“Missing rocks. Flattened weeds. The drag marks.”
She peered over their joined hands, staring in dismay toward the water. Something definitely had been moved. And in three spots the ground was pitted with holes as if rocks had recently been moved. There was even a partial boot tread, much too large for a teenage girl.
“Divers are on the way,” Justin said. “But I’ll get you out of here before that.”
“I’m a PI,” she said. “I’ve seen dead bodies before.” Mostly pictures though. And Justin knew her usual clientele. Knew she’d never been hired to work a missing-person case. Or a homicide.
Bile climbed her throat. She swallowed, trying to block her thoughts. To stay objective. But the images unfolded in her mind: a sexual tryst, a fight, then a helpless girl weighed down by rocks and dumped in that ugly green water. Had Savannah been alive when she went under? And despite her resolve to hide her horror, Nikki flinched.
“I shouldn’t have let you come,” Justin said, his voice gruff. “But I needed you and Gunner.”
“At least her family will know,” Nikki muttered.
Justin leaned closer, squeezing her shoulders but still managing to hold her hand. He had kept her at arm’s length for so long, it was rather unexpected. She could feel the pounding of his heart, as if he were equally disturbed. And he’d been exposed to so many brutal homicides his emotion now was rather surprising.
Realization hit.
“You think Erin’s in there too?” she said, surprised her voice was so level.
“It’s a possibility,” Justin said. He wasn’t looking anywhere but at her face. Not at his waiting officers or the drag marks or at that ominous water. He was really worried. Seemed the only thing he ever felt for her was concern. She didn’t want that. Besides, he should be thinking of finding a murderer, possibly even the man who’d taken Erin.
She pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. Do what you have to do. Gunner and I will stay very still and not contaminate the scene any more than we already have.”
Justin’s expression changed, his face turning to a hard mask. “I’ll have someone pick you up as soon as possible,” he said. “You’ll need to leave the same way we came in.”
With that, he unfolded from the ground, leaving empty air where his arm had been.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun warmed Nikki’s shoulders, the sky an optimistic blue, but the quarry held a tomblike quiet. Even the scolding squirrel had hushed. Gunner nosed the ball closer to Nikki’s knee, oblivious to the splashes of the recovery team in the water only twenty feet away.
She tightened her grip around his lead. Gunner didn’t understand why she wouldn’t throw the ball. Now he thought he hadn’t done his job when he most certainly had, and incredibly well. But it seemed sacrilege to be tossing a ball in the air while police divers were in that cloudy water, searching for a body. And Savannah’s family was waiting, afraid yet still hopeful. If Justin’s instincts were correct, that hope would soon be dashed.
Maybe it was better to have a body. To know, rather than to forever wonder. Still, a sliver of hope must be better than no hope at all. She knew she didn’t want Erin’s body to be found tucked beneath that bank, despite the closure it would bring. And she fervently prayed Savannah wasn’t in there either. That trail of crushed grass didn’t have to mean a person was dragged. It could be something else. Oh God, she prayed it was something else.
At the moment, two people in coveralls stood on the bank, one with a long stick and the other holding a rope. Divers had gone in less than five minutes earlier. Justin remained on the side of the bank, standing beside Tony, two technicians, and another detective. They looked grim, not talking much, their eyes unflinching.
She focused on the water spiders skimming over the surface, reminding herself that this was a valuable learning experience. And it was important to copy the mannerisms of these professionals who did their jobs, no matter how gut wrenching. So she squared her shoulders and tried to look all steely eyed.
But the side of her mouth wobbled because it was impossible not to think of Erin. To imagine what might be left of her body. The skin would be gone but the hair would still be there. Erin and Savannah were both blondes.
A man yelled, the triumph in his voice almost obscene. Oh, God. They’ve found something.
Gunner whined and licked her left cheek, then the right. Odd, since he never licked both sides. At least she had an excuse for her wet face. She accepted she was crying because the men on the bank and whatever body they were pulling out had blurred and it was no longer possible to see.
