The Girls in the Snow: A completely unputdownable crime thriller (Nikki Hunt Book 1)

by Stacy Green

  “I’m sorry.” The Innocence Project hadn’t filed any formal motions until after Madison and Kaylee disappeared, but the news media had run at least two articles in the fall about the possibility. “Did the two of you talk about the case after that?”

  “Probably,” John said. “But I was mired in a project for work. I wasn’t as present as I should have been.”

  The regret in his voice reminded Nikki of her own. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the feeling never completely went away.

  “Why did you talk to Bobby?” John asked.

  “He was friends with Madison and we have reason to believe that Kaylee might have had a crush on him.” Nikki told him about the picture. “But he was pretty insistent that he didn’t return her feelings.”

  “He’s a good kid. Maddie always looked up to him.” John glanced at the house. “If there’s nothing else—”

  “Unfortunately, there is. A woman was found dead in Heritage Park this morning. We think she may be related to Madison and Kaylee’s murders. I’d rather be the one to tell you—I’m sure it will be on the news in a matter of hours.”

  John stared blankly at her. “Why do you think it’s the same killer?”

  “I can’t go into specifics,” Nikki said. “But we haven’t identified the victim yet. Would you mind looking at a picture of just her face?”

  John paled but nodded.

  Nikki handed him her phone with the image already cued up.

  “Sorry, but I don’t recognize her,” he said, immediately.

  Nikki slipped her phone into her pocket. She really wanted to ask him about that night; so much of what Rory said had made her feel uncomfortable. But standing here in front of John, she still felt like she could trust him. Their relationship had been tumultuous at times, but he’d always been honest, even if he knew it would cause a fight.

  “What’s wrong?” John asked.

  She flushed, surprised he was still able to read her so well. But she knew she needed to focus on the case.

  “I heard about the documentary,” he said. “That woman is determined. If there’s anything you want to ask me to put your mind at rest, you know you can, Nikki.”

  “I think they’re going to question the reliability of my testimony,” Nikki said, unable to stop herself. “Even though I passed Hardin’s sobriety test.”

  The crease between John’s eyes deepened. “You’d had some vodka that night, but you also hadn’t eaten. I remember you had a bit of a headache and went to lie down.”

  “Was that when I woke with Mark hovering over me?”

  “I never heard anyone scream like that.” John’s jaw tightened. “You know I broke the hinges on that door? I wanted to kill him.”

  “You and a couple of your friends took him outside, and you beat him up.”

  “Kicked his ass.” John’s gaze drifted past her, a flatness in his eyes. “His nose was bleeding—pretty sure I broke it. We got blood everywhere, all over his jeans.”

  “When you saw me the next day, after it happened, did I talk about taking a blood test?”

  John’s eyebrows knitted together. “That sounds right. Look, Nik, that filmmaker is just using this story for her own gain,” John said. “Mark Todd was caught red-handed.”

  “Almost red-handed. If the DNA they’ve found doesn’t match Mark Todd, then I helped put an innocent man in prison.”

  John stepped toward her and gently took her shoulders. “Nikki, you were there. I’m sure the DNA evidence will shut him up once and for all. Where’s this DNA even from?” John asked.

  Nikki couldn’t bring herself to share the details. “I don’t know.”

  He squeezed her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he might pull her in for a hug. “Exactly. This is all a waste of taxpayers’ money.”

  John’s voice was so soothing, she almost believed he was right.

  Nineteen

  Nikki rubbed her eyes and reached for her phone. It was nearly midnight, and the evening news was replaying on the muted television. When had she fallen asleep? She’d spent the rest of the day scouring missing persons cases from the tri-state area. The medical examiner hadn’t been able to get decent fingerprints from the woman in the park, and Nikki didn’t have access to a facial recognition program. By the time she’d checked all the files, her vision seemed like a blur of faces.

  Thirty minutes video chatting with Lacey had helped clear Nikki’s head. Her daughter had a vivid imagination and an even more expressive face, and Nikki loved listening to her stories. Lacey missed her mom, but she was having fun with Tyler especially since Daddy tended to be lax about things like healthy snacks and bedtime. Nikki had desperately needed the time with her daughter, especially after seeing yet another young woman’s life cut short.

  Tyler had asked if she had any problems with the Todd family or the protestors. Nikki had thought about discussing Rory’s information with him, but something held her back. She wanted to keep Rory to herself for now, and she couldn’t spend time on his brother’s case right now. She’d gone back to work and eventually fallen asleep with her notes scattered over the bed.

  Nikki sat up and gathered her notes. Maybe she’d see something she’d missed earlier. A picture of the victim’s tattoo and a composite of her face had been sent to every media outlet in the tri-state area. She hoped the tattoo would catch someone’s attention. Kaylee’s mother and the Bankses didn’t recognize the woman, and both Hanson and Ricky Fillinger had told Miller they’d never seen her before. Yet Nikki couldn’t shake the feeling that this murder had something to do with the two girls.

  The victim hadn’t gone into the park on her own two feet, but the blow to her head had stopped bleeding before she was dragged through the snow. They needed to find the crime scene.

