Chapter 27
The antiseptic smell of the Adirondack Medical Center corridor triggered memories Noah would rather forget, memories of other medical facilities, other emergency calls, other times when someone he loved had been pulled from danger by strangers in scrubs.
He found Mia's room on the third floor, her discharge papers already signed and her small overnight bag packed on the narrow bed beside her.
She was dressed in yesterday's clothes, jeans and a sweatshirt that Ethan had brought from home.
Her left arm was encased in a bright blue cast that extended from her wrist to just below her elbow.
The bruises on her face had darkened overnight, purple shadows that spoke to the violence she'd endured in that underground tomb.
But her eyes were alert, focused with the same intensity that had gotten her into trouble in the first place.
"You got everything?" Noah asked, stepping into the room and noting how she immediately sat up straighter, as if preparing for another interrogation.
"Yeah." Mia swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her balance. "Look, Dad, about the bones I gave you—"
Before she could launch into whatever theory had been churning in her mind during the long hospital night, Noah held up a hand.
He'd anticipated this conversation, had prepared for the questions that would inevitably come about chain of custody and proper procedure.
His decision to hand the evidence to Anita Emerson had been practical, not political, but he knew how it would look to someone with Mia's suspicious nature.
"They're safe, if that's what you're wondering about," he said quickly. "That's also what I'm here to find out. Adelaide has the results."
Mia's eyes widened with surprise. "Hold on, what? So the bones you gave Anita, she processed them?"
Noah chuckled, though he caught the edge in his daughter's voice.
"Of course. Why wouldn't she? That's her job.
Well, not as much anymore since she's sergeant, but she was kind enough to handle it.
Don't worry, I told her not to hand them to anyone else.
You were smart holding on to those since the others were taken. "
"Yeah, I guess so."
As they made their way to the elevator bank, Noah studied his daughter's profile. Something was bothering her beyond the trauma of nearly dying in that well. The way she'd asked about Anita processing the bones suggested suspicion, but suspicion of what?
Emerson had been with the department for over a decade She had worked her way up from deputy to sergeant through competence and reliability. If Mia was developing conspiracy theories about everyone in law enforcement, that was a problem that would need addressing.
The elevator descended toward the basement level where Adelaide maintained her domain among the dead. The mechanical hum of the building's ventilation system filled the silence between them, broken only by the soft ding as they passed each floor.
"Have you heard any update on Gideon?" Noah asked, watching the floor numbers descend.
Mia nodded, her expression darkening. "Still in a coma. I feel awful about it. I wish I hadn't gotten him involved."
"He was already involved," Noah said firmly. "The question is how deep. Did he say who gave him that tip about the body being out there?"
"No."
"Was he phoned? Emailed? Texted?"
"I can’t remember."
"Let's hope he wakes up to tell us."
Mia nodded as the elevator doors opened with a soft pneumatic hiss.
The basement corridor stretched ahead of them, its fluorescent lighting casting harsh shadows that reminded Noah of crime scenes and morgues.
He could sense his daughter's mind working, processing information and connections that he couldn't see.
Part of him was proud of her analytical thinking; part of him was terrified of where that thinking might lead her.
He could tell she was wondering about more than Gideon's condition. The way her jaw tightened suggested she was holding back questions, theories, accusations that she wasn't ready to voice. Noah found himself wondering if Gideon had seen the person who struck him and trapped them in the well.
They approached Adelaide's office, its door marked with a simple placard reading "Medical Examiner." Noah knocked twice and entered without waiting for a response.
"Hey, Addie."
Adelaide Chambers looked up from her computer terminal, her hair pulled back in its characteristic bun, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. At fifty-two, she'd been doing this job longer than most people had been alive, and her competence showed in every gesture, every measured word.
"Noah, oh, and Mia." Her warm smile took in the cast and bruises with professional assessment. "Mia, how's your arm?"
Mia raised the cast slightly. "It'll survive."
"Well, good news and bad news." Adelaide gestured toward two chairs positioned in front of her desk, though neither of them sat.
"The bones you gave me, I was able to confirm the DNA is one and the same.