Then someone squeezed her shoulder and Justin’s voice whispered in her ear: “It’s Savannah. The divers are going to keep looking but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else down there. Do you want to leave now?”
She nodded, unable to speak, overcome by a wave of sadness along with guilty relief that it wasn’t Erin.
“Okay,” Justin said. “Follow the same path we took in, until you’re outside the marked perimeter. My driver will pick you up in a black Jeep and take you to the command post. Wait there. I need you to sign some forms and get an imprint of your boots.”
She gave another nod, somewhat relieved she and Gunner wouldn’t have to battle through the thick brush to her car. But Justin would have to wait for forensics and the coroner, and she didn’t want to hang around. She just wanted to go home where it was safe to let out her feelings.
Justin had already turned away, striding back to that sad sodden body with the dripping water and tangled hair.
“Let’s go, Gunner,” she whispered, taking his ball and dropping it into her pack.
She followed the fluorescent ribbons tied to the branches, copying Justin’s purposeful stride. Gunner’s solid presence helped her walk a bit straighter. A woman in a reflective vest and muddy hiking boots rushed over and raised the yellow tape.
“Good job,” she said.
Nikki ducked beneath the tape, forcing a nod. It didn’t feel like a good job. Clearly Gunner preferred a different outcome as well. He alternately sniffed at the ground then looked at her face, as if asking for another chance.
She tugged off her plastic booties and reached over to unbuckle his tracking harness. She should have removed the harness earlier, help him get out of work mentality. He was still trying to please her, picking up on everyone’s gloomy mood and eager to fix it.
Of course, it didn’t have to be tragic for Gunner. He could end the day on a high note if she let him run the track to the barn. Back to Savannah’s living, breathing horse.
She clipped the line back on his harness, causing Gunner’s tail to swing. He was already sniffing at a hoof print, whining and quivering with eagerness. “Please cancel my Jeep ride,” Nikki said to the woman in the vest. “We’ll walk out.”
Then she turned to Gunner. “Find!” she said.
Twenty minutes later, she and Gunner burst from the trail head onto the gravel lot on the south side of the stable. The parking lot was still crammed with vehicles but now a coroner’s van and forensic teams had joined the police cruisers.
A bay horse in a nearby paddock lifted his head, eyeing her curiously before returning to munching hay. It was a beautiful day but most of the turnouts were empty. No doubt, stable activity had been reduced to a minimum, with entry restricted to the owners and essential staff. Gunner didn’t look sideways. He tugged her past the paddocks, his nose skimming the ground, intent on following the Arabian’s trail.
They swept into the cool confines of the barn where she was hit with a blast of déjà vu. She and Erin had pushed countless wheelbarrows down the long aisle, and she remembered every inch. There were a few aesthetic improvements and others designed for the comfort of the horses: window boxes of colorful daisies, thick rubber in the aisles and expensive cooling fans mounted at regular intervals. And then, in front of the sixth stall to the left, Gunner dropped to his haunches, tail swinging in triumph.
She shoved away her no
stalgia, focusing on the light gray horse who’d poked his head over the door, curious about the big dog sitting by his stall. The gelding wore a black leather halter with a plaque proclaiming he’d covered five hundred trail miles. He had a white mane, an elegant head and a prominent dip above his nose—clearly an Arabian. His brown eyes were large and expressive. Whoever had dumped Savannah in the murky water, whatever had happened beside that deserted quarry, this horse had been a witness. And it wasn’t the first time Nikki wished an animal could talk.
She pulled Gunner’s ball from her pack. Despite the horrors of the day, this time she was determined to properly reward him.
“Good boy,” she said. “You found him.”
However, it was hard to fake enthusiasm with an astute dog like Gunner. His ears drooped and he caught the ball with a distinct lack of gusto.
“Good boy!” she repeated, forcing a happy singsong voice.
“What’s happened?” a man called. The light from the end of the barn reduced him to a silhouette and she could only make out the outline of his ball cap and a sturdy wheelbarrow. “Do you want to check Savannah’s horse again?”
