Chapter 19 #2
Noah took a seat at the kitchen table. A copy of the Adirondack Daily Enterprise sat in front of him, folded to show the front page.
The headline was about the bodies found in Bloomingdale Bog and a possible connection to the death of Brooke Danvers.
Beside the newspaper were a couple of plates, a tube of craft glue, and several small wooden structures in various stages of completion.
Miniature houses. Detailed work. Tiny shingles cut from balsa, window frames no bigger than a thumbnail, a porch with posts the thickness of toothpicks.
Lydia smiled as she cleared the pieces to one side. "A hobby of mine," she said. "Something about working in small details that gets your mind off the bigger things."
"You work at Adirondack Medical Center, right?"
"Ah, you've seen me around."
"I visit there often. The Medical Examiner is in the basement."
"Adelaide Chambers. We're good friends." She took a deep breath and went to put the kettle. Next, she reached for a French press, spooning grounds into it from a canister on the counter. "You been there a long time?" he asked, reading the newspaper.
"Twenty-seven years this September. Gone by in a flash.
" She ran water into the kettle and set it on the burner.
"Earl, my late husband, used to be an EMT for the hospital, that’s how we met.
After he passed I was thinking of selling the farm.
Too much to do on your own, you know? But.
.." She stopped, gripping the edge of the counter.
Her knuckles went white for a moment. Then she released and turned back with a steady expression.
"I just couldn't bring myself to part with it.
So I found a local farmer who bought most of the land.
We keep a small portion. The rest belongs to him now. "
The kettle started to hiss. She poured the water over the grounds and brought two cups to the table along with a small jug of cream. She sat across from Noah and pushed one cup toward him.
"How old is your son?"
"Twenty-eight."
"He didn't want to run the farm?"
She took a swallow of her drink. "Yes and no.
Paul's a gentle soul. He's always been that way, even as a boy.
The world just moves a little too fast for him.
He's simple. Not in a bad way. In a pure way.
" She turned the cup in her hands. "He doesn't have a mean bone in his body.
He just needs someone looking out for him. "
"Sounds like a good lad."
"He is. My boy sees the good in everyone. That's his gift and his curse, you might say. He's not like other men his age. He doesn't understand how the world works. How cruel people can be to someone who's different."
"So he works?"
“He helps me around the property. There's always something that needs doing. The yard, the fencing, the vehicles. He's good with his hands. Better than most men twice his age."
"But does he have a job? Employment?"
She bristled. The warmth in her face tightened, just for a second.
"He doesn't need a job. I provide for us just fine.
" She set her cup down. "Not that we didn't try.
I tried once, years ago. Got him work at a hardware store in town.
It was a disaster. They had him sweeping floors and stacking shelves and the other boys made fun of him.
He came home crying. I never put him through that again.
" She paused. "My sister gives him money from time to time to help with her kiddos.
He's useful. He's valued. He doesn't need a timecard to prove that. "
Noah took a sip of his drink and let the silence settle.
Lydia looked down at the newspaper on the table. "I gather they figure the discovery of those bodies is connected to the Ellison girl?"
"It's early days right now in the investigation." Noah pulled a folder from the bag he'd brought and opened it on the table. "So I was looking over the file from the night of the crash. You're listed as Witness A. You were coming back from a shift that night?"
"That's right. Driving home."
"Take me through it."
She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, not defensive, just settling in.
"I placed a call to my son before leaving work.
I always do that, just in case my vehicle breaks down on the way.
I'd hate to have him worried. Besides, there are some dead spots along the road for cell coverage.
" She paused, organizing. "Anyway, I came around the bend where the Ellison girl's vehicle was and I saw a police SUV pulled off to the side of the road. "
"It says you saw no one?"
"That's right."
"The lights were off on the SUV?"
"Yes. No strobes. I passed by slowly. Got a good look.
The driver of the vehicle wasn't there. Neither was the police officer.
I didn't stop because I figured the cops were handling it.
