Lullaby for the Nameless (Nolan, Hart & Tain Thrillers)

by Ruttan, Sandra

  “This is a decomp from the forest. Right now all the physical evidence I’ve got is lying right in front of you. Without knowing how long she’s been deceased there isn’t a whole lot I can do.”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing. This wrapping? It’s made from some sort of canvas bag that was date-stamped. This one’s from 2007.”

  “2007? You’re sure?”

  “Quite sure, which is a good thing since it seems to make you happy.” Her eyes narrowed again. “For reasons you apparently don’t feel the need to share with me.”

  He ignored that. “Any chance she may have been wrapped in this material after she’d been deceased for some time?”

  Dr. Winters hesitated. “We’re theorizing she was moved because of the lack of animal activity with the body, and she wasn’t properly buried.”

  Craig shook his head. “We know she was moved because the body isn’t fresh and we’ve been searching the woods for days. That part of the woods was covered thirty-six hours ago. She wasn’t there.”

  “I can tell you that you’re looking at a female victim, at a guess between five-six and five-nine. It’s hard to tell if there is extra cushioning around the feet that’s making her appear longer than she is. As for whether she was moved, you’re convinced. The lack of animal activity is a factor, but for all I know, someone’s been watching over the body night and day and protecting it. I don’t base my findings on external variables alone. I base them on what I see in front of me, and I don’t have enough to make a conclusion yet about time of death. She was frozen, but that could be the result of being outside in these temperatures. Just because men searched the area doesn’t mean they weren’t sloppy.”

  Dr. Winters straightened up. “As for whether she was rewrapped, it would be pure speculation at this point. I like to deal in facts, Constable. Not guesswork.”

  He felt the heat creeping up from the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s just…” He couldn’t tell her what he was really thinking, just how important the timeline on this case was. “The date will be critical in helping us narrow down the investigation, that’s all.”

  “At this point, the only other thing I can tell you is that the tip of a carving knife or sword is protruding from her back.”

  A rush of cold crept up his spine and spread through his skin. “I…I don’t remember seeing that yesterday.” Fumbling for the words as he scrambled to recall the exact moment the body had been lifted from the ground.

  “It wasn’t noted until we got her back here and moved her onto the table. We theorized the pressure from the weight of the body must have made it break through while we were transporting her, because I saw no indication of a protrusion when I did my survey of the body at the gravesite either.”

  Craig nodded. “Shouldn’t there be evidence of a handle then? Is there any sign—”

  Winters held up her hand. “It could be a small knife that was absorbed into the body, which would mean the handle might be inside the rib cage. It all depends on the force with which she was stabbed, and if someone threw the knife at her that would also affect the depth of penetration.” She paused for a moment, her mouth twisting into a small frown. “In fact, it could even be the tip of an arrow if someone fashioned one from the right kind of metal. We simply don’t have enough details right now to form a conclusion.”

  “But it’s definitely a murder.”

  “How often do you find bodies lying in the middle of the woods that have been frozen and partially wrapped and got there by natural causes?”

  If he’d wanted to be flippant, he would have pointed out her conclusion was based on circumstantial variables, not facts, but he kept that to himself, and he didn’t try to explain what he’d meant.

  “Are you working this alone?” Dr. Winters asked.

  He started to shake his head, then shrugged. “I may as well be.”

  “Mac’s worked here for long enough to have friends and a reputation,” Dr. Winters said. “My advice? You’re better off on your own.”

  “I still have to answer for him when the sergeant calls me in.”

  Dr. Winters looked at him for a moment, then walked to the counter, wrote something on a slip of paper and passed it to him. “He always parks in the alley.”

  He thanked her, handed her a card with his cell number on it and asked that she call him directly as soon as she had something.

  As he walked back to the station to get his vehicle he looked at the address she’d given him one last time before folding the slip and putting it in his pocket. Forty-seven Old Main.

  It didn’t take him long to find it, and a short drive down the alley confirmed that what Dr. Winters had told him was true. Mac’s car was parked behind the bar.

  Craig turned around and went back to the street, found a spot a few blocks down and got out to walk. There was a chill in the air that justified him keeping his head down, hands burrowed in his pockets. As he walked by the bar, he risked a glance through the dark windows.

  A group of men he recognized from work were gathered, most holding bottles of Kokanee and looking relaxed, but not over the line. In the center of them, Mac held court. He was a storyteller, a social drinker, the life of the party.

  Craig kept walking. His partner was a liability and there was nobody he could trust. He was on his own.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The room was all stainless steel and white walls. Johnson was perched at a sterile counter in a room that actually had more personality than he did.

  He looked up as they entered, his gaze already shifting back to the file in front of him before he processed what his eyes had seen and did a double take.

  It gave them enough time to reach the other side of the counter before Johnson had even straightened up. The way his hand fell on the scattered photos hinted at Johnson’s desire to slap the folder shut and conceal its contents from their eyes, but he hadn’t been quick enough.

  Not quick enough to hide the split-second deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes either.

