Nolan never talked about his ex-girlfriend or the reasons he’d left Austin PD. At least, he never discussed it in Talia’s presence. She’d had to discreetly ask around to learn that he’d left his job after the cop he was dating was investigated by IA for corruption. She’d lost her job over it. Officially, Nolan’s name had been cleared, but he’d left the force anyway. Talia had never figured out whether it was the breakup or the blowback from his coworkers that ultimately made him want to leave.
“If you like her, you should tell her about Michelle,” Talia said. “It’d be better coming from you.”
“I know.”
He got quiet again, clearly wanting a change of subject. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything personal, but she liked Nolan and didn’t want to see him blow it with Sara. Men could be so clueless when it came to relationships.
Nolan glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes to dry.” He looked at her. “I talked to Biggs this afternoon. Nothing new at the park.”
Talia stood up and folded her arms. Nolan stood, too, and they gazed down at the drying plaster. She glanced up and down the highway. Not a single vehicle had driven past since she’d parked. This was a quiet backroad.
“This unsub feels local to me,” she said. “He knows this area. I feel like this is right in his backyard.”
Nolan grabbed the jug and walked back to his truck. “That’s the chief’s take, too,” he said, putting the jug in his toolbox.
“What? That the killer’s from here?”
“He thinks he started in Tennessee, but maybe he’s from here originally, or at least he’s lived here a while.”
“What about you? You think he’s from here?”
“Looks that way.” Nolan checked his watch again.
“I’m not sure why you’re bothering with that cast when it doesn’t prove anything,” she said. “Even if the tread mark is his, no way it’s admissible at trial.”
“Something you should learn: the best three leads to follow are vehicles, fingerprints, DNA. In that order.”
“Says who?”
“Me. And anyone else who’s been on the job a few years.”
“I’d think DNA would come first.”
“Yeah, well, DNA’s slow. So if you’re talking about a trial, DNA’s great. In terms of an active investigation, the other two are faster. Vehicles are tough to hide and easy to trace. They’re easy to link to people. And if a vehicle you’re looking for is a crime scene, you find it, and you’ve got a treasure trove of physical evidence. So trust me, we’re not wasting our time here.”
Talia did trust him, even if he could be a little arrogant at times. Nolan was smart, experienced, and dedicated to the job. But he was also impatient.
“You’ll see what I mean when we get our hands on the vehicle,” he said. “We’ll have this guy cold.”
“When, not if? You sound confident.”
“You’re not?”
“No, sure. But I’m a realist, too,” she said. “We’ve got some good leads, but somehow this guy’s managed to elude police in multiple states for at least five years.”
“Doesn’t matter, he’s got us now.” Nolan slammed shut the toolbox. “One way or another, we’re going to nail him.”
• • •
Sara hunched over the big map, trying to understand all the codes and symbols. She traced her finger over the line that paralleled Highway 12 and then made a snaking connection to Rattlesnake Gorge. The line looked like a creek, but she hadn’t seen it on any other maps, so maybe it had dried up long ago. The reference librarian had warned her this map was forty years old.
Frustrated, Sara slid the map aside and checked her watch. Damn it, she’d been here two hours already. She’d come to the library on her lunch hour, and she’d lost track of time. It was easy to get immersed surrounded by the silent stacks and the musty smell of books.
She grabbed the next map on the pile. This one showed detailed topographical features of Allen and the surrounding counties. This map was newer, and she studied landmarks, trying to locate White Falls Park. She found the highway and traced her finger along it, looking for the turnoff.
The chime of her phone shattered the quiet. Sara stood up, pushing her chair back with a screech as she reached for her purse. The phone chimed again as she dug it out and read the number on the screen.
“Hello?” she answered eagerly.
“Uh, I’m looking for Sara Lockhart?”
“This is she. Is this Will Merritt?”
Students glared up at her from the surrounding tables.
Sorry, she mouthed, grabbing her bag.
“Yeah, I got your message from the other day. Sorry it’s taken a while. I’ve been off the grid.”
Sara hurried past rows of bookshelves.
“Hello?”
“I’m here,” she said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
A librarian shot her a death scowl as Sara strode past the reference desk and pushed through the turnstile.
“Your message said something about an article on caving,” he said. “Who do you write for again?”
“I don’t.” Sara plowed through the glass door and into the sunlight, and the heat slapped her like a wet towel. “I wanted to talk about your article. The one that appeared in Outside.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a while,” Will said. “That was back, let’s see, two summers ago.”
Sara swiped at her phone, looking for the bookmarked article. It was all about caving, and the photographs showed caverns as big as cathedrals, with jagged stalactites dripping down from the top. “Actually, it was last March, I believe.” Sara stepped into some shade beside the library and dug a notepad from her purse. “You wrote about various caves in the Texas Hill Country, and I’m particularly interested in the ones near Springville.”
“Springville, Texas.”
“That’s correct. We’re conducting an investigation here into a missing-persons case, and—”
“Wait, who did you say you write for?”
