The second examiner nodded at him and continued working, using a small brush to clean soil from what appeared to be a femur.
"How long will it take to identify them?"
“There are dental records for a few. The newer remains, the ones with soft tissue preserved by the bog, we can work on faster. The older ones, where the bones were separated and washed downstream, those will take longer. It will come down to DNA comparison against the missing persons database. It's not quick."
Noah opened the file he'd brought and set it on the counter beside Adelaide. "The knife in the Carter Lyle case. The photos of the serrated blade. Do you think you could match it to any wound patterns on these victims?"
Adelaide picked up the photograph and held it under the light. "Not without the actual weapon. Do you have it?"
"Still searching for it. But the serrated edge. Could it match?"
She studied the image for a long moment, turning it slightly. "Possibly. Some of the remains show scoring on the bones that could be consistent with a serrated blade. But I'd need the knife in hand to say anything definitive. A photograph isn't enough to build a comparison on."
"How long do you think they were in that bog?"
"Anywhere from four to six years based on what we're seeing. The decomposition rates vary because of the acid, but the tightspread across all six suggests batches rather than singles—maybe two a year, every six months or so." She set the photo down. "A deliberate rhythm, not random."
Noah absorbed that. Two a year over four to six years. A pattern so steady it was almost a calendar. Whoever was doing this wasn't impulsive. They were patient, disciplined, and completely invisible until a sixteen-year-old girl drew a picture of a bridge.
He thanked Adelaide and left her to her work.
The officeat High Peaks Police Department was mostly empty when Noah arrived. The overhead lights had that buzzing quality they took on after hours, and the coffee in the pot on the break table had been sitting long enough to develop a film on the surface. He poured some anyway and carried it to the back of the room where Callie stood in front of the case board.
She had photographs pinned in rows. Faces. Some from missing persons files, some from the Strutz Agency wall, some from Garrett's collection. Lines of string connected them to locations, dates, names. It was starting to look like something, though what it was hadn't come into focus yet.
"Get anything from Seraphine?" Callie asked without turning around.
"Not much. Other than confirming she was part of the Three Pillars Community. She shut down the moment I brought it up."
"Scared?"
"Or loyal. Hard to tell which."
"What are you looking at?" Noah asked, stepping closer to the board.
"Other than Brooke Danvers, we've identified four missing young women from the Adirondack region. Around eighteen years of age. None were reported missing by family." She tapped each photo as she spoke. "All of them were college students. Two from Saranac Lake, one from Keene, one from Tupper Lake. They dropped off the map over the last four to five years and nobody filed a report."
"Nobody noticed they were gone?"
"Some of these girls didn't have anyone to notice. Aged out of foster care, estranged from family, drifters. People who fall through the cracks because no one is standing at the edge watching for them."
"Any of them show up in Finch's photos?"
"So far, no. We've been going through his files all afternoon. Nothing connecting him to any of these four."
The door at the end of the room opened and McKenzie walked in carrying a cardboard evidence box. He set it on the nearest desk with a heaviness that had nothing to do with its weight.
"Like searching for a needle in a haystack," he said. "Looks like our Finch guy has been telling us lies."
He opened the box and pulled out a series of photographs, laying them on the desk in a row. Noah moved closer. The images were dark, shot in low light. They weren't meant for any portfolio. In the first, a young woman in lingerie reclined on a surface that Noah couldn't identify. In the second, the same woman in a more explicit position. In the third, a man beside her, his face visible despite the grain.
Garrett Finch.
And the woman was Fiona.
Noah felt the recognition land in his chest before his brain confirmed it. He'd only seen her in the photo Ethan kept on his phone, smiling in a restaurant, her hair down, her eyes bright.But it was her. The same face, caught in a context that made his stomach turn.
In the fourth photograph, the framing was different. The photographer had shifted and the shot was wider. Fiona was still in the frame but behind her, in the reflection of a full-length mirror propped against the wall, the photographer was partially visible. An arm reaching to adjust the lens. The arm was bare from the elbow down and covered in tattoos, dense and dark, sleeve work that ran from wrist to where the fabric started.
