Page 12 of Jonah’s Lure

“You know the man in the next unit? Ray Cobb?”

Garver leaned against the doorframe. “Enough to say hello. Paid his rent, kept his hours, didn’t bother anyone. That’s all I really know about a neighbor on this dock.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Monday morning. He came in early—before seven, which wasn’t unusual for him. He kept odd hours. Worked until about noon, then left. Hasn’t been back since.Two days now.” He paused. “I noticed because he usually leaves the light on when he’s coming back the same day. Light’s been off since Monday.”

“Did he say anything to you Monday morning?”

“We didn’t speak. I saw him arrive, that’s all.” Garver’s eyes moved to the padlocked door and back. “Something wrong?”

“Routine inquiry,” Angus said. “One more question—in the time Cobb’s been here, did you ever see anyone come to visit him? Anyone regular?”

Garver thought about it. “Not regular. There was a car once, early on. I couldn’t even tell you exactly when—maybe the first few months. Parked at the end of the road for a while in the mornings. I noticed because there was no reason for it.” He shrugged. “Thought nothing of it at the time. Figured it was someone waiting on a delivery.”

“What kind of car?”

“Dark colored, four-door, I think. I don’t know.”

Angus thanked him and walked back to where Miguel was standing in the front of Cobb’s unit.

“Cleared out Monday,” he said. “Same day I ran his name and got the watch alert.”

Miguel looked at him. “He knew within hours.”

“Within minutes, more likely. The alert was automated. The moment I ran the search it was logged. Someone was notified.”

“Who has access to that kind of alert in the state system?”

“Law enforcement. Or former law enforcement and knows how the system works.” He said it as a statement of fact, nothing more. He wasn’t ready to go any further than that without something in hand.

Miguel wrote it down. His expression was careful in the way it sometimes became when he was processing something he wasn’t sure how to file yet—not doubt, more concentration, like that of a methodical man encountering a fact that didn’t fit neatly into the shape of the case so far.

Angus photographed the sight line from the end of the dock road to the front of Cobb’s unit. From that position you could see the unit clearly. You could also see, at an angle across the water, the roofline and parking lot of the Weyport Sheriff’s Office.

He noted it, photographed it, and kept moving.

Miguel was waiting by the truck, phone still in his hand from a call of his own. His voice had changed when he spoke—the careful concentration from earlier replaced by something flatter. More controlled.

“State oversight office just called the department,” he said. “They've flagged an anomaly in the case file. They want to discuss it with you.” A pause that lasted a beat too long. “Today, Angus. They said today.”

Chapter Eight

The state oversight office was in Augusta, but Catherine Marsh conducted the meeting by phone at two o’clock, which told Angus something about how they were classifying it. A phone call was preliminary. A phone call was still in the territory of we have some questions rather than we have a problem. He sat at his desk with Miguel across from him, his journal open, and waited for it to become clear which one it actually was.

It became clear quickly.

Marsh’s voice was measured and precise, the voice of a woman who chose her words the way a surgeon chooses instruments—for function, not comfort. She said there had been an anomaly flagged in the Holt missing persons case file. She said a series of encrypted messages had been identified by the state’s digital forensics unit, traced to a device registered at Angus’s home address, and sent over the past three weeks to a prepaid number linked to a network previously associated with a relocation operation out of Weyport.

Angus kept his voice level. “What network?”

A brief pause. “The operational network identified in connection with Logan Reid’s case. The language in the messages uses specific terminology from that investigation. Relocation protocols. Asset security. Exposure risk.”

He said nothing for a moment.

“The messages reference Jonah Holt by name,” she continued. “By name and by description. They predate his disappearance by eleven days.”

The room was very quiet. Through the window, the harbor appeared still. A single boat made its way toward the mouth in the thin afternoon light.