The man left the wheelbarrow and hurried toward her. He carried a pitchfork but wore light khakis and low leather shoes, an odd choice for mucking out stalls.
“I can tie Scooter in the aisle,” the man said, giving an agreeable smile. “In case you want to check the dirt on his legs again. I already gave the detective Savannah’s log book. Like I said earlier, she was covering a lot of territory, trying to hit a thousand miles by December.”
“No, thanks,” Nikki said, hiding her wince. But it wasn’t her place to reveal that they’d be bringing Savannah out in a body bag and that the rescue had turned into a murder investigation. This man clearly thought she was part of the official search team, and the fact that he was the only person in the barn indicated he was staff or an owner.
“Savannah was one of our first boarders,” the man said, tugging at his ball cap. “She always cleaned Scooter’s stall too. My staff loved her.”
So he was the owner. That might explain his inappropriate footwear. Nikki turned toward the door, hoping to avoid any questions about the search, questions she had no authority to answer.
“Savannah loved riding those groomed trails that the previous people had cleared,” the owner went on. “She was so proud of her little horse. Scooter isn’t much of a jumper but he’s an Arabian so has tons of stamina. I imagine she just rode a little too far yesterday, fell off and is stuck somewhere…” His voice quavered and Nikki felt something tear at her chest. She knew what it was like to be on the outside, waiting for news.
Compassion made her pause in the aisle. “When did you buy the stable?” she asked, gently guiding him to a safer topic.
“Six years ago. It took a while to get the place going but now my wife and I have a waiting list for stalls. Some private schools have even incorporated lessons as part of their program. That’s been a big boost.”
Nikki gave a congratulatory nod. Business had taken a hit after Erin’s disappearance and though she remained ambivalent about this barn and especially its trail rides, she’d once genuinely loved the stable. She gave herself an extra moment to inhale the sweet smell of alfalfa. Being around horses again was bittersweet yet she couldn’t stop herself from savoring the sights and sounds.
“I used to come here when I was a kid,” she said, her voice rusty.
The man brightened. He was actually quite good looking when he smiled, if one liked that clean preppy look. She didn’t.
“Some of the horses were included when we bought the property,” he said. “We still have a couple of the jumpers. Maybe you’d remember them?”
“I wasn’t a boarder,” Nikki said. “And I never graduated from the ponies.”
“Ponies are strict teachers,” he said with a chuckle. “We have one here that is tougher than any of the big horses. Stormy has taught a lot of kids to sit deep, or else they’ll find themselves face-first in the dirt.”
“Stormy?” Nikki had been edging toward the door but now she jerked around. “He’s still here?”
“Sure. He’s in the little run-in by the staff parking lot. We don’t have enough stalls for boarders so our own horses stay outside.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Matthew Friedel.”
“I’m Nikki,” she said, shaking his hand. “And I’d love to see Stormy.”
“This way.” Matthew happily set down his pitchfork and gestured toward the far door. “By the way, if you ever want to drop by for a trail ride, I’m offering the police and search teams a reduced rate.”
Matthew was a born salesman and he walked uncomfortably close, his hand nearly grazing her hip. She didn’t like people in her personal space and she would never ride again—not without Erin. But she definitely wanted to see Stormy before she left.
She shot Matthew a look, and he eased away with a good-natured shrug. It was fortunate Gunner still wore his tracking harness. He was more accepting of strange men when he was in work mode. And though he was eyeing Matthew, he looked more disappointed than protective. No doubt, he’d been anticipating some fun ball play after successfully tracking Savannah’s horse.
Nikki teasingly tugged at the ball in Gunner’s mouth and he squeezed his jaws, happy with the attention. Matthew didn’t even notice their little game. He walked beside her, proudly pointing out all the improvements he and his wife had made and how they’d even added superfast WiFi in the viewing lounge.
“Teens like to hang out,” he went on, “so we have an open door policy. Bring a guest and let them see what horses are all about. Some of them come and never ride. But they might tell a friend.”
