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

by Ruttan, Sandra

  “We, uh…” He cleared his throat. “We still need an approximate time of death,” he said.

  “I’ll keep working on it. Whoever did this had no idea what they were doing, and there’s been extensive cellular damage.”

  “I don’t think they were concerned about preserving her appearance.”

  “Probably not. She was stored until she could be disposed of.”

  Craig paused. He thought back over what Dr. Winters had told him. “You said you wished you had more concrete evidence to give me. What about circumstantial evidence? A hunch? Is it just what’s in here?” He held up the unopened folder. “Or is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

  She sighed and closed her eyes as she rubbed her forehead, the corners of her mouth weighed down as though he’d just dropped a heavy burden on her. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

  “Damn it, Nolan, I thought I told you to keep this quiet.” Sergeant Yeager slammed the door to her office and spun around. “Did I not make it crystal clear? Two days ago when you were in this office didn’t I tell you that you were to keep the fact that only you and your partner were working the body in the woods under wraps?”

  “Yes…Sergeant.”

  Her nostrils flared, and then she let out a breath. “Where the hell is your partner?”

  A good question, and he could guess the answer, but he doubted that was what Yeager wanted to hear.

  “Nolan, I asked you a question.”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  She straightened up and folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve had a bit of trouble with partners, Nolan. Not much of a team player.”

  As he thought back over the past year of his career, he realized he couldn’t argue. “I haven’t spoken to Mac since you reassigned us to this case. He wasn’t here when I came in yesterday morning. I asked around. Nobody had seen him.”

  “You mean to tell me that your partner was MIA for a whole day and you didn’t report him?” Yeager’s nostrils flared. “Have you tried calling him?”

  Nolan felt the heat spreading up his neck and into his face. “Yes. Once. I got called to the coroner’s office—”

  Yeager stomped around to her side of the desk, busying herself with the task of looking through notes and riffling folders before she gave up and put her hands on the work space. For a moment she stood still, resting her weight against her arms, before she looked up at him. “I would expect you, of all people, to understand how important it is that we don’t screw this up.”

  He did. All too well.

  “So help me, Nolan, if I find out it was you who went to that damn reporter…”

  Yeager didn’t need to finish the statement, and she knew it.

  “The coroner hasn’t finished with the body,” he said. “We don’t have much to work with. More men won’t make much difference without an estimated time of death.”

  “She hasn’t got anything for you to go on?”

  Craig paused. “The victim was wrapped in strips cut from bags that have a date on them from 2007.”

  Yeager’s eyes widened. “I’ve only had time to go over some of the newspaper reports, but from what I’ve read, there seem to be a few other differences from the Missing Killer’s signature. I was thinking about putting in a request to pull the other officers who worked that case, make sure we did a thorough review, but maybe that would be premature.”

  Craig remained silent. Considering what had happened during the original investigation, he couldn’t imagine that any member of the team who was still alive would want to deal with revisiting the Missing Killer case.

  There were some members of the team who wouldn’t be happy to hear from him either. And there were other members of the team he wasn’t ready to see.

  People who’d know the one truth that had haunted him when he’d been reassigned to this manhunt. A truth he’d assumed had led to his transfer. It wasn’t until they’d found the body that he realized the one obvious connection nobody was mentioning, which meant they hadn’t connected the dots.

  And he hadn’t drawn those lines for them either. A truth he was unable to share.

  “Do you agree, Nolan? Is there enough to suggest there isn’t a connection?”

  “I—” He paused. Craig didn’t want the case linked prematurely, but Yeager would learn the facts soon enough, and if she found out he’d held back, there’d be hell to pay. “There’s something protruding from the back of the victim.”

  He watched the truth hit home as Yeager’s eyes sagged and her mouth curled into a frown. Yeager nodded, and Craig left the office before she could say another word.

  As he marched down the hall, his hands balled into fists. Just outside the side door, in the parking lot, was his partner, laughing as he smacked another officer on the shoulder.

  Craig barreled his way through the door.

  “Nolan! Where ya been? Bill here’s got a hell of a story to—”

  “You sonofabitch.” Craig grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back against the squad car. “Out here with your shit-eating grin while Yeager reads me the riot act.”

  The smile was gone from Mac’s face in a heartbeat. “I did the best thing for you.”

  “Bullshit. Yeager gave you an order.”

  Mac pulled his arms up under Craig’s and shoved him hard. Craig loosened his grip as he stepped back.

  His partner was off the car and bearing down on him. “I did you a favor.”

  “Yeah? By showing up to work this case this morning, or by shooting off your mouth to the press?”

  “Me?” Mac laughed, breath heavy with the smell of beer. “Who’s gonna believe that when the reporter’s a woman you’re known to be tight with, Nolan? Feisty little thing too.” The shit-eating grin was back. “I mean, from what I hear.”

  Craig was aware of someone grabbing him from behind and pulling him back almost before he realized he’d raised his arm to take a swing at Mac.