“I don’t write for anybody.” Sara took a deep breath, annoyed that he hadn’t really listened to her message. “Let me back up. I’m a forensic anthropologist with the Delphi Center Crime Lab. One of my cases involves some bones discovered in a gorge not far from the caves you featured in your article. I wanted to know—”
“White Falls Park.”
“Correct.” She slumped against the building. “You remember it?”
“Yeah, I was back down there a couple months ago for some mountain biking. Did a piece for my blog, High Life.”
“Yes, I read it, as a matter of fact. Anyway, these remains were found within the park boundaries, and in your article, you mention that the caves you toured were near White Falls Park, and I wanted to understand where exactly. I’m having trouble locating any maps of the local caves.”
“I’m not sure there are any. Least, not that I’ve ever seen.”
Sweat trickled down Sara’s back, and she glanced at her watch again. She needed to get back to the lab.
“So, how did you learn about the caves?” she asked.
“Some of my biking buddies told me about them. Word of mouth, you know. They’re on private property, so you can’t get to them from the park.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sara jotted the details in her notepad. “How did you get to them?”
“Some locals drove me out there on an old dirt road.”
“Well, do you have GPS coordinates?”
“No.”
“How about landmarks?”
“Yeah, I’ve got some of that recorded on my phone.”
Sara’s pulse sped up. Finally, a lead on the caves.
“I’d have to go back and listen. I do everything audio when I’m climbing or biking. Keeps my hands free.”
“I understand. Would you mind checking? We could really use the help pinpointing a few things. You remember offhand what any of the landmarks were?”
He sighed. “You know, it’s been a wh
ile. I remember a couple of those bobbing oil wells.”
“Pumpjacks?”
“Yeah, but they weren’t moving and looked abandoned. And I think we went over a low-water bridge and passed some grazing black-and-white cows. I remember because my girlfriend called them Oreo cows.”
“Your girlfriend was with you?”
“She took the photos they ran with the piece.”
Pumpjacks and Oreo cows. Sara would have much rather had GPS coordinates, but at least it was something.
A call beeped in, and Sara checked the number. Nolan. She hadn’t talked to him since Monday, and it was Wednesday now.
“I might have more in my notes,” Will said. “I can listen and get back to you.”
“Call me anytime, as soon as you find anything. I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Sara clicked off with the writer and stared down at her phone, debating whether to pick up. Before she could decide, Nolan’s call went to voice mail.
Sara leaned back against the building. She took a deep breath and pressed play on the call. She’d been hoping for it and dreading it for days.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said, and just the sound of his voice made Sara’s chest ache. “I wanted to get back to you on those fingerprints from your break-in. CSI didn’t lift anything usable, like we thought. Same for the door to your motel room.”
She closed her eyes. They’d known it was a long shot.
“We’re still working your case, but no suspects so far, and the timing bothers me. You should stay vigilant about your personal safety.” He paused. “I know I don’t need to tell you that, but . . . be careful, Sara.”
CHAPTER 20
Nolan was having a crap week. And not just because he’d spent most of it chasing down dead-end leads on the phantom white Tahoe.
Nolan hadn’t seen or spoken to Sara since Monday morning, when he’d left her in the motel parking lot with Biggs. Since then, three full workdays had gone by without a word. She hadn’t responded to his message, and he hadn’t called again.
He was giving her the space she wanted, showing her he didn’t want to pressure her into starting something just because they’d spent the night together.
She didn’t want a relationship. She’d made that clear. He definitely would have preferred it the other way, but he could respect what she’d told him.
Problem was, respecting it meant keeping his distance, which meant he had no idea when or even if he would see her again. And his desire to see her again had started to dominate his thoughts.
The timing was bad. He needed to be focused on the case with everything he had. Nolan had put in two straight eighteen-hour days and gone to bed dead tired, only to discover he couldn’t sleep because his bed smelled like her. He probably should have thrown his sheets in the wash, but he was too tired even to do that—which just showed how rational he was. Lack of sleep was messing with his head.
It was messing with his work, too. He’d been snipping at everyone, including Talia, who’d opted to work on her own this afternoon rather than ride in a car with him. She’d been tactful about it, pointing out that they’d cover more ground with a divide-and-conquer strategy.
Nolan didn’t blame her. He knew she was right. With no new developments in days, the investigation was stalled, and they needed any and every lead they could turn up at this point.
Nolan neared a mailbox and slowed to check the number. The name on the box said HANSEN, and Nolan followed the driveway to a weathered wooden house surrounded by a chain-link fence. On the east side of the house stood a tall pecan tree with a green Volkswagen parked under it. On the house’s west side was a dilapidated shed that looked like it might blow over in the next storm.
Nolan got out of his car, eyeing the fence and searching for a dog. He spotted it at the open front door, confined behind the screen. The dog was big and brown, and it started barking as Nolan opened the gate.
“Lucy! Cut that out!”
Nolan turned to see a woman stepping out of the shed. She wore a blue apron over her clothes and had silver curls piled in a bun on top of her head. The dog started going crazy as she walked toward Nolan.
“Lucy, stop!”