Numerous padded chairs and charging stations supported that it was indeed a welcoming place. Savannah’s killer might have visited her at the barn, even sat in one of those colorful armchairs. The impression of a blanket suggested she hadn’t been killed by a stranger. Unfortunately with such a wide range of visitors, police would be swamped with interviews.
Gunner bumped her fisted hand, questioning why she wasn’t throwing his ball. Justin had stressed that if she kept the rewards consistent, he’d never lose his training. She hadn’t done a good job of that today.
“Is there a place by the turnouts where I could throw my dog’s ball?” she asked, cutting off Matthew as he rambled on about the shock cushioning of the black rubber mats.
“Certainly,” he said. “The only animals outside are the ones my wife and I own. There won’t be any in the outdoor arena or in the paddocks by the staff parking lot.” He pointed. “Except for Stormy.”
At first Nikki only saw a sun-bleached wooded turnout. Then a tail swished, drawing her attention. A pony stood by the wall of the turnout and other than some graying around his muzzle, Stormy hadn’t changed. Even his forelock was the same: scruffy, long, and almost covering his tiny ears.
“Oh wow, he’s ageless.” She hurried to the fence, knowing he wouldn’t remember her. Countless children had come and gone in his life. But it was heartwarming to see how he’d thrived. Clearly he was accustomed to commotion; he barely looked at her and Matthew, remaining in his shaded spot by the shelter.
She gave a low whistle, the sound she used to make whenever she brought him an apple. Amazingly his head lifted, his ears pricking. He stepped out from the shade and ambled toward her, eyes bright with interest.
The fact that he remembered her, or more correctly her whistle, was completely humbling. She hadn’t expected that. Unfortunately she had nothing in her pockets except dog treats.
She quickly plucked a handful of grass growing outside the paddock. There wasn’t a blade of green left in his turnout so hopefully he’d be satisfied with her offering. Seconds later, the pony stuck his head between the top and middle rail and accepted the grass. He even paused his chewing to give Gunner a welcoming sniff, as if happy to meet a big dog.
Matthew’s eyes widened. “He sure remembers you. Usually he’s hard to c
atch. Maybe he’s tired of teaching kids to ride. Feel free to go in the paddock and visit. Stormy is bossy with horses but he’s good with dogs.”
Clearly Gunner was good with Stormy too. He dropped his precious ball at the pony’s feet, as if hoping Stormy would throw it. Nikki unclipped the lead from Gunner’s harness and slipped beneath the rails. She’d shared many wonderful times with the beloved pony and he’d taught her a lot. Justin had always said if she could earn Stormy’s respect, she’d have accomplished something few people ever had.
She scratched the pony’s thick neck, his shoulder and the ever-itchy spot beneath his forelock, remembering the first time he’d dumped her in the brook. Justin had laughed, and she’d been so upset. But anger never worked with Stormy, and she’d learned to control her emotions and think like a horse. Or more aptly like an irascible little pony. Three months later, she’d been able to jump Stormy with just a halter, and she wasn’t sure who had been more proud—her or Justin.
She glanced toward the path, wondering if he knew the old pony was still here. Maybe Justin would show up soon and they could enjoy this tiny bright spot on such a tragic day. But other than the cluster of vehicles by a large trailer—obviously the command post—there was little movement.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, glancing at Matthew, “I’m going to stay here for a bit.”
It would be a chance to hang out with Stormy again, and the smooth open area would be a great place to throw Gunner’s ball. He’d been asked to find two targets today: Savannah and then her horse, and it was important to let him know he’d finished the job. Otherwise Gunner would keep searching, driven by his powerful work ethic, forever looking for a way to please.
“No problem,” Matthew said. “Do you have any idea when I’ll be allowed to re-open?”
She shook her head and scooped up Gunner’s ball, ready to turn her attention to her deserving dog. Except Gunner was no longer in the paddock or by the fence. She wheeled, scanning the adjacent turnouts, hoping he hadn’t wandered toward the road.
Grave Instinct Page 5