  His partner was staring at him, eyes smoldering, betraying the rage that had been building inside him. Mac took a step forward as Craig pulled against the arms that held him from behind.

  He couldn’t loosen their hold.

  “Just remember, Nolan, I’ve got friends here.” Mac looked past Craig and nodded. Whoever had grabbed Craig let him go. “We’ve all heard about you. It’s one thing to be at odds with assholes, but to go after your old man? You’re on your own.”

  Mac walked around him and as he tried to catch his breath, Craig was aware of footsteps, a voice saying, “Later,” car doors slamming, the hum of the engine and sound of vehicles moving away and the door behind him opening and closing.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, ran a hand across his face.

  The door behind him creaked open again but didn’t close.

  “Constable Nolan?”

  Craig dropped his hand from his face and nodded.

  “There’s someone here looking for you.”

  He still didn’t turn around. “Okay.” No response or retreat from the voice behind him. “I’ll be right there.”

  “She’s in the lobby.” The door fell shut as Craig counted to ten in his head. He turned and walked to the door, right hand shaking as he reached for the handle.

  He’d been so focused on clearing his head he’d reached the lobby before he wondered who was looking for him. A quick scan of the area didn’t produce anyone who stood out or seemed to be interested in his arrival.

  Craig glanced outside and saw the dark hair blowing in the soft breeze, the slim body wrapped in a long coat. Even with her back turned and with all the months that had passed, his breath caught in his throat.

  He walked outside and took a few steps toward her, then stopped. What had happened during the Missing Killer investigation was buried so deep he hadn’t thought about all the people who’d be affected if the body in the woods did connect to that old case. Until Yeager had raised the po
ssibility of assembling the remnants of the original team, he’d even been able to push Ash, Tain, Sullivan…He’d pushed everyone from his thoughts, to prevent his mind from posing questions he didn’t want to consider the answers to.

  He realized now he hadn’t been able to let himself think about that because he hadn’t been able to face the possibility of this.

  She turned to face him, her dark eyes weighed with a sadness that could break your heart. He remembered that penetrating gaze all too well.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You find her.” There was a quiver in her voice. “After all this time you find her, and you can’t pick up the phone?”

  Craig shook his head. “We don’t know it’s her.”

  “It’s in the newspaper.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s true. We just don’t know yet.”

  “You say you don’t know, but it’s possible.”

  Craig swallowed, then nodded.

  “Did you even stop for a moment to think about how I’d feel?”

  “I—” He stopped himself. Every feeble excuse he could think of would ring hollow, because it was. “I’m sorry, Summer.”

  “Don’t tell me what you know in your head. Tell me what you know in your heart. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you know it isn’t her?”

  Words with the force of a punch to the gut, able to knock the wind out of him. He stood with his mouth open, unable to respond.

  Unchecked tears trickled down her cheeks. “Where is she? Have your people cut her into a million pieces to learn nothing they didn’t know before they put her on that table? Tell me, Nolan. Where’s my sister?”

  “Summer, we really don’t know—”

  His skin smarted from the force of the blow, and he felt the blood rush out of his nose as he reached for her arms.

  “We don’t know if it’s her. Whatever I think…it doesn’t matter. We just don’t know.” Summer pulled against him, but he managed to keep hold of her. “They aren’t done yet.”

  “And he’s killed again. You got the wrong man and you hide behind your procedure and your lies and you don’t tell me you might have found my sister.”

  He’d killed again? Craig didn’t know what Summer was talking about, but he needed to find a newspaper and figure out what the hell was going on. Had Mac leaked the apparent link to the Missing Killer cases, casting doubt on Hobbs’s guilt?

  As far as he knew, Mac hadn’t even reviewed the files, and Craig hadn’t left his notes in the office, so how would he know about what Craig had learned from the coroner?

  When Yeager had told him to keep it quiet, he’d been relieved but hadn’t been able to put his finger on why until now. All the families of the victims, the families of the girls who’d never been found—even the ones they’d told they were certain hadn’t been taken by the Missing Killer—they’d all want answers.

  Answers he didn’t have yet. Answers he might not ever have for them.

  Summer’s body shook with the sobs and she lowered her head, her dark hair falling in front of her face. Craig let go of her, put his arms around her and held her while she cried.

  For a moment Craig stared at the copies of clippings in the folder, then squeezed his eyes shut. Was he really looking at what he thought he was looking at?

  He opened his eyes, sat down on the bed and skimmed the first article, then the second.

  Every case he’d worked on since the Missing Killer investigation was chronicled, as well as when he’d been shot and the story about the death of his partner, Lori.

  The articles also told the fragmented story of Tain and Ashlyn and all the cases they’d worked since leaving Nighthawk Crossing. As Craig flipped through the clippings, skimming the headlines, he stopped at one article.

  RCMP Constable Assaulted.

  He knew the words by heart, but he read it again, and when he neared the end he picked it up, as though through the slip of paper he could reach out and offer the comfort he’d never given Ashlyn after she was attacked.

