Stone Cold Heart

by Laura Griffin

  “Over here.” Nolan jerked his head toward a line of trees. A wooden sign marked a trailhead. Nearby was a trash can and a plastic-bag dispenser, along with a sign telling people to clean up after their dogs.

  “A parent noticed the backpack here by the trailhead and turned it in to lost and found,” Nolan said. “It sat in the office for a day, until someone went through it and found Kaylin’s wallet inside.”

  “The backpack was here?”

  He nodded. “Right under the map, according to the mom who turned it in.”

  “And how’d they track the mom down if she left it with lost and found?”

  “She came to us when she heard the missing woman’s backpack had turned up at the park. We interviewed her. Got all the details she could remember.”

  Sara studied the map behind protective plastic. It showed a 1.5-mile loop through the woods, ending back at the parking lot. Sara glanced around. “Busy place.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He wanted it spotted quickly.”

  Nolan looked at her. “You’re thinking it’s a decoy meant to lead us to a different park?”

  “Maybe. I assume this one was canvassed thoroughly?”

  “Both parks were. But we spent extra time here dragging the lake.”

  “Lake?”

  He nodded in the direction of the soccer fields. “Just south of the athletic fields is a man-made lake. It’s a pond, really, but the park’s named after it. We dragged every inch of it the week Kaylin went missing, then again two months later. Nothing.”

  Sara gazed out at the park where so many kids were playing, and she imagined how painful it must be for Kaylin’s parents to come here.

  “My dad was in the Coast Guard,” Sara said.

  Nolan looked at her. “Oh yeah?”

  “Twenty-six years. He retired a while back.” She glanced at him, not sure why she’d decided to tell him something personal. “He did a lot of search-and-rescue missions, which sometimes turned into search-and-recovery. And sometimes they never recovered anything, not even a boat. It was agonizing for the loved ones. All that waiting and wondering. And when you can’t bring someone back home to their family . . .” She shook her head, remembering the defeated look on her dad’s face when he would come home from one of those missions. “I think not knowing is the hardest.”

  Nolan didn’t say anything, but she sensed he understood. She also knew he felt personally responsible for getting answers, because she felt that, too. So had her father.

  Sara did a slow three-sixty, trying to commit the setting to memory. She took in the sights, the smells, the sounds, even noting the direction of the shadows falling across the parking lot. She took out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures of the area.

  “This mom who found the backpack, did she remember what time it was?” Sara asked.

  “Four in the afternoon. She’d just finished coaching her daughter’s T-ball game.”

  “So she’s a regular here?”

  “That’s right.”

  Sara took close-up shots of the sign and the trash can. She looked around again.

  “Seen enough?” Nolan asked.

  “Yes.”

  • • •

  They returned to the pickup, and Nolan opened the door for her, catching a waft of her sweet scent as she slid into his truck. He liked showing her around, even if he didn’t like the reason she was here. He was interested in her take on his case and her take on his hometown, too.

  Sara quietly looked out the window as he made a slow loop through the park, passing the pond-size lake that had been dragged for Kaylin’s body.

  “Kaylin’s parents were here during the search?”

  He glanced at her. “Her dad was. Couldn’t keep him away, even though we blocked off everything and started our work at the crack of dawn to avoid spectators.”

  “Desperate fathers have a way of showing up.”

  Nolan tapped his horn at Randy on the way out, and Sara heaved a sigh when they were back on the highway.

  “What are you thinking?” Nolan asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He tamped down his impatience. He wanted Sara’s perspective, both because she was smart and because she had fresh eyes. She was well educated, too—much more so than the cops and CSIs he had access to in Allen County. Not that she was a snob about it, but she’d seen a lot in her travels and her humanitarian work, not to mention her time at the Delphi Center. She’d logged a lot of hours in the field, and Nolan respected her for that. It had to be soul-crushing work, and it required careful precision. Her pace drove him crazy, but he’d already decided her expertise was worth waiting for.

  He glanced at her beside him, watching the scrub-covered landscape whisk by with a pensive look on her face. Her cheeks were pink from the sun. She had tiny scratches on her arms and a smudge of dirt on her face from tromping around the creek bed, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so attracted to a woman. Every damn thing about her turned him on.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  They drove in silence for a while, with traffic backing up as they neared Springville’s first stoplight. Nolan swung into the Dairy Queen parking lot.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Getting dinner.” He pulled into a space. “I’m guessing you missed lunch?”

  “I had a granola bar.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Why on earth are you sorry?”

  “I should have sent someone out there with sandwiches for you guys.”

  Sara slid from the truck and crossed the lot with him. “Yeah, right. I’m sure your officers have nothing better to do on a national holiday than cart food around.”

  “We take care of our emergency workers.”

  Nolan opened the door for a group of tween girls holding chocolate-dipped ice cream cones. The restaurant smelled like french fries, and his mouth started to water the moment he stepped inside. Sara ordered a ridiculous amount of food—which she insisted on paying for—and they found an empty picnic table on the patio.

