“But Nadine has the baby.”
“So, that wonderful little bundle, Jessie, has a father and uncle too. We’ll just work it out.”
Katie didn’t answer straight away. She knew he was right; they could be her eyes and ears as she continued to investigate the Stiles case. She didn’t want anyone to have any idea that she was following the homicide case or that she had any inside knowledge. She felt that ugly familiar tightness in her throat and chest, and her arms began to tingle.
Nick reached out and took her hand. “Relax, breathe easy,” he said.
Katie fought the tears. She felt a mess. No one else had ever seen her physical symptoms of anxiety before, but Nick completely understood them; he suffered his own demons too.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered.
Cisco spun his body round and squeezed next to her, feeling her stress and discomfort.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re safe. You’re with friends here—Cisco included, I see,” he laughed in spite of himself, trying to lighten the mood. “You can’t go this alone—we have to acknowledge and have the awareness of what’s triggering these nasty little symptoms.”
Katie breathed slowly and began to feel better—and more herself. She knew that she had been carrying an extra huge baggage from the trauma of her aunt’s murder.
“There you go… you’re getting color back in your cheeks.”
“I’ve never done that before,” she said.
“What? Had a panic attack?”
“Not in front of anyone.”
“This calls for something to drink.”
“What—wine or beer?”
“Well, I was actually thinking of something more calming and healthy, like tea.”
“Oh,” she said and laughed. “It’s funny to hear you say let’s have some tea.” She laughed again.
“Hey, it’s not the manliest drink option, but I’m actually growing to like some of the teas.” He sorted through her cabinet and found a box of tea that suited him.
“I like it.”
“Scotty, I just knew you would.” He plugged in a teapot and prepared cups.
Katie realized how lucky she was having amazing friends from both of her worlds of hometown and army.
Nick sat down again. “You haven’t said anything, so I’m going to just jump out there and ask.”
Katie waited for the feeling in her weak legs and sweating palms to cease and desist. The anxiety hadn’t completely dissipated.
“What’s the status on the sheriff?”
“It’s complicated,” she sighed. “He’s not coming home tonight, maybe tomorrow with an ankle tracking device. But he doesn’t want to go home. Would you?”
“He should come here to be with you.”
“That’s what the attorney is trying to do,” she said.
“Good. The right thing will happen. Just patience now…” He prepared the tea. “We’ve got a plan now. Everyone has a part and we’re going to get to the truth… I promise.”
Eighteen
Tuesday 0845 hours
Katie finished tacking the county street map on the cabinets in the office space then reorganized the rest of the information they had about Samuel Stiles: location of his work, apartment, parents’ house, Palmers’ houses, and added the auto wrecking yard. She stood back and studied it, but realized that everything appeared disjointed and random.
She exhaled forcefully.
“What’s up?” said McGaven as he raised his eyes from the computer he had been so engrossed in.
“This is just a random mess,” she said.
“What do you mean? Those are facts. It’s a part of our job to find the facts, interpret the facts, and then find the bad guy. Or in this case, find the missing person.”
“Thank you for your input,” she said sourly.
“Hey, I’m on your side.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t sleep well—woke up a million times just to listen to Cisco snoring and enjoying a wonderful doggie dream.”
“Would you have slept better having doggie dreams?”
Katie laughed. “Definitely. Wouldn’t you?”
She took the photographs that the deputy had taken of the food on the kitchen counter and attached them on the board in a random order. That was it. There was nothing more they could put on their suspect story board.
Katie stepped back. It still didn’t bring out any revelation or new lead. She stepped to the whiteboard and began to write a victimology for Stiles. A victimology helped investigations by making a timeline, of sorts, of where and when a victim might expose themselves to becoming a possible crime victim—along with who they were as a person. As simple as it sounded, it could be a helpful tool used by investigators to look at different case scenarios or to move the investigation in another direction.
Auto mechanic (aspiring musician)
Single
Only child
Caring parent: sensitive kid, entertained himself, cared about parents, kept in contact 3–5 times a week. Seemed happier than normal—like he had a good secret.
No indication of drug/alcohol user—none was found in his apartment.
No police record
No pets
Lived alone
Liked to gamble—frequented nearby bar (now closed down) no indication he had gambled there but friendly pool betting
Seemed to be involved with a Natalie Cross (unable to find any information about her) alias?
Letters—from parents just the usual travel letter. The letters from Natalie were light and were written from someone getting to know the other person. There was no indication of who she was, where she lived, or what she did for a living. The return address was an apartment building downtown that she no longer lived in and there was no forwarding address. Dead end. For now.
Photo of Natalie Cross
Padlock key
Antique diamond ring?
“Who are you really, Sam Stiles?” she said staring at her limited list.
“Who, indeed,” replied McGaven.
“Only two things that stand out are his gambling and this mystery woman, Natalie Cross—besides that he seemed like a nice and well-liked guy.”
“We should keep digging.”
“The key we found didn’t fit the storage unit at Palmers—but that would have been five years ago and they might’ve changed the lock since then. And it would have been just too easy. How are you coming with those other storage units?” she said.
