Lullaby for the Nameless (Nolan, Hart & Tain Thrillers)

by Ruttan, Sandra

  A woman brushed past Craig as she handed the sergeant a file.

  “We’ve exhausted tips in Calgary and on Vancouver Island, and have a few more officers arriving tomorrow morning.” Yeager studied the contents of the folder she’d been handed. “Ballistics has been digging bullets out of trees. Too much damage to make a conclusive match, but it looks like it could be the same type of ammunition used in the murders.”

  One of the things about the killing of the Jeffers family that didn’t make sense. Why use a rifle? If you’re going to murder your wife and children and then run, not even try to feign innocence, why not kill them in the house where the bodies could be concealed?

  The killer had wanted them to be found. Quickly.

  Yeager ignored her ringing phone, closed the folder and looked up. “If the evidence is correct, we’re closing in on Hank Jeffers. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to have my men shot at.”

  “Glad we could be of service,” Mac muttered.

  “And I’m glad he didn’t have better aim this morning because we need you to work the body.”

  It was what Craig had expected when they were called in, but the words had the effect of having a bucket of cold water dumped on him in the middle of winter. He felt the shiver surge down his spine and through his arms as all the heat in his face disappeared.

  Yeager stared at him with another look that suggested she could read his mind. “Do you have a problem with this?”

  “I do.”

  Craig almost jumped at Mac’s voice as Yeager shifted her gaze to Craig’s partner. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected Mac’s opposition; it was that he hadn’t expected Mac to actually voice his objections to his commanding officer.

  Which told him that he’d misread his partner.

  Which wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

  The sound of her phone ringing didn’t even make her blink.

  “Respectfully”—Mac failed to soften the cynical edge in his tone—“we should stay on Jeffers. We need to find this guy fast, and—”

  Yeager held up her hand. “And we will. You will ID the body in the woods, find out how she got there and arrest her killer.”

  “Assuming he isn’t already in jail.”

  Yeager’s head snapped so fast, Craig heard her neck crack as she turned to look at him. Her phone rang again, but she didn’t seem to notice. “That wouldn’t explain how the body got in the woods today, though, would it?”

  Before she could continue or Craig could respond, Mac cut in.

  “Which is exactly why we shouldn’t be on this case. He worked that serial killer thing a couple years back.”

  “Which is exactly why he is leading this investigation,” Yeager snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, Constable MacDougall, we’re stretched a bit thin these days, dealing with a manhunt for a multiple murderer.” Her phone rang again, and again she ignored it. “I can’t make it two feet from my desk before there’s another call, from Edmonton, Moose Jaw, Prince Rupert or Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, of all places, without someone reporting another sighting. I’ve got to stay on top of every one and follow up, even if they’re bogus calls from ninety-year-old great-grandmothers who can’t see their own hands in front of their faces without Coke-bottle glasses. I don’t have time for pissing contests or for you second-guessing my decisions, and I don’t have time for someone to get caught up to speed on that serial murder investigation. I don’t even have time to review all the details about that old case myself right now. I need someone who knows it, and one of those people just happened to be in the woods today when we recovered a body. Call it fate, destiny or whatever you want. I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Nolan is in charge of this investigation, you’re his partner, I’m your sergeant and I’ve given you an order. I expect you to shut up and do your job. Understood?”

  Mac offered a curt nod and after a split-second hesitation, Yeager turned her attention back to Craig.

  “I just meant that if the killer’s Jeffers, you might get him first,” Craig said. He could feel Mac’s disbelieving stare, but he kept his focus straight ahead, on the sergeant.

  “For now it’s just the two of you. I expect you both”—she shifted her glance to Mac for a moment—“to keep that quiet. We’re prepared to pull resources as needed if they’re needed, but we don’t want to look like we’re jumping to any conclusions about this case before we even start investigating, and we sure as hell don’t need the media shit storm it’ll stir up if the press catches wind of it. Work fast and be thorough, and before you come back and tell me this is part of an old investigation, a loose string that should have been tied up more than a year ago, you make damn sure you’re right, because there’ll be hell to pay if we’re wrong.”

  Those green eyes prying into Craig’s, boring a hole in his skull. Trying to impress upon him the importance of this investigation, of getting it right.

  As though he needed the explanation.

  As though he didn’t understand exactly what was at stake.

  He nodded. “Yes, Sergeant. We’re on it.”

  “Good.” She passed him a folder. “They’re expecting you back out at the scene.”

  “Of all the goddamn useless ways to waste our time.”

  Mac muttered the words as Craig drove back to the woods where the body had been found. He’d muttered a number of things since leaving the sergeant’s office, and Craig had resisted the urge to turn on the radio to block the sound of Mac’s words. It would be a response, which was what Mac was after.

  Craig could hide behind the excuse of duty, of following orders, to explain his cooperation with the sergeant in her office, but now that he was alone with his partner, he knew saying anything would put him on a side.

  “You got nothin’ to say about this?”

  “No point complaining,” Craig said as he pulled his Rodeo over to the side of the road, near the other emergency vehicles. “It isn’t going to make me feel better, and it isn’t going to change anything.”

  The manhunt had tapped their resources, all the way down to the need to use officers’ personal vehicles. Craig hadn’t drawn the short straw—he’d volunteered to use his. It had four-wheel drive and was built to handle the terrain. Plus, it meant he held the keys.

  Ashlyn had told him once, when they’d first worked together, that he had control issues. Close his eyes and he could imagine her watching him, shaking her head, her dark hair contrasted against her creamy skin, saying, “Some things never change.”

  He got out of the vehicle and grabbed the gear he needed.

