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

by Ruttan, Sandra

  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 addres
s 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—”

  “Great. Thanks.” Tain was already on his feet but stopped himself. “Good work, Sims. We really appreciate it.”

  He hung up the phone. It took only a matter of seconds to walk down the hall and raise his hand to knock on Sergeant Daly’s door, but it felt longer.

  The door opened before he touched the wood.

  Steve nodded and gestured for Tain to come in. “I was expecting you.” He closed the door as Tain sat down.

  “Because of this?” Tain held out the slip of paper. Steve took it and skimmed it before he passed it back, walked around his desk and sat down.

  “I can talk to her.”

  “Too formal.”

  “I mentored her, Tain.”

  “And now you’re her commanding officer and the father of her ex-boyfriend. I think it should be me.”

  Steve leaned back, scratched his head, then nodded. “Fine. Just let me know if you change your mind.” He looked at the piles of paperwork on his desk as the ticktick of the clock marked off the seconds. “How’s the case going?”

  “We haven’t made much progress.”

  Steve nodded again, but it was automatic, coupled with a vacuous gaze that suggested he’d expected that answer. Then he looked up at Tain and stared him straight in the eye. “You know there are some obvious avenues of investigation you might have to go down.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re ready for that?”

  “We have to go to the Interior.”

  Steve didn’t blink. “You found a connection?”

  “No. Nine weeks ago Millie was admitted to the hospital in Kelowna, but she was receiving government benefit checks at a post office in Nighthawk Crossing.”

  Steve was silent for a moment before asking, “How’s Ashlyn taking it?”

  Tain shook his head as he stood and put the slip of paper in his pocket. “She doesn’t know yet.”

  For a moment there was no sound other than the constant ticktick of the clock. Tain had found it annoying at first, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much now.

  “It’s a reminder, you know. No second is faster or slower than any other. I was reading about how we make arbitrary conclusions about time, about how it’s been spent, about how it’s treated us and how we’ve used it, but it’s a constant.”

  “It’s also a judge.”

  A shadow settled over Steve’s face. “I made my mistakes, Tain, but I own them. You can blame me for not being here for Craig after what happened—”

  Tain held up his hands, then turned and opened the door. “Whatever’s going on with you and him is your problem. Just don’t take it out on Ash.”

  “I’ve known Ashlyn longer than Craig has, longer than you. You think I’d take sides?”

  The wood of the frame was smooth, and Tain gripped it for a moment instead of walking through the open doorway. So much that wouldn’t have happened if Steve had been there…

  No. That wasn’t fair. There was no way to know how things would have unfolded if Steve had stood his ground and not taken temporary reassignment.

  Steve’s way of owning one of his mistakes. No wonder Craig had left. Apples and trees.

  He wasn’t much better himself. Staying in the TriCities and partnering with Ashlyn was as much consistency as he’d had in his life since he’d lost Noelle, and he could feel it now, the itch, the part of him that feared his past catching up with his present and forcing him to confront his pain and process it. The Reimer case had brought it all back, and he’d tried hard in its wake to push it away but couldn’t. His worry about his partner was his necessary distraction, the thing he could focus on outside himself to ease the hurt he carried, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

  Tain shook his head. “No. But we’ve got to trust she’s strong enough to face this and get through it.” He thought about the note, the one he’d shown Steve when he arrived at his office. “We can’t protect her forever, and we shouldn’t. If what happened to Lori taught me anything, it’s that.”

  He let go of the doorframe and turned to look over his shoulder. All the color had drained from Steve’s face, and the lines around his eyes made him look as though he’d aged ten years in the past ten seconds.

  Steve closed his eyes for a second and let out a breath. “Sh-she’s like family. No matter what.” He looked at Tain. “With your kids you’d do anything to take their pain away. You’d carry it for them if you could,” Steve said as he leaned back in his chair, his hands covering his face.

  “You think I don’t know that? This is…There is…I’ve carried this for years.” Tain shook his head. “She isn’t struggling with her past; she’s mourning the loss of the future she won’t have. Not just Craig but the baby.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tain turned. “You didn’t know?”