“I’m going to make some calls, but I wanted to start with the ones near his usual commutes first.” McGaven got up and took some small yellow sticky notes to mark the locations of storage facilities. There were four in the basic area—two were along the driving route he would take every day.
“Okay. It’s a long shot. Give them a call. I’m going to read through those letters and take a closer look at Detective Patton’s personal notes,” she said. “I still don’t even know what he had to do with my aunt’s murder,” she muttered. “What do both cases have to do with each other? Or, is it just a coincidence?”
Katie read through everything she could, finding it difficult to concentrate as she listened to McGaven talk to managers of storage places. The letters from Stiles’s apartment were from his parents when they had first met—kept sentimentally, she guessed. There were two letters from Natalie Cross when she was visiting her friends in New York. Nothing insightful, but just updating on what she had been doing on her visit.
McGaven hung up the phone, disappointed. “I knew that would be too easy. No one had ever rented a storage unit under the name Sam Stiles or Samuel Stiles. I know it’s been five years, but there could be some type of trail—when he rented, who might have bought the locker, anything.”
Katie continued to stare at the evolving wall evidence. “Wait a minute. You said you asked them to search for a unit with the name Sam Stiles, right?”
“Yes.”
“Try Natalie Cross.”
McG
aven picked up the phone and talked to the same people again and found one who said that Natalie Cross had a unit rented in that name, but it was due to be auctioned off that Saturday. “Thank you,” he said and hung up. “We got a hit! At the ABC Storage on High Street, locker #H37 rented by a Natalie Cross has gone into default. It was supposed to have been auctioned a month ago, but something got mixed up and it’s going to be auctioned this Saturday.”
Katie grabbed her jacket and cell phone and the padlock key they had found among Stiles’s things from his mom’s house. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Kate sat quietly in the car, lost in her thoughts about last night’s conversation with Nick. In the light of day, she wondered if she was doing the right thing—the best thing for her uncle. The more Katie thought about the sheriff, the heavier her heart felt as she flashed through the worst-case scenarios. She had to mindfully change her thoughts otherwise her anxiety symptoms would flare up with a vengeance, paralyzing her with extreme fear. Rubbing her fingers against her palms, she tried to halt the process.
“It’s just up here,” McGaven said.
The huge ABC Storage sign was impossible to miss. McGaven eased the vehicle into the main, though small, parking lot in front of the office. The facility was fairly large and covered several acres. There were units with outside access and heavy cement buildings where the interior units were available.
McGaven and Katie entered the office to find a man in his sixties with shaggy grey hair and an equally ragged beard waiting behind the counter. As he saw them approach, he straightened his wire-rimmed glasses, clearly pegging them for cops at first sight.
“Deputy McGaven, I presume,” he said.
“Yes, and this is Detective Scott. We’re working the missing person’s case I spoke about on the phone.”
“Ah, nice to meet you both,” he said, giving them the once-over, scrutinizing their badges and guns—the guns in particular.
“And you are?” McGaven asked.
“Hugo Martin, I own this place, whether I like it or not. I’ve got a bit of a staff shortage at the moment so I’ve been manning the desk most of the time. That’s why some of the storage units haven’t been auctioned out yet.”
“Mr. Martin, may we see the paperwork on the unit for Natalie Cross?” Katie said.
“You can call me Hugo, Detective.”
Katie smiled. “Hugo.”
“I figured after you called that you’d come in, so I pulled the file and made a photocopy for you.” He pulled some paperwork from a drawer behind the counter and handed it to Katie.
“Thank you,” she said, running her eyes over the contact information. The emergency contact was Sam Stiles. She turned the paper toward McGaven so he could see. “When was the last payment made?”
“Let’s see here,” he said as he tapped at the keyboard. “Looks like more than three months ago it was defaulted on.”
“How did she pay?”
“She would pay for six months in advance with a credit card.”
“Do you have a photocopy of her driver’s license?” she asked.
“Yep, give me a sec.” He shuffled some papers and then photocopied the woman’s driver’s license copy for them.
“We have a key,” Katie stated.
“Oh, the lock has already been cut off and we put a master lock on it until the auction.” He closed up his register, locked the filing cabinet, and shuffled around the counter. “Follow me,” he said and made his way out the door.
Katie and McGaven followed the elderly man in silence. Katie couldn’t help but think they might be about to make a major break in the case— Natalie Cross hadn’t turned up in the original investigation.
They followed Hugo around two buildings until they came to block H. He unlocked the outside door and then propped it open with a large rock. Flipping a switch, the fluorescent bulbs inside flickered to life, one area at a time. The old man continued down the hallway making the first right, and passed three units until he came to #37 on the left side.
“Here we are,” he said, opening the large padlock, leaning down and pulling up the door to reveal a half-full unit. Boxes were stacked four high across the entire back wall. In front, a dismantled bed frame, mattress, two night stands, exercise bike, two dilapidated dressers, and several bags filled with artificial flowers.