  At least the autopsy results would be available soon since the woman hadn’t been frozen solid. Madison and Kaylee’s were still a few days away. The medical examiner estimated she’d been outside no more than five to six hours before she’d been found. Given the residential neighborhood, it was unlikely anyone would notice her being dragged out to the park in the middle of the night, unless they worked an odd shift. Miller’s deputies were still canvassing the area around the park, hoping for a break.

  A familiar face appeared on the television. The conference had been previously recorded—the sun was setting in the window behind Hardin. Nikki turned the volume up with a sinking feeling.

  “Sheriff Hardin spoke to the media late this afternoon regarding the murders of Kaylee Thomas and Madison Banks, as well as the unidentified woman found in Heritage Park this morning.”

  Hardin stood behind a podium that barely hid his belly. “We are working around the clock to find the person responsible for the deaths of poor Madison and Kaylee, as well as the unidentified woman in the park. The FBI hasn’t ruled out any suspects, including the serial killer known as Frost.”

  Hardin asked for questions and then scanned the audience. He pointed to a mousy-looking woman in the front. She asked about Mark’s retrial and the validity of Nikki’s testimony given her intoxicated state.

  “She passed a sobriety test,” Hardin said.

  “What about a toxicology test?”

  “Nicole Walsh claimed she’d only had a couple of drinks, and she passed the sobriety test. We took her at her word.”

  Nikki couldn’t believe it. Was her memory that messed up?

  “Do you think Todd’s appeal is distracting Nikki from the case at hand?”

  “Yes, because you keep asking about it,” Nikki said to the empty room. Every time she tried to focus on Madison and Kaylee, something about her parents’ case came up. Why didn’t the media have their priorities straight?

  Hardin paused and glanced at the camera as though he were thoughtfully considering his answer. She knew Hardin had a working relationship with at least one local reporter. Perhaps the reporter had been instructed to ask that specific question. “I have some concerns, yes.” Nikki’s
jaw throbbed from clenching it. “It’s not a reflection on her abilities at all, but she’s not superwoman. I think it’s asking quite a lot for her to work in Stillwater right now.”

  “Are you asking her to leave the case to the locals?” another reporter asked. “Given the lack of movement on the girls’ disappearance, it seems your department needs the FBI’s resources.”

  Hardin bristled. “I plan on working closely with Agent Hunt from here on to ensure she stays on task.”

  Nikki rewound the television and paused on the reporter in the front row. She took a picture with her phone and then zoomed in as far as she could without distorting the image. The reporter’s badge indicated she worked for the Star Tribune, and her first name was Molly or something close. Her last name only had four letters.

  Nikki dug into her bag for the article about Mark’s retrial that she’d read in the paper.

  Written by Molly Dahl.

  Nikki’s phone buzzed, and Miller’s number flashed on the screen. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Your boss planted that reporter and the questions she asked.”

  “I had no idea until the piece ran on the news,” Miller said. “But that’s not why I’m calling. We have an ID.”

  Twenty

  The Doll House was a “gentlemen’s club” that supposedly catered to a higher-end clientele, touting its view of the St. Croix Vineyards as an exclusive perk, along with high-quality dancers. The building’s location on a dead-end road provided discretion. The exterior was decidedly understated, but inside looked like every other strip club Nikki had seen: dark, with lots of shiny chrome and several different stages.

  “Sorry to drag you out of bed,” Miller said.

  “It’s fine.” Anger still coursed through her. “I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Who called in the ID?”

  “Strip club owner, Bart Gibson. He’s waiting for us in his office.”

  It was a slow night, with only a handful of patrons watching the two women who were dancing.

  Nikki and Miller showed their badges and were led into a backroom by a bored-looking waitress.

  “Cops are here for you,” she said.

  A petite man wearing a black polo shirt waved them into a tidy but small office. Miller introduced himself and Nikki.

  “Her name is Janelle Gomez. She’s only been working here for a few days. She didn’t show up for her shift yesterday morning, so I thought she’d flaked. Couldn’t believe it when I saw her tat on the news.”

  “You have a morning shift?” Nikki asked.

  “Business meetings,” Gibson said. “Married men skipping work, that sort of thing. Money obviously isn’t as good, but she was new.”

  “Do you have any contact information for her next of kin?”

  Gibson shook his head. “Story she gave me was that she left Eau Claire to get away from an abusive ex. Never mentioned any other family.”

  “Was she friendly with any of the other girls?”

  Gibson shrugged. “Not that I know of. She kept to herself, but she wasn’t here long.”

  If Janelle had really escaped an abusive ex, he could have caught up with her and left her in the park to die. Nikki had seen the lengths men would go in order to keep control. But those were almost always spur-of-the-moment crimes of passion, and she couldn’t see an abusive ex sticking around to wait for Janelle to die so that he could go back and stage her body.

  “We need you to go to the Washington County Medical Examiner’s office and make a formal ID,” Miller said.

  Gibson paled. “Can’t I just do that from a picture? I know it’s her from the tattoo, anyway.”

