Miles Lindgren's Arc

Chapter 10 of 13

The camera light blinked red on the town hall steps, the building’s doors framed behind Miles in the shot. “We’re following a new thread today,” Miles said, breath fogging in the cold. “There’s reason to think someone was out near the abandoned ice-cutting operation the week Dani disappeared. We’re here to see if the county’s got anything on record.” “Good take.” Chase lowered the camera. “Let’s get inside before my fingers freeze off.” The records office sat at the end of a narrow hall, a hand-lettered sign taped crooked to frosted glass. Inside, a woman glanced up from behind the counter, polite but unhurried. “Good morning. My name’s Miles Lindgren, and this is my partner, Chase Sorensen.” “I know who you are.” The woman behind the counter didn’t look up right away. “Must say I’m a little offended you don’t recognize me.” Miles looked more closely and found her name tag. C. Newsome. “Wait a minute. Casey?” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips before disappearing entirely. “That’s me. It’s been a long time, Miles. I’d say it’s good to see you again, but Father Halloway always taught us lying was a sin.” Miles was taken aback. Casey used to be a close friend, back when he still lived in Cutter’s Bend. The three of them, him, Casey, and Dani, used to run together constantly growing up, and he hadn’t expected this kind of coldness from her. “Casey, I’m not sure what I did wrong here, but I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.” Casey arched an eyebrow slightly, said nothing, and just stared at him, impassive. Behind him, Chase kept the camera rolling, jaw tight, visibly holding himself back from stepping in. “We’re looking to obtain hunting permit records for the area,” Miles said. “Twelve years back. When Dani went missing.” “Of course you are.” Casey moved toward her desk and pulled the proper forms. “Fill out the paperwork and we’ll process it as quick as we can. The archives are a mess right now, we’re in the middle of digitizing everything. Normally takes a few days. Might take longer.” “Anything we can do to speed it up?” Chase asked from behind the camera. Casey looked at him for the first time, her eyes hardening further at the sight of the lens. “You must be the boyfriend the Lindgrens are constantly praising.” She looked him up and down, entirely unimpressed. “No. There’s nothing you can do. I’m not overriding protocol so you can get some content.” Miles’s jaw ticked with suppressed anger, his hands curling at his sides. “I assure you, we’re not trying to cut corners, and this isn’t about content. We’re here to help Dani. You were her friend too. I know you want to know what happened to her.” Something in Casey’s eyes flared, all pretense dropping at once. “Yes. I was her friend.” Her voice rose, sharp and fast. “I’ve been here for every vigil in her honor. Every town meeting. Every search. Every church service. I helped put together the slideshow at our reunion, the one with the classmates we’d lost, hers included. I watched her parents struggle for years, watched her father finally leave because he couldn’t stand looking at this town anymore. I sat with Marlene while she grieved.” Casey came around the counter now, jabbing a finger into Miles’s chest with each new sentence. “Where the hell were you, Miles? You left the second you could and never once looked back. You didn’t help pick up the pieces. You didn’t mourn with the rest of us. You left. And now, twelve years later, it’s mighty convenient that you’ve built your whole career off exploiting cold cases, and even more convenient that the first time you set foot back in this town is the same week they find a body that might be your supposed best friend, so you can turn her and her family into content.” Miles stood frozen. He couldn’t argue with any of it. He’d fled the second he was able to and never come back, never could bring himself to. It still hurt, hearing an old friend lay it out this plainly. He opened his mouth, but Chase cut in before he could speak. “You have no idea what the last twelve years have looked like for him. He lost his best friend. You don’t get to tell him how he should’ve grieved.” “I wasn’t talking to you.” Casey’s glare snapped to him. “Doesn’t matter. I’m talking anyway.” Chase set the camera down on the counter and crossed to Miles, sliding an arm around his back, pulling him in close. “You think he forgot her? You think she’s just another case to him? You don’t know Miles at all. You can believe whatever you want about him. We’re not here to change your mind. But I’m not going to stand here and let you tear him apart.” Casey’s jaw worked, and she didn’t say anything else, just turned back toward her side of the counter and busied herself with the computer. Miles finished the paperwork in silence, and they left without another word. Outside on the town hall steps, Miles took a deep breath and looked up at the grey sky. “She was right.” Chase shook his head immediately. “Like hell she was. She had no right to say that to you.” “I did run away, Chase. She might not have gotten my reasons right, but I