Chapter 32
The smell of industrial disinfectant filled Mia's nostrils as she made her way through the familiar corridors of Adirondack Medical Center.
Two days had passed since the shootout in Gideon's room, two days since Anita Emerson's body had been wheeled out on a gurney, since Camila was led away in handcuffs.
The hospital had returned to its normal rhythm of controlled chaos, but the third-floor ICU still carried an undercurrent of tension from staff who'd witnessed violence.
Mia knocked softly on Gideon's door before pushing it open, then immediately averted her eyes as she realized she'd walked in on a nurse finishing his bed bath. The intimacy of the moment—seeing someone she'd come to respect rendered so vulnerable—made her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Sorry, I'll come back later," she said, already backing toward the door.
"Ah, I was just finishing up," the nurse said. "You're good."
The nurse, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and kind eyes, gathered her supplies and nodded to Mia. "He's been asking about you. Try not to tire him out too much, he's still healing."
Gideon still had an impressive array of tubes attached to various parts of his body, snaking toward machines that beeped and hummed.
His heart rate displayed steadily on the monitor; a reassuring rhythm that confirmed life continued despite the trauma his body had endured.
The swelling in his face had gone down considerably, revealing the intelligence in his eyes that had made him such an effective investigative blogger.
Mia pulled up the vinyl visitor's chair and positioned it beside his bed, studying his face for signs of pain. "You look like..."
"Death warmed up?" Gideon managed a slight smile that transformed his bruised features. "That's what everyone keeps telling me. Real confidence booster."
"You know I'm truly sorry," Mia said, her voice holding the weight of guilt she'd been carrying since waking up in her own hospital bed. "They said you're going to be paralyzed for life."
"It's not your fault."
"Had I not darkened your doorstep, you wouldn't have been out there. You'd be home writing blog posts or sifting through old DVDs, not lying here with a broken back."
"Oh please, Sutherland," Gideon said with more energy than she'd expected. "You really think you would have solved this all by yourself?"
"I did uncover a few things."
"With my help."
Despite everything, Mia found herself smiling. "I guess so. Still, it doesn't lessen the impact of knowing that..."
"That I won't walk again?"
She nodded, unable to say the words aloud.
"Mia, it's going to take wild horses to pull me over to the side of believing that.
These people don't know who Gideon Marks is.
I am going to walk again, mark my words.
No pun intended," he said. "So swallow that guilt.
I led you out there, not the other way around.
It was that cop who pushed me in, not you. "
The conviction in his voice was so absolute that Mia almost believed him. She'd read about spinal cord injuries, understood the medical realities, but Gideon's refusal to accept limitations reminded her why she'd trusted him as an ally in the first place.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a copy of the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, unfolding it to reveal the front page headline: "DECADE-OLD COLD CASE SOLVED: Local Blogger and Police Daughter Uncover Truth Behind Hale Murders."
"You made the front page," she said, showing him the paper.
Gideon's eyes scanned the article as Mia read portions aloud: "The investigation revealed not only the identity of Rebecca and Jacob Hale's killer—Travis Rudd, a former student obsessed with the victim—but also exposed a systematic cover-up that reached into local law enforcement.
The revelation has brought closure to the surviving family members and vindicated eyewitness Connor Walsh, whose claims about seeing a suspicious vehicle were initially dismissed by investigators. "
The article continued: "Pierce Landry, the podcast host whose investigation sparked the renewed interest in the case, has been posthumously honored by the true crime community.
The latest season of A Cold Trail has achieved record listenership as people tune in to understand the full scope of the conspiracy.
The death of Sergeant Anita Emerson during the hospital confrontation has prompted an internal affairs investigation into potential corruption within the Adirondack County Sheriff's Office. "
"Of course, I think the newspaper has her reasoning all wrong," Mia said, folding the paper.
"They're speculating,” he said.
“Of course, and the truth is we may never fully know how or why she killed Travis Rudd, who was obsessed with Rebecca Hale.
No mystery there. But from what I've been able to discern, and her last words, she received a large sum of money ten years ago to assist her ailing mother and had been fast-tracked for promotions over others who had worked for the office longer, leading some to believe that she was a mole for someone in power. "
“They’ll follow the money trail.”
“I’m sure they will.”
"Have you asked yourself if she killed Travis?” Gideon asked, his investigative instincts still sharp despite his physical condition.
"That we may never know, or if we do, it will come out in time. Maybe she did kill him. Or maybe she just covered it up and someone else did it. For now, we'll have to assume it was to keep him quiet. Maybe he knew something he shouldn't have."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the steady beeping of medical equipment and the distant sounds of hospital activity in the corridor.
"What's next for you?" Gideon asked. "After all of this, have you changed your mind about law enforcement? You still going to join the FBI... or follow in your father's footsteps?"