  Johnson compounded the issue with a wide smile that was as phony as a three-dollar bill. “You won’t believe this, but I was just about to head over to your office.”

  “I guess that makes you the lucky one,” Ashlyn said. “We saved you a trip.”

  Johnson’s smile dimmed. “Sometimes it’s nice to get out of the office.”

  “Sometimes you get out and you get called back,” Tain said.

  “I had nothing to do with that crank report,” Johnson said.

  Tain glanced at Ashlyn, who arched an eyebrow. He set his hands down on the side of the counter and nodded toward the file.

  “What do you have for us?”

  “Well, not as much as you’d like. The team is still sifting through the contents of the Dumpster, and we’ve identified a few items we think could be connected to the victim, but we haven’t had a chance to chase anything down.”

  “That’s okay,” Tain said. “That’s part of our job.”

  For a split second, Tain thought he saw Johnson’s eyes narrow, and then the hard lines that had surfaced in his expression were smoothed over again. Still perched on the stool, hand resting on the photos, he looked like a man who’d been caught off guard, one who knew he was supposed to be handling the case more than investigating and felt uneasy that the officers he was supposed to manage were pressing him.

  “Is this the report?” Ashlyn asked as she reached for the folder.

  Johnson hesitated.

  “Well?” Ashlyn said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  He sighed and pushed the folder across the counter.

  It took Tain only a few seconds to realize it was a condensed version of the real report. Ashlyn went through the pretense of flipping pages, then riffled through the pile of photos and double-checked a few things against the papers before looking up. “There seem to be a few things missing.”

  Johnson blinked.

  Ashlyn held up a photo. “No details for this item or”—s
he flipped to another picture—“this one. The report’s missing the distance from the body, suspected source, fingerprints. There’s no information at all.”

  As she’d flipped the photos, Tain had noticed some seemed to have duplicates.

  Johnson swallowed. “I know. That’s why I got held up. I was going through the photos, trying to sort out which ones didn’t match the file.”

  “What do you mean?” Ashlyn said.

  “It’s possible these photos are from another crime scene…”

  Ashlyn flipped one over, then another and another. “Funny, the time and date stamp seem to put these together. Unless you were working multiple Dumpsters yesterday.” She turned the pictures over. “See, there’s information for the contents of this photo.” She turned it around and slid it toward Johnson, “And in the corner you can see the things that are in this photo, which haven’t been detailed.”

  “I’m…sorry. This is very sloppy. We’ve had some turnover lately…”

  “No real harm done. Maybe we can track down the missing pages, or help compile the information ourselves.” Ashlyn tapped the folder. “Ah, it says right here there should be eighteen pages, but I only counted seven.”

  Tain had to admire the way she kept her tone light, nonthreatening. As though she might truly be that naïve, and if not naïve then forgiving, willing to overlook a deliberate attempt to limit the information they had to work with.

  He doubted Johnson was fooled by her act, but he also knew that Ashlyn had given Johnson no excuse to refuse them. She hadn’t made accusations, hadn’t provoked him so he had a reason to take a defensive posture. Any inferences of blame or neglect had been conveniently left at someone else’s door by Johnson himself. As Johnson flipped through the folder, pretending to note which pages were missing from the file, he said nothing.

  The man was backed into a corner, and he knew it. He slid off the stool. “If you can wait a moment, I’ll see if I can get to the bottom of this.”

  As soon as he’d closed the door, Ashlyn spoke. “The look on his face sometimes. It’s only ever there for a split second before he suppresses it, but the way his mouth twists and his eyes narrow…I’ve seen that look before.”

  He knew she was thinking of the first case they’d worked together, the way he and Craig had been at each other’s throats.

  “I’ve gotten used to ignoring the contempt. Besides, it’s usually directed at me by some guy who wants to hit on you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s the case here. I don’t know. I could be wrong, but for a split second I thought he hated both of us.”

  “He can’t be too happy about the situation he’s in, especially if he was ordered to hold information from us. We just made his life difficult.” Tain paused. “Did I see right?”

  She nodded. “Two sets of photos for all the pictures they included information for. Single copies of the pictures that were detailed on the missing pages.” She shook her head. “Did they really think we’d be fooled by that?”

  “No.” He felt her turn toward him, felt her gaze as she tried to read his face. Tain looked at her. “They just wanted to stall us,” he said. “Johnson comes to our office. Information is missing. He leaves, swearing he’ll track it down. There’d be a call, some excuse about mustard leaking from a corned-beef sandwich or an eager analyst pulling out sheets to make calls and confirm data. Or the classic standby, about new staff who weren’t up to speed with procedure, or just didn’t know the report was being sent out yet and hadn’t pulled it all together. Whatever the explanation, it would have been plausible. We would have had no grounds to accuse them of stalling, but it would set us back.”

  “No way of even knowing if it was someone else pulling the strings or Johnson’s idea.”

  She pulled out her notebook, wrote down eleven numbers and flashed it at him before she stuck it in her pocket.

  He nodded. Whatever they wanted to see, it was on the pages Johnson’s people had removed from the copy of the file.