  “Know what? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I—” Tain held up his hand. “It’s not my place to say.” He turned and walked away. Time was compounding Steve’s guilt, every tick of the clock one more second of alienation from his son, making it harder to bridge the gulf between them. He knew the guilt could eat Steve alive from the inside and that what he’d just let slip could serve as fuel to the fire, hastening an inevitable confrontation with the pain Ashlyn carried, but Steve could still find a way to mend fences with Craig if he could swallow his pride. Steve and Craig had time to make things right.

  Tain thought of Noelle. He’d give anything to have that second chance.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Craig was called to come back to the coroner’s office, he’d hoped for more concrete evidence. Instead, Dr. Winters greeted him with a question.

  “We never located dental records for Kacey Young?”

  “No. There’d been water damage. The most recent records had been destroyed.”

  Dr. Winters arched an eyebrow.

  “Something about the heat being out, causing the pipes to burst overnight. By the time they found the mess the next morning, a number of files being stored in the basement during renovations to part of the building were destroyed.”

  “Impressive memory.”

  “I reviewed my notes,” Craig said as he consciously avoided taking another look at the image he was holding. “Just in case.”

  Dr. Winters nodded. “Well, as you can see, she’d started to decompose. The deterioration was compounded by freezer burn. I’m willing to say that this was an aboriginal female. Teenager. Based on the wear and tear of the joints, I’d guess early teens, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Five feet, eight inches.”

  “That helps. What else can you tell me?”

  Dr. Winters hesitated. “I wish I had more concrete evidence.”

  “What about the wrappings?”

  “They were misleading.”

  “How so?”

  “The date? It was partially concealed. All I could see was the end. Turns out it was a tagline for the business, which had been founded in 1992. What it actually says is, ‘1992-2007: Celebrating fifteen years of serving our community.’ The strips had been cut apart, stitched together in a different order. I’m still trying to piece them all together. We’ll need more time to analyze dyes and the fabric to try to narrow down when the canvas was produced, but—”

  “But it doesn’t make sense that they’d produce the bags a year or more before their business anniversary.” Maybe the body wasn’t connected. “What about a company name?”

  “Blind Creek Shipping Co. Based in—”

  Craig fought the urge to close his eyes. “Nighthawk Crossing.”

  Dr. Winters was silent as she stared at him, her dark eyes fille
d with a sympathy that suggested she understood the significance of this fact, that she could know the questions he was wrestling with and the conclusions he had to fight to keep his mind from jumping to.

  “You weren’t surprised,” he said slowly, “when I said I’d reviewed my notes.”

  “And you haven’t exactly been straight with me.” She looked away. “I was pursuing a career in medicine when my father was injured on the job. I came back to look after him, eventually started doing this.” Dr. Winters turned to face him. “I believe you know what happened to my dad.”

  “I…” All the tired expressions, the common apologies and standard sentiments went through his mind. None seemed appropriate. He shook his head. “I didn’t know Tim was your dad.”

  “No reason you would.”

  For a moment he stared at her. It seemed too trite, too conventional, to say he was sorry, but what else could he say?

  She didn’t look away. “I don’t blame you,” she said.

  The feeling wasn’t mutual.

  “Sometimes,” she said softly, “a bag is just a bag. And sometimes a knife is just a knife. If I looked at this body and just tried to find all the things that were similar, I’d miss the other things that might be just as important.”

  “Such as?”

  “Newspaper clippings in the layers of bags she’d been wrapped in.”

  “What kind of clippings?”

  Dr. Winters reached for a folder on the counter behind her but didn’t pass it to him right away. The lines on her face and dark smudges beneath her eyes betrayed how tired she was, but the way her brow wrinkled emphasized her concern. “These are copies you can take with you.” She handed him the folder.

  He took it, but didn’t open it. Whatever was inside, it was personal, and Dr. Winters had offered him copies prior to making her report available so that he could digest the contents alone.

  Craig looked at the body. She’d been wearing an old-fashioned white nightgown. Cause of death appeared to be blood loss from a wound in her chest, caused by the knife they’d removed.

  And the similarities didn’t end there.