"Noah?"
"Ray, quick question."
Trees blurred past the window as the Bronco headed south. The road narrowed and the houses thinned and the mountains pressed in from both sides.
"The night of Kara Ellison. I was looking over the timeline. It says Lisbeth Devon heard the impact outside their home near Route 73 around 6:55 PM. They called 911. After that, Hank Sheridan, who was working for the county highway department snowplowing, stopped at the crash site. Found Kara disoriented but conscious. She refused help, insisted she'd already called for assistance. That was around 7:00 PM. He went home and had his wife call 911. Bob Anderson, just up from the crash site, saw flashing hazard lights through the trees. Thought it was emergency lights." He paused. "Now Witness A, which was Lydia Holt, was driving home from the hospital. She passed the scene according to her account between 7:05 and 7:10 PM andsaid there was a police SUV already there. No officer or driver present. And it's reported you arrived on scene around 7:12 PM. You checked the car, then spoke with the Devons, then went up to Sheridan. Kara wasn't there. Sheridan said multiple vehicles passed between the time he got home and when you showed up." He let the question sit for a beat. "There's a discrepancy with your arrival time and Lydia Holt's account. Why didn't High Peaks address that?"
"It was a mistake on her part."
"What do you mean?"
"The chief at the time had a drinking problem. He was known to drive around town in his SUV. People talked about it. Lydia probably assumed it was him. But he wasn't out that night. He was at home. I confirmed that myself." Ray's voice was flat, matter-of-fact, like he’d answered this question before. "And I was driving a cruiser that night. Not an SUV."
"So why would she say she saw a police SUV?"
"I chalked it up to her getting the time wrong, the vehicle wrong, or both. She probably passed after I'd already arrived, not before. Saw my cruiser from a distance in the dark and remembered it as an SUV. Headlights on Route 73 at night, everything looks the same." Ray paused. "The previous chief didn't want the heat when the rumors started circulating, but he was home. I know he wasn't out there."
"Ah, okay."
A silence. Then Ray's voice changed. "Why are you asking? The Ellison case is closed."
"Just curious," Noah said, and hung up.
He glanced at his phone. Twelve percent battery. He plugged it into the charging cable on the center console and set it in the cup holder. Heavy drops of rain hit the windshield as he turned off Route 73. By the time the road turned to gravel they were falling steady, and by the time the gravel turned to rutsthe wipers were on full and the trees were bending under a sky that had gone from gray to dark in the time it took to drive three miles. The signal bars dropped from two to one to nothing. The Bronco bounced through the potholes that marked the last stretch of Mountain Lane, the rain hammering the roof and turning the ruts to mud.
The Holt property appeared through the trees. Lydia's car was parked in its usual spot near the house, rain beading on the hood. The dilapidated barn stood to the left with its doors hanging open. The bird feeder swung from its hook near the front steps, rocking in the wind. Her muddy boots sat by the door. Everything the same as his last visit except the weather. The same trucks that hadn't moved. The same weeds growing through the engine bay. The same quiet underneath the rain.
Noah killed the engine and sat for a moment. He pulled his jacket from the back seat and got out. The rain hit him immediately, cold and heavy, soaking through his shoulders before he reached the porch. The boards creaked under his weight the same way they had before. He knocked.
He heard footsteps inside. The door opened and Lydia filled the frame the same way she had the first time, wide through the shoulders, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled, reading glasses pushed up on her head. "Well. Hello again."
"Hi, Lydia. Sorry to bother you on your day off. I just had a few more questions if you have a minute."
"Of course. Come on in." She stepped aside and held the door. "I was just about to put the kettle on. Can I get you something?"
"Coffee would be great."
He followed her through the narrow hallway with its row of coats and boots. The floorboards creaked under both of them. He glanced again at the framed photo of Lydia and Earl on thewall, the two of them standing in front of the barn when it still had both doors on straight.
They reached the kitchen. The oak cabinets. The brown floral wallpaper peeling at the seams. The window over the sink looking out at the barn. The radio was on, tuned low, playing something Noah didn't recognize. The counter was clean but cluttered the same way it had been before. A plastic pill organizer. A stack of mail. A ceramic rooster.
But the miniature houses were gone. The table where they'd been last time was clear except for a copy of the Adirondack Daily Enterprise and a coffee mug with a tea bag string hanging over the rim.
Lydia reached for the French press and spooned grounds from the canister on the counter. "So what can I help you with this time?"
Noah pulled out the same chair he'd sat in before and settled into it.
"It's about a woman who used to work at the hospital. Jessie Maddox. You would have overlapped with her."
The security officeat Adirondack Medical Center was a windowless room on the main floor behind the admissions desk. Two monitors on a metal table, a swivel chair with a torn armrest, and a man named Dale Kepner who had been running hospital security for six years and who looked like he'd rather be doing anything else.
Callie sat beside him with a stack of volunteer sign-in sheets spread across the table. She'd pulled every log from the past two weeks. Paul Holt's name appeared on seven of them.
"There," Callie said, pointing to the date. "The day Hailey Benton went missing. Paul Holt signed in that morning.”
Dale leaned forward and squinted at the sheet. "Yeah, looks like he was on from seven to ten.”
"Can you pull the camera footage for that morning? Her floor, the hallways, the stairwell."
