Stone Cold Heart

by Laura Griffin

  “You’re closed down for the day?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be closed tomorrow, too. Chief’s orders.”

  “I might be back then,” she told him. “If so, I’ll call ahead.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sara’s phone chimed as she reached the highway. Aaron.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “My battery’s been dead.”

  “Okay, well, check your email. That report is in from the tool-marks examiner. I forwarded it to you.”

  “I thought you were off today?”

  “I am, but I checked my email from home. And heads-up, word is that APD pulled a floater from Lake Austin.”

  “Damn. Really?”

  “Cops are saying suicide. Guy jumped off a bridge, and they say he left a note. But you know how that goes. It’s a homicide until it isn’t.”

  “I’m back in Springville,” Sara said. “And I’ll probably be here tomorrow, too.”

  “You found something? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You’re off today, and anyway, Raul and Peaches were here to help.”

  “Well, you could have called me.” Aaron paused, and Sara could tell he felt slighted. “Anyway, don’t worry about the floater. TCMEO’s got it.”

  The Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office sometimes requested help with bodies recovered from the water, particularly those where identification was difficult.

  “You sure?” Sara asked.

  “That’s what I heard. I guess he wasn’t in long. If you want—”

  Aaron’s voice cut off. Sara looked at her phone and cursed. She’d call him back when she had more battery.

  Pulling into town, she passed the Morningstar Motor Lodge with its flickering VACANCY sign. She fought the urge to pull in and get a room. She could have used a long, hot shower. Not to mention a nap. But she was nowhere near finished for the day.

  “And miles to go before I sleep,” she muttered.

  She reached the Springville police station, a surprisingly new building with a glass atrium and a limestone facade. She’d expected something small and humble, but maybe the building reflected the city’s expanding tax base. The landscaped parking lot was divided into two sections—a gated area for police vehicles and an open section for visitors. Sara pulled into a space near the flagpole and looked around.

  Not too busy, considering it was a holiday. She’d expected the place to be crowded with drunks and scofflaws. Maybe Nolan’s day had improved since she’d last seen him. Maybe his mood had improved, too. Their last conversation had been tense, and he’d seemed to think she was blowing him off. She wasn’t. She just needed to be sure of some things. Detectives never understood that. They were impatient by nature, and certainty took time.

  Sara reached for her duffel bag in the back seat. She used a wet wipe to freshen up and threw a clean T-shirt on over her tank top. Not great, but nothing short of a full scrub-down was going to make her presentable at this point. She grabbed the backpack she was using as a purse today, tossed her cell phone inside, and headed for the door.

  The waiting area and the squad room were separated by a tall glass wall, and Sara immediately spotted Nolan standing at a desk and talking on his phone. As if sensing her arrival, he turned around and looked directly at her. He motioned for her to come on back.

  Sara stepped up to the receptionist. The woman’s headset suggested she might be a dispatcher as well. She wore a white T-shirt with a sequined American flag across the front, along with American flag earrings.

  “Excuse me. I’m—”

  “Dr. Lockhart.” She smiled. “They’re expecting you. Go right on in.” She reached under her desk, and a buzzer sounded as the door unlocked.

  Sara entered the bull pen and walked to Nolan’s desk. He was talking to an older man now. White hair, sun-browned skin, paunch hanging over his belt buckle. In jeans and cowboy boots, he looked like a rancher, but his badge and sidearm said otherwise.

  “Sara Lockhart, this is Hank Miller, chief of police,” Nolan said.

  Sara nodded. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”

  “Likewise. I hear you been busy at Little Rat.”

  “Little Rat?” She looked at Nolan.

  “Little Rattler Gorge. The ravine where you were today. It leads into the big one.”

  “Yes. I didn’t know it was called that.” She looked at the chief. “Is there a place we can talk?”

  The chief led the way past a glass conference room and ushered her into a room without windows. She appreciated the privacy, and her heart leaped for joy when she saw the coffeepot in the corner.

  “Mind if I . . . ?” Without waiting for an answer, Sara grabbed a paper cup and poured.

  “That’s been there since this morning,” the chief warned.

  “I don’t mind.” Sara dumped in several sugar packets and took a seat at the table opposite Nolan and Hank. They watched her warily as she took a sip.

  “We’ve got a microwave in the break room,” Nolan said.

  “It’s fine.”

  Really, it was cold sludge, but she was too tired to care. She hadn’t realized how light-headed she’d been until just that moment.

  “So.” Sara slid the cup away and looked at the chief. “I spent most of the day in White Falls Park working with a canine unit.”

  “The cadaver dog,” Hank said.

  “That’s correct. Peaches—the German shepherd—she’s the best in the business. I’ve seen her alert on a body twenty feet underwater. She first alerted on a metacarpal. That’s a hand bone, about the length of a matchstick in this case.”

  “This is a different victim than you dug up Sunday?” the chief asked.

  “That’s correct.” She glanced at Nolan, who was watching her with an unreadable look on his face. “We recovered forty-three bones today. The remains include a skull, a pelvis, and two femurs, which is good news from an investigative standpoint.”

  Nolan lifted an eyebrow.