  Nolan unwrapped his double cheeseburger as Sara dug into her chicken tenders.

  “Did you know White Falls Park is listed as one of the top mountain-biking destinations in the state?” she asked.

  “Whose list?”

  “A sportswriter out of Colorado, Will Merritt. He has a popular blog called High Life, and he recently did a piece about mountain biking gaining popularity in Texas.”

  “We get plenty of them through here.”

  Sara slurped her Coke. The food seemed to perk her up, and he was glad she was talking again.

  “You’re wondering if Kaylin was in with them?” He chomped into his burger.

  “Or maybe her boyfriend?”

  “From what I know, they were more into hiking and climbing,” he said.

  “Climbing’s banned in the park.”

  “Doesn’t keep people from doing it.”

  “Why bother with the ban?”

  He popped a fry into his mouth. “County officials put it in place a couple of years ago after a sixteen-year-old fell to his death while free soloing. That’s climbing without a rope. After the accident, his parents sued the county.”

  “Did they win?”

  “No. But the lawsuit scared everyone pretty good, and the elected officials decided to try and head off anything like it in the future.”

  “So having a ban in place absolves them of liability, even if people ignore it.”

  “Something like that.”

  Sara looked out at the traffic on Main Street as she nibbled a french fry. Pickups rolled by and Jeeps and convertibles. People were out in full force, despite the lingering heat.

  “What’s on your mind, Sara?”

  She watched him intently with those vivid green eyes, and he wished he could read her thoughts.

  “I’m stuck on the locations and the timing,” she said. �
�I keep thinking Kaylin’s disappearance is directly connected to these other deaths. Otherwise, it’s too much of a coincidence.”

  He didn’t comment. The prospect that they were dealing with a serial killer weighed heavily on him.

  “Also, I keep thinking about the park,” she added. “Lakeview.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s basically the opposite of White Falls. No cliffs. No plateaus. No hills. White Falls is rugged and remote, full of hidden canyons and hollows. Lakeview is flat as a pancake. It’s all soccer fields and families.”

  “Today is a lot more crowded than usual, but you’re right. It’s generally dog walkers and sports teams.”

  “Did Kaylin have a dog?” she asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “I’m looking for a reason she might have been a regular at that park. If her friends were into climbing and hiking, White Falls would have been their place, and I definitely can’t think of why she’d split off from the group and catch a ride over to Lakeview. My opinion? That backpack was planted there as a distraction.”

  Nolan didn’t respond, just looked at her. He agreed with her assessment. But investigators had pursued the lead anyway, even giving it enough credibility to drag the lake twice looking for Kaylin’s body. With so little in the way of leads and Kaylin’s family frantic for answers, they hadn’t had much of a choice.

  “We’re on the same page,” he said.

  She nodded. “What did her friends say about why she decided to split from the group that day?”

  “She wanted to go off on her own. She did it a lot, according to them. Luke told her to call him when she was ready to meet up and head out, but she never called.”

  “I assume you checked the phone records?”

  “The phone was in her backpack. No calls or texts from her to anyone that morning. Her friends said they figured maybe she bumped into some people she knew and caught a ride home or hitchhiked. She did that sometimes.”

  “Jesus.” Sara closed her eyes.

  “I know.”

  “Even so, I can’t see Lakeview Park as her destination. Home, maybe. But not that park.” She dipped a fry in ketchup. “That backpack is almost certainly a plant.”

  Nolan looked away. “In the last fourteen months, I’ve been through her case file over and over. Every interview. Every report. I keep trying to find a contradictory statement or a blip in someone’s timeline or, I don’t know, some detail that feels off. Sometimes it’s the smallest thing that breaks a case open. But I keep combing through, and I keep coming up with nothing.”

  Sara watched him, and he wondered if he sounded bitter. He wasn’t. But he was frustrated. He’d been trained by Austin PD to be thorough, methodical, and patient in his work, but patience had never been his strong suit.

  Nolan watched her as she finished off her fries.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I keep wondering why you’re here.”

  She smiled. “You wanted a burger.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Her smile faded, and she looked away. “You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be in the Coast Guard, like my dad.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “Turns out I get seasick. And then I took my first anthropology class and found my calling. It’s different from what my dad does, but it’s similar, too. The crazy hours. The stress. The grieving families.” Her eyes turned somber as she looked down at her food. “You know, it’s ironic. I work with the dead. That’s my job. But I do it for the living.” She shook her head. “It’s torture for those families left behind when someone goes missing. All those unanswered questions. I’m one of the few people who can help, so I feel this bond with them. An obligation. And I can never seem to shake it. Those cold cases never go away, you know? They’re always lurking in my mind, even when I’m working on something else.”

  Nolan stared at her, caught off guard by her words. He knew exactly what she meant. It was as if she was in his head, reciting his thoughts.

  She slid her basket away. “So, this cold case you’re working on—I could help, if you like. I know you’re short-staffed.”

  “First binder alone would take you all night.”

  “Not paperwork. People. We could make the rounds again. Reinterview the friends who were with Kaylin that day.”

