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CLOSE SCRUTINY OF THE TWO HIKERS MAKING THEIR WAY THROUGH the trails of the Adirondack Mountains near Lake Placid would reveal boots that were too new, gear that was too clean, and rucksacks filled with surveillance equipment foreign to even the most ardent bird-watchers. But thankfully the two hikers—a man and a woman—never saw another soul on the trail.
“I think the blister on my foot just popped,” he said.
“You’re such a man,” the woman said.
“It hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Childbirth hurts. Blisters on your toe are an annoyance,” she said, hiking up ahead and forcing him to hurry after her.
They trekked three miles from the national park where they had parked their car. It took nearly an hour, mostly because of her partner’s low pain tolerance, to make it to the precipice of the hill that offered a bird’s-eye view of the valley below. A trail descended into the basin and wrapped around the lake at the bottom. The peaks of the Adirondacks rose before them and marked the northern border of Lake Placid. It would be, on another day, a time to pause and take in the beauty of the outdoors, the majesty of the morning, and the glory of midsummer Lake Placid. But today was not any morning. The two hikers had information to gather and a deadline to keep. The woman started down the trail. A few minutes later her partner limped after her.
When they made it down to the lake, they had a clear view of the homes perched on the foothills in front of them. The female agent slipped her rucksack off her shoulders and unzipped the top. She removed a long-range Nikon camera with a telescopic lens and had the focus adjusted perfectly by the time her partner joined her.
“How are those new boots treating you?” she asked.
“Like my ex-wife.”
She raised her right eyebrow and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Nasty and unforgiving,” he said.
“Get your gear out and start looking at birds,” she said.
The male agent unzipped his own rucksack and pulled out birdwatching binoculars that looked as innocuous as a child’s telescope. The female agent stood behind him for cover and pulled out a much more powerful pair of binoculars. She held them to her eyes and focused the lenses on the A-frame cabin across the lake. Perched at the top of a small hill, the high-range binoculars gave her the ability to see into the windows of the cabin from four hundred yards away.
The cabin’s nearest neighbor was ten acres to the north. The terrain on this side of the home consisted of a wooden deck and a long row of stairs that ran down to the water. A sycamore stood at the water’s edge, where a rope swing hung from a limb and teetered over the surface of the lake. The agent put the binoculars down and picked up the Nikon.
“Clear?” she asked.
Her partner took a moment to confirm that there were no eyes on them.
“Clear,” he said.
The female agent began snapping photos of the A-frame cabin, the lake, and the forested area on either side of the structure. The images would be used to organize the tactical raid the feds were planning on the isolated cabin. But they’d need a warrant before they could crash through the front door. To secure one, they would have to confirm that their subject was present inside, and prove to a judge that it was Garth Montgomery.
“Okay,” the female agent said, dropping the camera and binoculars back into the rucksack. “Let’s see how close we can get.”
CHAPTER 58
Manhattan, NY Thursday, July 8, 2021
AKNOTTED TOWEL WAS TWISTED ON THE TOP OF HER HEAD AND HELD her wet hair. Just out of the shower Thursday morning, Avery stood in front of the bathroom mirror in jeans and a bra, applying makeup while her mind worked to solve her many problems. Since her confrontation with Natalie Ratcliff the day before, the constant weight of worry sat in her stomach like an indigestible knot of fat and gristle that was sure to do serious harm to her insides. She and Natalie had gone over everything carefully, and spent the entire evening planning and discussing the possibilities. But no matter how they arranged things, there was one missing piece to the very complicated puzzle Avery was attempting to assemble. She was stuck until she figured it out, and she had very little time to do it.
She heard a knock on the door, and paused with the mascara brush an inch from her lashes. When a second knock came she screwed the applicator brush back into the container, walked to the door, and placed her eye to the peephole. Walt stood in the hallway and, despite her attire, she didn’t hesitate to pull the door open.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head as if he’d just taken a punch to the jaw.
Avery stood with her hands on her hips, her breasts covered only by her bra. She stared unblinking for a moment, then walked back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. It was a full minute before she heard Walt’s voice.
“Hey,” he said through the door. “What’s going on?”
The last time he was in her hotel room, the bed had been covered with Victoria’s manuscripts. This morning, it was covered with the photos of Walt following her. She wanted him to see them. She wanted him to know that she knew.
“Avery,” he said again. “She was set up. Someone planted Victoria’s blood at the crime scene. And her urine. I have the evidence to prove it. The blood came from a . . . Do you use cotton tampons, by the way? Because if you do, you have to stop right away.”
Avery stood on the other side of the door, thoroughly confused. She wanted to answer him. She wanted to ask what it was he had discovered about Victoria, but she stopped herself from speaking. The Victoria Ford story had taken a backseat to her most pressing issue. More than anything, she wanted him to see the photos that were laid out on the bed. Eventually, she heard Walt close the hotel door. She listened to his footsteps as he walked into the room. She imagined him staring at the photos. It was another minute before she heard him back outside the bathroom.
“Hey,” he said in a quiet voice. “We need to talk.”