Lucy didn’t stop, and the woman rolled her eyes.
“Elaine Hansen?”
“That’s me.” She smiled. “Sorry about her. She gets excited for visitors.”
“Nolan Hess, Springville PD.”
“I know who you are. I went to school with your dad.” She took a rag from her apron pocket and started wiping her hands. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I’m here about your late husband, Todd. Specifically, I have some questions about his car.”
She looked surprised. “The Mustang?”
“He drove a Mustang?”
She laughed. “Drove? No.” She waved a hand. “That thing was up on cinder blocks the last twelve years. Todd could never get it to run.”
“I’m here about the SUV. Our records show a 2005 Chevy Tahoe registered to his name.”
“That one wasn’t much better.” She tucked the towel into her pocket and fisted a hand on her hip. “It ran, don’t get me wrong. But the transmission conked out, and after Todd was gone, I didn’t want to fool with it, not when my Jetta works fine.”
“So what did you do with the Tahoe?”
“Donated it to the church for a tax write-off. And for charity, of course, but you know what I mean.”
Nolan gritted his teeth as he took out his notebook. This was a complication he didn’t need today. If the church had sold it, it could be anywhere. “Which church is that, ma’am?”
“Second Baptist over on Oak Street.”
“Do you remember when you sold it?”
She looked down and shook her head. “Let me see. Last November? December? Seems like it was before the holidays. Come on in, I’ll check.” She started toward the shed, and the dog’s barks grew frantic.
“ ’Scuse the mess,” she said, ushering Nolan inside. “I’m making my mud pies, as Todd liked to call them. Keeps me busy.”
Nolan had to duck his head to get through the door. The shed turned out to be a workroom with a potter’s wheel at the center. Shelves filled with unfinished creations lined the walls—bowls, mugs, vases. Elaine crossed the room to a table overflowing with tools and paperwork. She picked up a bright blue mug and shuffled through some papers beneath it. “Let’s see . . . I know it was before Christmas.”
Nolan’s phone vibrated with a text, and he pulled it from his pocket to check the screen. It was Crowley.
“I think it’s inside. Sorry.” She brushed past him, leading him back into the yard. “This isn’t about the Baird case, is it?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re our best officer, so I figure that’s your case, isn’t it? Unless this is about those bones they found in the park last weekend.”
She mounted the porch steps, and Nolan followed her, keeping an eye on the dog.
“It’s a case out of San Antonio, actually. We’re following up on something.”
“Lucy, sit!”
The dog sat, to Nolan’s surprise. She watched from her spot by the door as Elaine led Nolan into the den, where a rolltop desk covered in paperwork sat in the corner. She started combing through stacks as Nolan glanced around. The space was small and cluttered, with sagging furniture and towers of books everywhere.
“You really have to feel for the Bairds.”
“What’s that?” Nolan looked at her.
“Sam and Kathy? Kaylin’s parents?” She shook her head. “Of course, Sam drinks too much. And he was always hard on those kids, but can you blame him? What would you do if your daughter started taking up with those druggies?”
“You’re talking about Kaylin’s friends?”
“Those kids are bad news. Especially her boyfriend, the Sharp boy.”
“Kaylin’s boyfriend?”
“Yes, what’s his name, Tristan?” She stopped rummaging. “I once saw him and Kaylin buying drugs at the movie theater. Right there in the parking lot in broad daylight, bold as you please.” She shook her head and resumed her search. “I swear, that boy’s got a lot of nerve.”
Nolan watched her comb through her desk, wondering if she had firsthand information or gossip.
Another text message, and Nolan took out his phone. Crowley again, and Nolan swiped the screen to read it: CALL ME ASAP.
“Well, I must have misplaced it, but it was right before Christmas. I know that for sure. And the church has a record of it. I can give them a call.”
“I’ll handle it,” Nolan said, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Who’d you talk to over there?”
“Reverend Cook. He was in the office when I brought in the title, signed the receipt himself.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Nolan took out a business card. “Meantime, if you find it or remember the date of the transaction—”
“I’ll give you a call.”
“Appreciate it.”
She ushered him out, and the barking started up as soon as he stepped through the door. Nolan dialed Crowley as he walked to his car.
“I got your message,” Nolan said. “What’s up?”
“Talia asked me to call you.”
He slid behind the wheel. “Why didn’t she call me?”
“She’s got her hands full with something. You know that vehicle you’re looking for? The white Tahoe?”
“What about it?”
“She found it.”
• • •
Nolan tracked Talia down at her parents’ place, where the gravel driveway was choked with cars and pickups. Following several people’s lead, he found an empty patch of lawn and parked at an angle so he wouldn’t get blocked in.
Nolan peeled off his shades as he got out. Someone had set up a slip-and-slide in the front yard, and he recognized several of Talia’s nieces and nephews. One of the little girls gave him an excited wave before taking a running leap onto the plastic.
The air smelled of barbecue, and through the screen door Nolan heard a baseball game playing. He stepped inside, and people yelled and jumped to their feet as someone hit a homer.
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