do. Even if you can't get access to the files, maybe someone else can?”
As Mia prepared to leave, she felt the weight of the decision she was being asked to make.
Approaching her father about the BCI files would mean openly defying his instructions about staying away from the case.
But it might also mean finally getting answers about a crime that had haunted her community for ten years.
"I'll be in touch," she said, pocketing her car keys and heading for the door.
Pierce watched her leave, already planning his next moves regardless of whether she could deliver the files they needed. Mia was a valuable asset, but she wasn't his only option for accessing the information that could crack the case wide open.
Pierce's phone rang twenty minutes after Mia left, displaying a number he didn't recognize with a local area code. He almost let it go to voicemail; unknown numbers had been bringing nothing but hostility for the past week, but something made him answer.
"Hello?"
Silence for several seconds, then a voice that had been electronically distorted beyond recognition. "You need to stop digging, Mr. Landry."
Pierce felt his pulse spike, but years of media training kept his voice steady. "Who is this?"
"Someone who knows you've been asking questions about things that could get you killed. Keith Dwyer learned that lesson the hard way."
"Are you saying Keith was murdered?"
"I'm saying that people who won't take hints about staying out of other people's business sometimes find themselves in situations they can't get out of.
" The distorted voice had a mechanical quality that made it impossible to determine gender, age, or emotional state.
"You've got forty-eight hours to pack up your cameras and your theories and go back to California. "
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll find out why this case has stayed unsolved for ten years."
The line went dead.
Pierce stared at his phone, adrenaline surging through his system as he processed the explicit nature of the threat. Someone in High Peaks was scared enough of his investigation to risk making direct contact, which meant he was getting close to something that powerful people wanted to keep hidden.
"Everything okay?" Marcus asked, noting Pierce's expression.
“Another threat.”
“Maybe we should just call it a day, Pierce.”
"You can, I’m not," Pierce said, already reaching for his jacket. "I’m also not holding out hope of Mia getting the case file. I’m going to speak to Michael Torres tonight and get some answers, whether he wants to cooperate or not."
“And how do you plan on doing that, he won’t take our calls.”
“He’s a realtor. They always want to sell a home. We just need to attack this from another angle. Maybe I’ll have one of you pretend to be someone interested in seeing one of those cabins he is selling. That way we have a place, a time. He shows up and then I show up.”
“Ah, man, no, he won’t like that,” Marcus said. “He’ll call the cops.”
“Or he’ll answer questions. Think about it. He doesn’t want to talk to us but if he does, we are out of his hair. He just needs to be convinced that it’s in his best interest.”
"Pierce, maybe we should think about this," Sienna said.
"What’s there to think about? This is no different than any of the other cases we have delved into." Pierce checked his recording equipment, making sure he was prepared to document whatever confrontation lay ahead. "Someone just told threatened me again. You know what that tells me?"
"That we should leave town?" Theo suggested hopefully.
"That we are getting close."
“Okay, well, look, before we try your idea, let me try him again,” Camila said.
Pierce nodded. “Let me know if you connect with him.”
“Where are you going?” Sienna asked.
“To get some air, have a cigarette.” As Pierce headed for the door, his team exchanged worried glances.
Their leader's confidence in the face of direct threats was either inspiring or reckless, depending on perspective.
But they'd followed him this far into the investigation, and none of them was ready to abandon the story when they might be on the verge of a breakthrough.