  There was something stuck to the back of the paper. A note above stated, This is how we found it, and below there was a smaller clipping.

  Assaulted constable released from hospital with undisclosed injuries.

  The paper slipped from his hand, back into the stack, and he closed the folder.

  Craig stepped into the bathroom as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. He ran the water and ignored the glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he reached for a washcloth. When he was finished, he turned the tap off and braced his arms against the vanity, gaze lowered.

  “You’ve looked better.”

  He turned before his brain connected the voice with a name, and when he saw her standing in his motel room, door open behind her, he groaned. “What the hell are you doing here, Emma?”

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  He thought back to the last time he’d seen her, before she’d disappeared to print the exclusive he’d handed her. She’d called a few times, but he hadn’t answered.

  “Friends don’t lay blame for failed manhunts without facts.”

  “If you hadn’t had blinders on from the beginning, maybe you would have seen the bigger picture.”

  He took a step toward her. “You’ve got some nerve, showing up after all these months, throwing that in my face. You wanted something and you used me to get it, and the minute you had what you wanted you were gone.”

  “Don’t tell me you missed me, Craig.”

  He clenched his teeth as he walked around her and crossed the room to the side of the bed near the door. Craig grabbed the shirt he’d draped over the chair.

  “You forgot this.”

  As he slid his arms into the shirt and reached for the buttons he turned around. His coat was dangling from her hand.

  The coat he’d left in his office, after he’d talked to Summer.

  Summer had told him she’d hung up the phone after the reporter had called, and then picked it up again to book the first flight she could get.

  Somehow, he’d reassured Summer, persuaded her that he’d let her know as soon as they had any information. Summer had put her trust in Craig Nolan a year and a half before, believing he’d find her sister, and this time she had no one else to turn to for answers. She had to take the risk that he’d let her down for a second time in as many years.

  He’d given her his card and taken down her number, never once thinking to ask for the name of the journalist who’d tracked her down to her home in Nanaimo and asked how she felt about the police finding her sister after all this time.

  “How the hell did you get in my office?”

  “It’s not like you keep it locked.”

  “The same can’t be said for my motel room.”

  Emma sighed and tossed his coat down on the bed. “Look, Craig, I know you’re upset—”

  “Don’t you stop to think for a second about what you’re doing? You call up the family of a missing woman, and I have to tell her we haven’t even ID’d the body yet. She comes all this way thinking we have answers, and she could end up leaving with nothing.”

  “So you don’t have an ID?”

  “I’m done talking to you.”

  Emma straightened up. “You need more than one half-assed partner who climbs inside a bottle every night of the week. I can hurt you or help you. That’s your call. I’ll get my story one way or another.”

  Craig spun around and grabbed the back of the chair, squeezing his eyes shut as he yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t stop long enough to imagine what it’s like to get a call from some reporter asking how you feel about the cops finding your sister’s body after all this time?” He turned to face her. “Or because you lost your sister it’s okay for you to put everyone else through hell?”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “You sonofabitch.” She turned and started marching toward the door.

  “Get out! Just get the hell out,” he sh
outed as she slammed the door shut behind her.

  Craig pressed his hands against his temples for a moment as he took in the sight of his coat on the bed, next to the opened folder, the clippings scattering haphazardly, not like he’d left them.

  When Yeager found out about this…

  He grabbed the book off the nightstand and flung it across the room.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The tires squealed as Craig wove around the car blocking the intersection. A look in his rearview mirror revealed the one-finger salute the driver was giving him.

  Guy was lucky Craig had better things to do than turn around.

  Every time the rage reached out from behind his eyes he saw red, then black. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  Think, think, think. If he wasn’t at work, where would…

  Of course. He smacked the steering wheel, glanced in his side mirror, then turned down the next street.

  Despite the risks he took drinking when he should be on duty, Mac was smart enough to park in the back alley behind the bars he frequented.

  He turned down the alley. If he hadn’t been seeing blind when he’d sped away from the motel he might have had the presence of mind to figure out where Mac would be sooner, but the timing couldn’t have been better. As he pulled over and stopped the Rodeo he watched Mac saunter through the parking lot, fumbling with his keys.

  Mac leaned more than the tower of Pisa.

  “You bastard.” Craig spat the words as he walked up behind him.

  Mac turned slowly, stumbling as he moved and reaching out to balance himself as he wobbled.

  Craig grabbed him by the collar and shoved Mac against his car, then let go of him. “You goddamn sonofabitch!” He swung with his right fist, then his left.

  The hazy sheen of alcohol burned off Mac’s eyes after the blows and he shoved Craig. His movements were still sloppy, but he hit hard in the stomach, enough to knock Craig back. Mac didn’t wait for him to catch his breath or find his footing; he plunged at Craig headfirst.

  Craig jumped to the side, and Mac tried to pull up too late. He cracked his head against the Dumpster and staggered back, blood oozing down his face.