  In the pictures they’d never intended to give Tain and Ashlyn copies of.

  Johnson returned, a sheaf of papers in hand and a look of defeat on his face. “Here you go.”

  He dropped them on the table and walked away.

  Tain noticed Ashlyn looking at him. “What should I do with the duplicate photos?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “For the moment, that’s the least of my concerns.”

  She’d driven, so when they returned to the vehicle she passed him the folder and told him to go ahead.

  “Looks like the main item of interest on the first page is a newspaper article,” he said slowly. “About the task force.” He saw Ashlyn glance at him, her face clouded. “About forming the task force in Nighthawk Crossing to investigate the disappearances of all those girls.”

  Was it his imagination, or had her grip on the steering wheel tightened?

  “What else?” she asked. Her voice was unwavering.

  Practiced control.

  “Another newspaper clipping.”

  “About the Missing Killer case?”

  Tain shook his head. “About the recovery of a body from a burned-out building last summer.”

  A horn blared and tires screeched as Tain’s body was snapped back by the seat belt. Beside him, Ashlyn was drawing a deep breath as she wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow.

  “Light changed faster than I expected,” she said.

  He knew the truth, but he didn’t challenge her with it.

  “What’s next?” she asked as she looked at him.

  The light turned green, and he nodded toward the road. Ashlyn’s hands had steadied again, but he could see the shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin.

  He flipped to the third page Johnson had tried to hold back from them.

  “Another news story?”

  Tain looked at her. “About Jeffrey Reimer.”

  Ashlyn was silent for a moment. Tain could only guess at her thoughts while he tried to keep from jumping to conclusions himself.

  “There are stories about all the major cases we’ve worked together?”

  Tain flipped through the pages, one by one. “Not just us. There’s an article about Lisa Harrington’s suspected involvement in the murder of her daughter. Another about Donny Lockridge’s murder.”

  “The one that laid the blame for Lisa’s escape at Craig’s feet.” She spoke softly, and it wasn’t a question.

  He continued skimming the pages. “Yes, that’s here too. Another about the arson investigation, one about…”

  She kept her focus on the road straight ahead of her and sat a little straighter. “Don’t hold anything back, Tain. I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Lori’s shooting. Dennis Hawkins and his suspension.” He closed the folder, wished he could find a way to soften the final blow, but accepted that he couldn’t shield her from the truth.

  She seemed to sense his hesitation and glanced at him. “It’s like a scrapbook of our history. Ours and Craig’s. Even if Millie hadn’t been identified…”

  “Even if the bosses hadn’t called us out there, we would have ended up involved. Whoever put Millie’s body in that Dumpster made sure of it.”

  That truth settled into her face with a look of stone

  He nodded, unable to tell her one more story that had been included. She’d find out soon enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her whoever had planted the stories hadn’t missed the ones from when she was attacked.

  The first rays of the morning sun warmed his skin, and he felt the fogginess of his dreams slipping away as he pried his eyes open, then blinked as he sat up. A blanket was haphazardly draped across his legs. Salt River lay on the floor under the coffee table and as he lifted himself off the couch, he felt a kink in his right shoulder protest.

  It was later than he’d planned on sleeping and by the time he made it to the office it was almost eight a.m., but Ashlyn’s desk was empty.

 
; He looked around for her jacket before he stopped short. She would be walking, but she did that most days now, ever since she’d moved out of Craig’s place.

  A quick scan of the desks revealed a couple of new messages that had been tossed down. He picked them up and skimmed them.

  Nothing more from Johnson. No callbacks from the second canvas. They’d left their cards on every unanswered door, but it seemed they’d have to go back out before they could cross the remaining addresses off the list. A reminder about court prep for a trial that would start the next month was followed by a note about a call from the internal board reviewing the circumstances surrounding the death of Christopher Reimer.

  He flipped to the last message and read it twice before his hand fell to his side.

  The phone on his desk rang.

  “Constable Tain.”

  “It’s Sims.”

  “Ashlyn must really not be in yet if you’re calling me.”

  Sims hesitated, and Tain almost smiled. He knew he’d struck a nerve, although in the aftermath of Ashlyn’s assault and assumed breakup with Craig Nolan, Sims had kept a respectable distance. “I have two things for you. One, a record of Millie Harper being admitted to the hospital in Kelowna nine weeks ago.”

  “What for?”

  “Not sure. When I couldn’t find any birth records that connected to Millie I widened the search and just started looking for any hospital records. That’s all I’ve come up with so far.”

  “You looked out of province at all?”

  “I’m starting with Alberta. Nothing yet, but there’s a lot to go through.”

  “Good, thanks. This is a place to start.”

  “I’ve also got an address.”

  “Really?”

  “Millie Harper was receiving orphan’s benefits. I’ve got a mailing address for you.”

  “It’s current?”

  “It’s where her last check was mailed ten days ago.” He rattled off the address. “It’s a small community in the—”

  Tain cut him off. “I know where it is, Sims.”

  There was a pause before Sims spoke again. “I’ll keep looking for medical records and let you know—”