can’t argue with the fact that I ran.” Chase reached for him, then hesitated, pulling his hand back at the last second. Miles caught it, one more thing to feel guilty about now, on top of everything else. He hated how careful Chase had gotten around him, though he still had no idea how to fix it. They’d both gotten so good at ignoring the thing sitting between them. “Let’s go to the police station and talk to Dale,” Chase said finally. “See if there were any citations for hunting without a permit, or if anyone got picked up out that way around the time she disappeared.” The drive to the station was quiet, Miles staring out the window, Casey’s words still sitting sharp in his chest. Chase didn’t push conversation, just reached over once at a red light and rested a hand briefly on his knee before pulling it back to the wheel. “You don’t have to be okay right now,” Chase said eventually. “I know.” Neither of them said anything else the rest of the way. The station smelled like burnt coffee and old carpet. Chase clicked the camera on again as they walked in, and Miles felt the switch happen automatically, shoulders squaring, jaw unclenching, the raw thing still sitting in his chest tucked neatly behind a face that knew how to perform being fine. Dale looked up from behind the counter, glancing between them for a second longer than usual, something faintly concerned crossing his face before he let it go. “Afternoon.” He straightened, businesslike. “What can I do for you two?” “We’re trying to find out if there were any citations or reports filed for that stretch near the old ice-cutting operation,” Miles said, voice smooth and easy for the camera. “Same week Dani disappeared. David mentioned there might’ve been some poaching activity out that way that season, people hunting without permits.” “Let me check.” Dale turned to an old desktop monitor, two fingers hunting across the keyboard, the screen’s glow washing pale across his face. He scrolled a long time, longer than either of them expected, his brow furrowing further with each pass. “Not seeing anything for that specific week,” he said finally. “Nothing on poaching, nothing hunting-related at all, that stretch, that season. I can widen the range if you want, but nothing’s jumping out.” Miles felt something sink in his chest, a lead going quiet before it had the chance to breathe. “Nothing at all?” “Not hunting-wise, no.” Chase shifted beside him, thinking. “What about anything else? Trespassing. Break-ins. Anything filed out that direction, even if it’s not hunting-related.” Dale considered that, turning back to the screen. “Different search category. Give me a second.” He typed again, slower this time. The room stayed quiet except for the soft clatter of the keyboard. He stopped. “Huh.” He leaned closer, double-checking something before he said it out loud. “There’s a trespassing citation, that exact week. Posted property, ice-cutting operation grounds specifically.” A pause. “David Robbins.” The name landed in the room like a bomb. “Trespassing.” Miles kept his voice level, aware of the lens still on him. “Not the hunting thing at all.” “No. Different code section entirely.” Dale turned the monitor slightly. “Says he was found on the grounds themselves. Not the trails, not near them. Inside the posted boundary.” “Can we get a copy?” “I can print the citation right now.” Dale was already moving toward the printer. “Full incident report, if there’s more attached, might take me a day or two.” “We’d appreciate that,” Miles said, folding the paper once, careful. “You two doing alright?” Dale asked, not pushing, just checking. “We’re good,” Miles said, easy, practiced. Dale nodded and let it go. Outside, the station door swung shut behind them, and something in Miles’s shoulders dropped, the performance sliding off all at once. Chase clicked the camera off without being asked. “Trespassing,” Miles said, staring down at the folded paper. “Not hunting or poaching at all.” “Which means the porch conversation was never really about hunting permits.” Chase’s jaw was tight. “He let us go looking in the wrong direction entirely.” “So why was he on the grounds?” Miles unfolded the citation again. “Nobody went out there. Even before the roof caved in more, nobody bothered with that place, except maybe a dare now and then.” “Somebody did that week.” Chase’s voice had gone low, careful. “Same week the caller says they saw a car near the tree line.” Miles’s mind caught on it before he wanted it to. The car. The tree line. Same stretch of woods, same week, and now a citation with David’s name on it, in that exact spot. “That could be his car. The one the caller saw.” “Could be.” “Then he wasn’t out there poaching.” Miles turned the citation over once, slow, like flipping it might slow the thought down too. “He was meeting someone.” “Maybe.” Chase reached for the car door, then paused, looking back at Miles over the roof of the car. “But we know what to actually ask him now, instead of what he wanted us asking. That’s not nothing.” They got in. Neither of them started the engine right away, the citation sitting on the dash between them.