  “You’ll be in a separate room from the body. They have a video feed set up for occasions like this,” Miller explained. “What’s the address you have on file for her?” Most strip clubs paid in cash only, but usually had some kind of residential address for their workers for tax purposes.

  “She was staying at the Starlight Motel across town,” he said.

  Miller left his card, telling Gibson to have the dayshift girls call as soon as they came in.

  “I’ll swing by here before lunch if I haven’t heard from them,” Miller told Nikki on the way outside.

  “I assume the Starlight is the kind of place where you pay by the week?” Nikki asked.

  He nodded. “We had a big drug bust there a couple of months ago. There’s supposed to be a night manager, but whether or not someone’s actually in the office is usually hit or miss. You want to wait until morning?”

  “We’re already behind,” Nikki said. “But it’s late. I can handle it myself if you want to head home.”

  Miller shook his head. “There’s been a couple of stabbings at that place recently. Liam is still an hour away, and you shouldn’t go without backup. And the employees are all familiar with me. They’re more likely to trust a local.”

  “I’ll follow you, then.”

  The Starlight Motel only had twelve rooms—six on each floor. Nikki shaded her hands and peered through the dingy front entrance. “It’s closed, but there’s a light on in the back office.”

  Miller banged on the door.

  A skinny white guy with saggy pants and dirty shirt emerged from the back office, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He walked to the locked door and pointed to the “closed” sign.

  Miller slammed his badge against the door.

  The night manager rolled his eyes and opened up.

  “What?”

  “We need to see Janelle Gomez’s room.”

  “She staying here?”

  “Yes, and we believe she’s been murdered,” Nikki said.

  He took a long drag from the cigarette and blew it in their faces. “Terrible. But I can’t just let you into her room without a warrant.”

  “Sure you can,” Miller said. “It’s a possible crime scene.”

  “Possible ain’t enough.”

  “I know this place is still running drugs,” Miller said. “What am I going to find if I go into your office?”

  “Nothing, ’cause you got no reason to search.” He folded his arms and smirked.

  Miller looked at Nikki. “You smell weed?”

  “Yep. Sounds like probable cause to me.”

  “I let you in there, and I get in trouble,” the man said.

  Nikki showed him a picture of Janelle the club had used in its flyers. “We believe this woman was hit in the back of the head and left to die in the park. She might have been staying here since she came to town a couple of weeks ago. Either let us into the room or I’ll come back with a warrant to search this entire shithole.”

  “Right, lady.” His pockmarked chin jutted out. “I’m not stupid. You can’t get no warrant for the entire place.”

  “She’s with the FBI,” Miller said. “That means she can do a lot of things. You willing to take that risk?”

  The man threw his cigarette onto the concrete and stomped it out. “Stupid cops. I have to get the key.”

  Nikki surveyed the motel while Miller made sure the manager didn’t run. Its single dumpster was full. If someone had tossed anything from the room, it should still be inside.

  Nikki and Miller followed the manager past the other first-floor rooms. For a woman running from an abusive ex, a room on the end wasn’t the best choice. “Did she ask for this room?”

  “No idea.” He lit another cigarette and knocked on room six. “Anyone home?”

  “Unlock it,” Miller said.

  “Wait.” Nikki grabbed the man’s arm. “Don’t touch it.”

  “The hell you talking about?”

  She shined her flashlight app on the dark smudge near the doorknob. “That looks like blood and fairly recent.” Nikki slipped her gloves on and snatched the key without asking. “Get back.”

  She checked the knob for other blood spots. She unlocked it and slowly turned the knob enough to open the door a crack and then motioned for Miller to push the door open from the right. Nikki stepped back and took out her
gun, ready to back Miller up from the left.

  He shoved the door open, keeping his body on the other side of the doorframe.

  Nikki swept her light across the room. “Empty. Bathroom door closed.”

  Miller reached in and found the light switch, and the room was bathed in yellow light.

  The bed appeared to have been hastily made. Nikki crept forward and pulled back the jungle-themed cover.

  The right side of the bed had a bloodstain the size of a large cooking pot. It had spilled over onto the side, with dried streaks down to the box spring.

  Suddenly Nikki was sixteen years old, staring at her mother’s body, her outstretched arm dangling off the side of the bed.

  Nikki pivoted past Miller. Anger she’d spent twenty years burying now simmered on the surface. She had to keep it together. If Nikki fell apart now, she wouldn’t be able to put herself back together again. She breathed in the frigid air and tried to focus.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Nikki said. “Guess we found our crime scene.”

  Twenty-One

  Janelle Gomez was paid up to the end of the week. She had been living out of two small duffel bags, but so far, they hadn’t found a cell phone or computer. Liam had spoken to Janelle’s mother on his drive into town. She told him that Janelle had canceled her phone and purchased a pay as you go in an effort to hide from her ex.

  “Eau Claire police are looking for him.” Dawn had broken by the time Liam and Courtney arrived, and Nikki had spent the past few hours collecting evidence.

  “Housekeeping isn’t exactly good in places like these.” Nikki didn’t want to think about what had gone on in this room over the years. “These sheets could have DNA from previous guests.”