  He leveled a look at her. “Don’t offer unless you’re serious. I’m liable to take you up on it.”

  “I’m always serious. In light of everything new with the bone discoveries, it makes sense to talk to them again. You have any idea where they’d be tonight?”

  “What, you want to go now?”

  She nodded. “No time like the present.”

  • • •

  According to Nolan, the Swinging R Ranch had once been a thriving cattle operation before the heirs sold off the livestock and turned it into a private campground, complete with bathrooms, rec facilities, and RV hookups. The property was situated beside a high limestone bluff along a scenic stretch of Mesquite Creek.

  It was nearly seven when they arrived at the gatehouse. The attendant had a dark braid down her back and a quick smile for Nolan.

  “How’s it going, Tammy?”

  “Hanging in.” The woman peered through the window at Sara. “Y’all looking for someone tonight?”

  “Just passing through,” Nolan said. “We won’t be long.”

  “Sure thing, Ace.”

  He waved and rolled through the gate, and Sara looked at him.

  “Did she just call you Ace?”

  “It’s an old nickname.” He glanced at her. “I played baseball in high school.”

  “Were you any good?”

  He shrugged. “Went to UT on a pitching scholarship.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re left-handed.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

  “My dad loves baseball—Orioles fan—and he always said never trust a left-handed pitcher. They’re unpredictable.”

  He smiled. “Your dad’s smart.”

  She looked out the window, trying not to picture him on a pitcher’s mound, staring down a batter with his super-intense gaze. She didn’t need any more sexy visuals in her head.

  “They’re packed tonight,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  Everywhere she looked were RVs and camper vans. They wended their way down a bumpy gravel road, and Sara surveyed the cars and tents divided by clusters of camp chairs.

  “Is it my imagination, or is the neighborhood getting sketchier as we go?” she asked.

  “The upper loop has electricity and water hookups. The lower loop doesn’t, so it’s cheaper, kind of a grunge crowd.”

  “Great. I’ll fit right in.”

  The lower-loop campers were teens and twenty-somethings. They were dressed in shorts and swimsuits and congregated around fire pits with no fires in them.

  “Burn ban?” Sara asked.

  “It’s county-wide. Been in effect since June.”

  The lack of campfires didn’t seem to be diminishing anyone’s fun. People were drinking, eating, and listening to competing stereos. They lounged on chairs and on car hoods—basically any surface available.

  “There have to be a hundred cars here,” Sara said. “They must make a fortune.”

  “Capacity’s eighty, and yeah, they do. This is their peak weekend.”

  “And these friends of Kaylin’s—do they live here?”

  “Pretty much. They come and go, kind of on a rotating basis. It’s sort of like a commune. At the time of her disappearance, Kaylin was living with her parents, but she spent a lot of time with her friends out here.”

  “And who are they?”

  “Luke Kopcek, twenty-two. Tristan Sharp. He’s twenty-four. And Kaylin’s two closest girlfriends, Jill Ortega and Maisy Raines, both nineteen.”

  “And what do they do?”

  “Whatever they
can. Jill works at a coffee shop. Maisy, nothing in particular. Luke’s a lifeguard, and Tristan works part-time at a boat-repair shop in town that’s run by his dad.”

  “Anyone have a rap sheet?”

  “No.”

  The road dipped lower, and they entered a tunnel of trees. On the other side was a line of ramshackle vehicles—an ancient pickup, a hatchback, a two-toned Oldsmobile with a Sierra Club bumper sticker. This campsite had no fire pit, and the activity seemed to center around a yellow VW van that was older than Sara.

  People were lounging and milling about, and everyone turned to watch as Nolan rolled past their setup and pulled off the road.

  “Do they know you?” Sara asked.

  “I’ve been around.”

  She slid from Nolan’s truck and scanned the scene. Music drifted over, along with marijuana smoke. Voices quieted as they approached.

  Nolan stopped beside a shirtless man sitting in a low-slung chair. He had a cigarette in his hand and a tallboy at his feet.

  “Luke,” Nolan said with a nod.

  “Detective.” He squinted up at Nolan. “You here to arrest me?” He held up his cigarette. “It’s tobacco, by the way.”

  “I don’t care what you’re drinking or smoking. I’m here with some questions.”

  From the corner of her eye, Sara saw several young men get up and duck into tents. Not feeling talkative tonight, apparently.

  Luke—presumably the boyfriend who had driven Kaylin to White Falls Park the day she disappeared—got up from his chair. He was a head shorter than Nolan, but he had a defiant look in his blue eyes.

  “I gave a two-hour interview Sunday. I got nothing more to say.”

  “This isn’t about Sunday. It’s about last May. The day Kaylin disappeared.”

  His attention turned to Sara, then shifted back to Nolan.

  “I’ve got nothing more to say about that, either.” He walked away, leaving Nolan and Sara staring after him.

  Undeterred, Nolan turned to a man sitting in a hammock dangling from a nearby tree.

  “Chris.” Nolan nodded. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”