" She shrugged. "I drove on and made a call not long after to tell Paul I was going to pick up some groceries. Asked him if he wanted anything."
"And you didn't know the girl was missing until later?"
"Not until I heard about it at work from someone. Roughly two or three days later. After that it was a media frenzy. I phoned the police to let them know what I'd seen."
"High Peaks?"
"No. The Adirondack County Sheriff's Office."
"So no one called you from the police department before that?"
"No. But then again I wasn't the only vehicle that passed by the scene that night."
Noah looked down, flipping pages. "Right. Hank Sheridan said multiple vehicles passed by. Then there was Witness B, a man coming from the opposite direction later."
"That's right."
"So just to go over that timeline." He had it in front of him but he always liked to see if a witness's account shifted.
After five years, most people's stories drifted at least a little.
Dates moved, times rounded, details that had been certain became approximate.
It was natural and it was human and it told you nothing by itself.
But when a story stayed exactly the same, word for word, that told you something too. "You left work at?"
"I left around 6:45 PM."
"And you arrived at the scene around?"
"7:10. I think."
"And there was a police cruiser already there?"
He used the word cruiser deliberately.
"Not a cruiser." She didn't hesitate. "A SUV. Dodge Durango Pursuit."
"You have a good memory."
"In my line of work as a nurse, you have to. Lives depend on it."
"I hear you," Noah said. "The devil is in the details."
"So you don't recall seeing anyone at the crash site?"
She cupped her drink with both hands and shook her head. "Nope. I even looked back as I drove away, you know, in my rearview mirror."
"Did you pass any other vehicles?"
"A couple."
"Any recollection?"
"It was dark. Headlights are bright. I've driven that route for over twenty years. You kind of blot those out."
"Did you see anyone walking along the road? Anyone duck off into the bushes?"
"They asked me that back then." She met his eyes. "My answer is still the same. No one." She paused. "I wish I could be of more help. As a mother I feel for the parents. I couldn't imagine my kid going missing."
Noah nodded and finished his drink. "Well, I appreciate it." He stood and tucked the folder back into his bag.
Lydia stood with him and led him back through the hallway toward the front door.
"Will you be speaking with the others?" she asked.
"A couple I already have. A few others have moved on since then so I'll get in touch by phone."
Lydia opened the door for him and he stepped out onto the porch. The afternoon light was fading and the shadows from the barn stretched long across the yard.
"I really hope you get some answers," she said.
"You and me both." He pulled a card from his jacket and handed it to her. "If you think of anything in the meantime. Call me."
She glanced at the card, read it, then looked back at him.
"Thank you for your time," he said.
She nodded once and he walked down the steps and across the yard to his truck. Behind him the storm door closed with a creak that carried across the quiet property.
He sat in the truck for a moment before starting the engine.
Lydia Holt had been calm, cooperative, and thorough.
Her account matched the file exactly. She'd answered every question without evasion or embellishment.
She'd corrected him on the vehicle type without being prompted.
She'd offered context about her son without being defensive until Noah pushed on employment, which was a natural reaction for any mother.
She'd known Adelaide Chambers by name, which made sense given twenty-seven years at the same hospital.
Nothing about the interview raised a flag.
Noah started the truck and pulled out onto Mountain Lane. He had two more witnesses to reach by phone and Hank Sheridan to visit in person tomorrow. The file was five years old and the case was closed and the man convicted of the crime was eight days from execution.
And yet.
He couldn't name what was bothering him.
It wasn't anything Lydia had said. It wasn't anything she hadn't said.
It was something between the two, something in the tidiness of her answers, the clarity of her memory after five years, the way she'd turned every question into a complete and final statement that left no room to follow up.
Most witnesses rambled. They contradicted themselves. They remembered new things halfway through a sentence and circled back. Lydia Holt hadn't done any of that. Her testimony was clean.
Too clean, maybe.
Or maybe just the testimony of a nurse who paid attention to detail and had nothing to hide.
Noah filed it away and drove on.