  “The teeth are important for identification,” she explained. “The shape of the pelvis indicates a female decedent. And the long bones help us determine stature and age.”

  Hank stared at her for a long moment. So did Nolan. Neither said anything, so she continued.

  “Regarding the bones, no duplicates. In other words, I have no reason to believe we’re dealing with more than one skeleton in that particular area. From what I’ve seen so far, I believe these are the scattered remains of one individual.”

  The chief looked at Nolan.

  “Also, I don’t believe that individual is Kaylin Baird.”

  Hank’s brow furrowed. “You can tell already?”

  “I’ll confirm back at the lab. But I’ve seen Kaylin’s dental records, and they don’t match up with what we recovered today.”

  Nolan leaned forward on his elbows. “You’re telling us we’ve got two separate bodies in White Falls Park, and neither one of them is Kaylin?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about clothes or jewelry? Anything like that?” Hank asked.

  “We zeroed in on a few objects using the metal detector—stray coins, bottle caps—but I doubt they’re associated with these remains.”

  The chief heaved a sigh. “These bones, how were they scattered, exactly?”

  “It can happen any number of ways when a body is left in the open or buried in a shallow grave,” she said. “Coyotes, feral hogs, carrion birds. I’ll have a better idea when I get back to the lab and check for postmortem artifacts—scratches, teeth marks, that sort of thing.”

  The door opened, and the patriotic receptionist leaned her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. The sheriff is on line one, Chief.”

  Hank stood up and nodded at Sara, then walked out without a word.

  The door whisked shut, and silence settled over the room. Nolan gazed at her, long and hard, and she got the feeling he could read her mind.

&nb
sp; “You’re holding back. What else do you need to tell me?”

  Sara took a deep breath. “This situation is . . . disturbing.”

  “Damn right it’s disturbing. We’re talking about potentially three victims.”

  “There’s something else.”

  His expression darkened as Sara unzipped her backpack and took out an iPad.

  “I keep coming back to the twine we recovered Sunday,” she said as she powered up the tablet.

  “Did you find any today?”

  “No, not today.” She tapped the screen a few times, opening a photo of the twine from Rattlesnake Gorge.

  “I’ve seen a lot of bindings over the years, and these are unusual.” She slid the tablet in front of Nolan. “That isn’t some haphazard knot; it’s very intricate.”

  Nolan’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the picture. “This is from the gravesite Sunday.”

  “Correct.” She looked at him. “After analyzing the evidence, I believe this victim was kidnapped by her killer. I believe he bound her hands with twine so he could control her throughout the attack, which could have lasted hours or days. I believe he killed her—”

  “How?” Nolan’s gaze was sharp.

  “I don’t know yet.” She paused. “I believe he killed her and then dumped her into that ravine where we were today, and her body moved downstream during a flood. After dumping the body, the killer could have been back on the highway in less than two minutes. And yes, I also believe he could have done it not just once but multiple times. Everything I’ve seen makes me think he’s experienced and deliberate.”

  Nolan rubbed his jaw as he stared down at the photo.

  “Let me show you something else.” She tapped the tablet and opened another file, this one containing photos Clifton Underwood had sent in response to her email. She slid the tablet back to Nolan.

  His face became a stony mask as he gazed down at the picture. It was a close-up of a woman’s wrists. Her hands were bloated and discolored, her fingernails greenish-black. Her wrists were bound together with purple twine.

  “This is the last time I saw similar bindings. I was a graduate student in Knoxville, working under one of the nation’s top forensic anthropologists at the anthropological research center known as the Body Farm.”

  Nolan’s gaze locked with hers, and the question burned in his eyes.

  “It’s an open case,” she said.

  He didn’t react. He didn’t so much as blink. He just looked at her.

  Sara pulled the iPad back and opened another photo: yet another tangle of purple twine, this one on a stainless steel table in an autopsy suite.

  “Five years ago, two bodies were pulled from a lake in western Tennessee. Rocky Shoals Park. The finds occurred eight months apart.”

  “Both victims were female?”

  “That’s right. One was identified as a nineteen-year-old runaway, Lena Langley. The second woman is still unidentified.”

  “Still?”

  “Her DNA is in the database, but we’ve never had a hit. I just checked for any updates. Neither woman’s case was ever solved.”

  “You’re saying—”

  “I’m not saying anything definitive,” Sara said. “Not yet. The twine we recovered Sunday is still being analyzed. And it’s not that uncommon. Could be the similarities in the cases are purely coincidental.”

  Nolan looked at the photo again. “This theory—were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “You knew it this morning. Hell, you knew it on Sunday.”

  “I didn’t want to alarm you if we didn’t find more remains.”

  Anger flared in his eyes. “This is my jurisdiction, Sara. It’s my job to be alarmed. Don’t protect me from information, ever.”

  She drew back, surprised by his vehemence. But she shouldn’t have been.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She watched him, noting his tense shoulders, the firm set of his jaw. “If there is a connection, we’ll know soon enough. My contact in Knoxville is sending a sample of the twine for comparison. Our cordage expert at Delphi will analyze it and let you know.”

  “Same cause of death in both of these cold cases?”

  “That’s right. The killer used a garrote.”