"I'm considering all options."
"So it hasn't left a bad taste in your mouth?"
"Quite the opposite."
Gideon grinned, and for a moment, the tubes and machines faded into the background, replaced by the familiar dynamic of two investigators who'd shared something extraordinary.
Another nurse entered the room carrying a tray of food that looked marginally more appetizing than typical hospital fare.
"Well, I should leave you to it," Mia said, standing and adjusting the chair back to its original position. "I'll visit again soon."
"I expect you to," Gideon said with the warmth of genuine friendship. "And Mia? Don't let anyone convince you that what we did was reckless. Sometimes justice requires people willing to take risks."
The late afternoon sun filtered through the windshield of Noah's Ford Bronco as he drove through the tree-lined streets toward Hugh Sutherland's house.
The autumn colors were at their peak, painting the landscape in shades of gold and crimson that made even familiar neighborhoods look transformed.
In the passenger seat, Mia watched the scenery pass while Ethan sat in the back, his arms crossed.
"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Noah muttered, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
"Dad, family is family, right?" Mia said. "Enjoy the evening, please. I know it means a lot to Grandpa."
"I just..." Noah glanced over at his daughter, then caught Ethan's eyes in the rearview mirror before going quiet. The weight of family dynamics and unresolved tensions filled the vehicle like an unwelcome passenger.
"You know, I just wanted to acknowledge the digging around you did, your persistence in the case. If it wasn't for you and Gideon..." he began to say.
"And Evelyn Cross. Don't forget her. A lot of it was her laying the foundations."
"Of course, Evelyn. You're beginning to see how it takes a team.
" Noah paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say..." He glanced in the rearview mirror again, making sure Ethan was listening.
"I wanted to say to both of you, well done.
Ethan, your insights helped as much as yours did, Mia. "
For a brief moment, Ethan smiled.
They pulled into Hugh's driveway behind Maddie’s and Ray's vehicles—a silver Lexus and a practical Honda that spoke to their different approaches to success and family life.
The house looked the same as always, its white colonial facade and black shutters projecting an image of stability that Noah knew was more fragile than it appeared.
"Well, let's do this," Noah said, turning off the engine.
As they prepared to get out, Noah's phone rang. McKenzie's name appeared on the display, and Noah hesitated before answering. Police calls during family time rarely brought good news.
"McKenzie? What's up?"
"I dug around like you asked," McKenzie's Scottish accent carried through the speaker. "The glove was there at one time. We have confirmed it was removed by Anita. Where, we don't know."
Noah felt his investigative instincts sharpen despite the family setting. "Why keep it though?"
"What?"
"I mean, I've been thinking about the black truck. Anita didn't own one. You ran her vehicle history. Neither did Travis Rudd. I can't help wondering if there was a second person at the Hale house that night."
"If there was, any evidence linking them to that place is gone."
Noah nodded, even though McKenzie couldn't see him.
The case was officially closed, but loose ends had a way of unraveling carefully constructed narratives.
He ended the call and sat in the driver's seat for a moment, lost in thought about evidence that disappeared and trucks that were never identified.
His phone buzzed with a text message from Savannah: "Congratulations on handling the case while I was away. I have good news to share when you're free to talk. A friend offered to pay for treatment. The treatment seems to be working. It’s the first real hope we've had."
The message revealed a vulnerability in Savannah that she rarely showed, a glimpse behind the professional competence that defined their working relationship.
Noah understood the weight of watching someone you loved fight for their life, the desperate hope that came with experimental treatments and generous friends.
He typed back: "Good to hear. Speak soon."
Mia was already out of the car, stretching in the driveway and breathing in the crisp autumn air. Ethan emerged reluctantly from the back seat, fulfilling an obligation rather than embracing an opportunity.
"Everything okay?" Mia asked, noting her father's expression.
"Just work stuff. Nothing that can't wait." Noah pocketed his phone and looked up at his father's house, where warm light spilled from the windows and the promise of family dinner waited inside.
But even as they walked toward the front door, Noah couldn't shake the feeling that the Hale case still held secrets. The black truck, the missing glove, the systematic evidence tampering, all of it pointed to a conspiracy larger than one corrupt sergeant acting alone.
The investigation might be officially closed, but the truth was still out there, waiting to be discovered by someone brave enough to keep looking.
For now, though, there was family dinner and the complicated dynamics of three generations of Sutherlands trying to navigate love, disappointment, and the weight of a family name that carried both honor and burden in equal measure.
The front door opened before they could knock, revealing Hugh Sutherland's weathered face and the welcoming warmth of a grandfather who understood that some victories were worth celebrating, even when the war wasn't entirely won.