Katie and McGaven peered inside.
“Leave it like you found it, and if you need to take anything for your investigation, just let me know what it is,” said the owner.
“Thank you, Hugo,” said Katie.
“Hope y’all find what you’re looking for,” he said as he walked away, his voice echoing strangely down the cement hallway.
Katie shuddered. It was like walking into a tomb. She wanted to get through the search as quickly as possible.
“Well?” said McGaven. “At least there’s not much to look through.”
“At least there’s that,” she said softly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She was feeling weak, melancholy; fatigue setting into her body. She wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to keep her concentration on the case. She thought back to her conversation with Dr. Carver, and how she’d confessed to loving working as a team—it focused her mind a little. She smiled reassuringly at McGaven, holding up to the weak light the sheet Natalie Cross had filled out when she signed up for a unit. She tried the phone number listed, but it had been disconnected. “Phone number is no good. You weren’t able to get anything on her background?”
“No, not yet—didn’t have time before we ran over here.”
Looking at the date on the sheet, she calculated that it was before Stiles went missing by nearly a month. It seemed strange. Why would she rent this storage unit for her stuff? Was she going to move in with Stiles?
McGaven was hard at work going through drawers in the dressers and nightstands, so Katie headed to the back, squeezing past the exercise bike to get to the boxes. Inside the first she found paperback books, old school papers, craft projects, Christmas ornaments, and a few miscellaneous clothing items. McGaven soon joined her and began searching the boxes from the other end.
After twenty minutes, they’d opened almost every box and found nothing. Until Katie happened upon a thick pack of papers folded in thirds with a rubber band around them slipped down the side of one. They were escrow papers for a house at 412 Garden Lane.
“Hey, here’s something,” she alerted McGaven. The house had been purchased by Natalie Cross, full price, paid in cash: a two bedroom, twelve hundred square foot home with seventeen acres. There was a page of inspection notes taken before the escrow closed—but didn’t match Natalie’s signature at the bottom. “What do you make of these notes? The title company and escrow paperwork are the original notarized copy,” she said.
“Why would these papers be here, and not at the home?” he said.
“Maybe this was just a temporary holding area? Maybe she was hiding it? For what, I don’t know.”
“It could be for any reason.”
“Hmm… I agree,” she said. “It says something about land developing or separate parcels.” She read the original paperwork. “Seventeen acres. You could divide that into parcels and make some money.” She thought about the vacant part of land at the auto wreckers.
“I don’t think there’s anything else here,” McGaven said.
“I think you’re right unless she hid something,” she mused.
McGaven looked around and began searching all the furniture more closely, looking for hiding places. Katie took the drawers out of the dressers and flipped them upside down. She reached her hands inside the empty slot and felt something taped on the back. “Got something…” She used her fingernail to scrape the sides and then pulled the envelope out.
“Money?” he said. “Contract?” he guessed.
“No,” she said pulling the flap out and slipping the single piece of paper out. “It’s… it’s a marriage license.”
>
“Let me guess… Natalie Cross and Sam Stiles?”
“Yes. But look at this. They were married the same day he went missing.”
“Didn’t see that coming.”
“We need to get over to the house on Garden Way.”
Nineteen
Tuesday 1330 hours
Katie felt a surge of adrenalin as they raced toward the house. McGaven drove faster than usual. Neither spoke as they sped through narrow roads and then took a shortcut on the highway to reach the Garden Way cut off. It was a long rural road with mostly larger parcels of land and older homes—averaging five and ten acre sections.
“Is that it?” Katie asked. She leaned forward, trying to read the dirt-covered sign.
“I think so,” he said, slowing his speed.
Most of the mailboxes were large, well-worn and missing numbers. The trees obscured some of the properties and it was difficult to see the houses, which were set back from the road. McGaven pulled the car to the side of the street and parked. They hadn’t passed any other vehicles. They were alone.
Katie was first out of the car. Listening and slowly turning, she explored her surroundings; the warm breeze hit her face and the soft sounds rustled through the trees. She hesitated for a moment, taking everything in as if she were on a battlefield. It was clear to her they were getting close to something.
McGaven peered through the fence and trees trying to get a better look at the house. “No car.”
“Let’s go knock on the door,” she said.
Katie led them up an old cement pathway to the gravel driveway which wound around the house. Scattered along the path were pieces of old mail and flyers. Katie unclipped her gun, keeping it lowered but ready. McGaven made eye contact with her and, without saying a word, pulled out his weapon too.
They inched toward the front door, across layers of decomposing leaves that covered the porch, and over a chipped pet food bowl by an old bag of garbage. Katie pushed it gently with her boot. It felt heavy and a foul smell seeped out from within. McGaven’s face went pale. Katie pulled out the penknife she always carried with her and carefully sliced the bag several inches, enough to see what the contents were. Holding her breath in anticipation, she watched as typical kitchen garbage tumbled out. Behind the moldy food, which had turned to a dark slushy consistency, and an empty dishwashing detergent bottle, was a severed human hand.
Flowers on Her Grave Page 11