  “A garrote? Jesus.”

  “The wounds show both women were approached from behind, and he wrapped some sort of wire around their necks. No gunshots. No blunt-force trauma. Just a wire.”

  Nolan shook his head. He looked at the photo again. “I want the case files. Both of them.”

  “I’ll put you in touch with the lead detective.” She watched him, wishing she didn’t have to add to everything he was already dealing with.

  “You believe these other cases are connected to Kaylin’s,” he stated.

  “I don’t know. But I’d be surprised if they’re not.”

  Nolan leaned back in his chair and waited.

  “According to news articles,” Sara continued, “Kaylin was last seen by her friends in White Falls Park. So it’s possible she saw something.”

  “You mean like a body being dumped?”

  She nodded. “Or a suspicious vehicle in the park. Or maybe she personally knew the perpetrator, and she stumbled across something he didn’t want her to see. Kaylin could be the key to everything.”

  Nolan raked his hand through his hair. He looked every bit as drained as she was, and he hadn’t spent the day tromping around a ravine.

  “One other thing,” she said. “I’d like to see the other park where Kaylin’s backpack was found.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s a crime scene. I’ve been to quite a few over the years. Maybe something will stand out about it.” She waited a beat. “It might help you to get a fresh perspective.”

  He watched her, clearly debating whether to accept her offer. Then he glanced at his watch. “It’s almost six.”

  Sara shrugged. She wasn’t planning to leave town anytime soon, but she didn’t tell him that.

  “Fair warning, I’m on call tonight,” he told her.

  “So am I. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 9

  They took Nolan’s pickup, and Sara felt an odd familiarity riding in it for the second time. She tipped her head back against the seat and let her shoulders relax as he expertly navigated downtown traffic.

  “Lot of calls today?” she asked.

  “Not too bad.” He glanced at her. “Yet.”

  “Things will probably get going soon.”

  The town whisked by, a blur of old-fashioned storefronts, many with red-white-and-blue bunting hanging in the windows. Most of the shops were closed, but people clustered on the sidewalks, and Sara noted a long line at the ice cream parlor on the corner. They passed a town square, where more red-white-and-blue decorated a gazebo. A band was setting up, and several food trucks were parked along the sidewalk. A crowd of people waited outside a silver Airstream with JETHRO’S BBQ painted on the side, and another food truck advertised corn dogs and deep-fried Oreos.

  At a glance, it was a charming scene, a charming town, with so many residents out enjoying the holiday, oblivious to anything sinister happening close by.

  “You want to hear more about the Kaylin Baird case?” Nolan gave her a sidelong look.

  “I do.”

  “I take it you already read the basics online.”

  “I read what was in the paper.”

  “The Gazette or the Austin-American Statesman?”

  “Both.”

  “Okay, so you know she disappeared fourteen months ago. It was a Saturday. She’d gone with a group of friends to White Falls Park, and they split up around eight A.M.”

  “Sounds early. What time did they get there?”

  “Seven. It was five kids piled into a little white Kia. We confirmed that with the ranger who took their money and gave them a day pass. He remembers seeing Kaylin in the front passenger seat.”

  “Who wa
s driving?”

  “Luke Kopcek, her boyfriend.”

  Sara looked at him.

  “Yes, we checked him out. No dice.” Nolan turned left onto a highway heading southbound out of town. The neighborhoods gave way to sporadic houses and then undeveloped land. They crossed a bridge, and Sara spotted a sign for Lakeview Park.

  “How far is this park from White Falls?” she asked.

  “Twenty miles exactly.”

  He pulled into the turn lane and waited patiently as several carloads of people paid admission.

  Nolan pulled up to the window. “Hey, Randy. How’s it going tonight?”

  “It’s going.” The ranger dipped his head down to peer inside at Sara. He wore the same green uniform as the White Falls rangers.

  “Any citations?” Nolan asked.

  “Two so far. Coupla kids shooting off bottle rockets near the soccer fields. Maureen took care of them.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Hey, I heard about White Falls. Is it true they’re shut down tomorrow?”

  “Rest of the week, looks like.”

  Randy shook his head. “Hell of a thing.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Nolan said, dodging more questions.

  They proceeded down a two-lane road lined with oak trees. The topography was dramatically different from the park where Sara had spent her day.

  “Is it all this flat?” she asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “How many acres?”

  “One-fifty.”

  They reached a large clearing. Athletic fields stretched in every direction. She scanned the landscape, counting five soccer fields, all occupied. Several baseball diamonds were busy, too, and the parking lots adjacent to them were crowded with cars.

  Nolan took a right onto a narrow drive and curved around to a field where a baseball game was wrapping up. Players filed through the chain-link fence, guzzling water and sports drinks as a fresh team took the field.

  Nolan pulled into an empty space beside a snow-cone truck. Sara climbed out and immediately smelled hot dogs grilling. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it as she surveyed the area.

  People milled around a grassy clearing between the parking lot and the baseball fields. Beyond the fields was a green-and-yellow playscape and a covered picnic area, both bustling with people. Sara followed a curl of smoke and spotted the source of the hot-dog smell, and her stomach grumbled again.