They belonged to Travis Rudd. The DNA also matches the DNA found under Jacob Hale's nails. So you have your killer."
Noah felt a mixture of satisfaction and relief wash through him.
After ten years of speculation and dead ends, they finally had scientific confirmation of what had happened in Rebecca Hale's house that terrible night.
Travis Rudd, the obsessed former student, had graduated from inappropriate attention to murder.
"And the bad news?" Noah asked, though he suspected he already knew.
"There were so few bones that it's hard to tell how Travis died or if there was any other DNA evidence that could link someone to his murder. So you solve one case and have another. Of course, there's always the possibility he killed himself."
Mia shook her head with immediate certainty. "No."
Adelaide raised an eyebrow at the conviction in her voice. Noah found himself studying his daughter's reaction, noting how quickly she'd dismissed the suicide theory. Her mind was clearly working through scenarios, possibilities, connections that went beyond what the evidence currently supported.
"So it looks like your daughter and Gideon managed to finally provide answers to a decade-old case," Adelaide continued, her tone carrying genuine admiration. "Well done, Mia. Must feel good."
"I guess." Mia's response carried none of the satisfaction Noah would have expected. Instead, her frustration was barely concealed, as if the answers they'd found only opened more questions she couldn't yet voice.
Adelaide's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Your father must be proud of you. Right, Noah?"
Noah glanced at Mia and placed a protective hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension in her muscles. "Always."
"Addie," Mia said suddenly. "Was the only DNA evidence submitted by the Sheriff's Office the DNA found under Jacob's nails?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I just thought they had a latex glove. The official report mentioned a latex glove."
Noah rolled his eyes. They were back to this again, the missing evidence, the conspiracy theories, the suggestion that law enforcement had somehow failed or covered up crucial information. "If it was there, they would have tested it, Mia."
"The question is why isn't it there?"
Adelaide looked between father and daughter, sensing the undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with scientific analysis.
"Things have a way of getting lost over ten years.
It happens. It's not ideal, but it happens. It doesn’t suggest a cover-up.
Even if it was there, I imagine the DNA from the glove would match Travis Rudd if his DNA was found under Jacob's nails. "
"Yeah, maybe." Mia's tone suggested she wasn't convinced. "But it makes you wonder why."
"Why what?"
"Someone would remove the glove and leave it behind?"
Adelaide exchanged a glance with Noah, her expression shifting to something between amusement and concern.
"I'm telling you, Noah, the kid's a chip off the old block.
Watch out, she'll take your job." She turned away with a chuckle, but her next words carried professional weight.
"Though she has a good point. If it existed and was in the report, the evidence log should reveal that. You might want to check that."
"Yeah, I'll do that."
As they prepared to leave, Noah found himself both proud of Mia's analytical thinking and worried about where it might lead her.
She had the instincts of a natural investigator, but those same instincts could create problems if they led her to see patterns that didn't exist or conspiracies where there were only bureaucratic failures.
After Luke’s death, he’d gone down that rabbit hole. Hell, he was still down it.
They headed out of the room in silence, the weight of new information and unresolved questions hanging between them. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Noah could see his daughter's mind working, processing, planning her next move.
As they waited for the elevator, he studied her profile again.
The bruises were already beginning to fade at the edges, but the intensity in her eyes had only sharpened.
She'd been through trauma that would have broken most people her age, yet here she was, still pushing for answers, still refusing to let sleeping dogs lie.
"I know I've been hard on you lately," Noah said. "But I want you to know I meant what I said. I am proud of you. Never forget that."
She nodded, but he could see her mind was already moving past his words to whatever problem she was working through. "So you're going to look into the evidence logs?"
Noah chuckled despite himself. Even after nearly dying, even with a broken arm and enough trauma to justify months of therapy, she was still investigating. "First thing."
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as the elevator doors opened, feeling how small she still was despite her fierce determination. The mechanical hum resumed as they began their ascent back to ground level, back to the world of living cases and ongoing investigations.
"Anything else?" he asked, though he suspected there would be. There always was with Mia.
"There is one more thing." Her voice carried a different weight now, heavier than questions about evidence logs or missing latex gloves. "It's about Ethan."