  Mac took the lead as they headed into the woods. “You want to work this case?”

  By Craig’s estimation, even parking where they did, they had about a mile to hike through the woods. He’d already had fifteen minutes of Mac’s bitching on the drive over. “What difference does it make?”

  “You aren’t the guy sergeants get stuck with on a case. You’re the guy they ask for. If you’d said no, Eager Yeager woulda listened.”

  “You’re wrong. Maybe I used to be.”

  “So you proved you aren’t perfect. You’ve still got an old man with rank. I’m sure if you called him—”

  Craig grabbed Mac’s arm and pointed at him. “She made the right decision.”

  Instead of jerking his arm free, Mac stopped in his tracks and turned around. “You’re okay with this? You really don’t have a problem being pulled off the manhunt for…this?”

  “I’m at one with the universe.”

  “Bullshit, Nolan.” Mac pulled his arm from Craig’s grasp. “You’ve been wound tighter than a homophobe in a gay bar the whole time I’ve been working with you.”

  “All of what? Three days?” Craig pushed past Mac and started walking. He heard footsteps behind him.

  “You shouldn’t be on this case, Nolan. It already doesn’t look good. If it goes bad, they’ll hang you.”

  Craig kept walking. The universe may have deliberately se
t him up, but the RCMP hadn’t. They hadn’t taken shots at Craig and Mac so that they could set a series of events in motion that would ultimately lead them to the spot in the woods where a partially exposed body lay.

  The RCMP may have had its share of scandals and blunders over the years like any other police department, but they hadn’t conspired to hang Craig with this case. Call it God, fate or a cruel joke the universe was playing. Call it whatever you want, it had just happened. The fact that it had happened to Craig wasn’t something he was particularly happy about, but even he had to admit that if he’d been in Yeager’s shoes, he would have done the same thing.

  Mac’s blatant disapproval wasn’t going to make it any easier, but maybe if Mac got it through his thick skull that Craig wasn’t going to back down, he’d just shut up and do his job.

  Craig felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, thought back to what Mac had said to him only hours earlier, before someone started shooting at them in the forest.

  He’d never pegged himself for an optimist either.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’ve already made a few calls,” Ashlyn said as she marched across the room, yanked the top drawer of the filing cabinet open, riffled through a few folders, pulled one out and slammed the drawer shut. She was halfway back to her desk, gaze fixed on the pages in front of her, before Tain even had a chance to respond. “There are a lot of gaps. Seems she didn’t stay in the system for long. We’re going to have to piece together the past few years, which won’t be easy, given Millie’s history.”

  “Didn’t she have an aunt or a cousin still living?” Tain said, instinct kicking in, the words out before he had a chance to recall them. He hadn’t seen Ashlyn this energized in months. He glanced at her desk, already cluttered with checklists, a few other folders and old notebooks.

  While he’d been talking to Steve she’d been busy.

  Ashlyn snapped her fingers and set the file on her desk as she spun around to look at Tain. “You’re right. A cousin. If we can find her, she might be able to—”

  “Whoa.” Tain held up his hand. “Are you okay?”

  Ashlyn’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. What Tain thought of as her look of mild annoyance. It was always fleeting, an instinctive motion comparable to swatting at a fly, but it hinted at what was going on beneath the surface. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  A defensive response. One that suggested more than slight irritation.

  “Ash.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. “You got pretty worked up in there.”

  “I’m just tired of all the crap. I want to get to work.”

  “But this case? You said yourself—”

  She held up her hand. “We’re on it. And if anything was going to convince me it’s the right thing, it’s the bosses trying to pull us off.” Ashlyn slid out of his hold, sat down at her desk and automatically got busy leafing through the papers in front of her.

  Mechanical actions. Lacking her usual thoughtful scrutiny of the details.

  “That wasn’t what Steve was doing.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  Tain sat down across from her. “He was pushing your buttons to see how you’d respond.”

  She glanced up at him. “Don’t they ever get tired of playing games?”

  “Look, you—”

  “Do you trust me with this?”

  “I wouldn’t have fought with him if I didn’t.”

  She stared back at him for a moment, appearing to consider his words. “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “How do I look?”

  “Ash.” The growl in his voice sounded harsh to his own ears, which wasn’t what he’d intended. He tried to soften his tone. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “If I was looking for an easy job, I made a big mistake joining the RCMP.”

  Knowing what he meant, choosing to avoid it.

  When he saw the woman who was clearly in charge at the scene, Craig suddenly felt old. She looked as though she’d barely graduated from high school, although that wasn’t to suggest a lack of maturity, just that she looked young. Her olive skin was framed nicely by dark, curly hair that was swept back off her face into a loose bun. As she snapped on gloves, she barely afforded Craig and Mac a quick glance.

  “Are you the ones who found the body?” she asked.

  “Constables Nolan and MacDougall,” Craig said, with a quick gesture to indicate who was who.

  “Not exactly an answer to my question,” the woman said briskly as she bent down beside the remains Craig had found earlier that day.

  Craig knelt on the other side of the body. “There was a team of us out here, searching the area.”

  “Must be your lucky day.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You drew the short straw and got pulled off the manhunt.”

  Craig paused. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Boys chasing a suspect around in the woods with guns or a partially decayed frozen body that actually smells better than it looks.” She glanced at him. “There’s nothing sexy about this.”

  “I’m here to do my job.” He heard the defensive edge in his words, despite his efforts to extricate it.

  The woman looked up at him silently, then glanced at MacDougall before turning back to Craig. “You got any experience dealing with a partially decomposed body?”

  “She looks good, considering how long she’s been dead.”

  “And how long is that, exactly?”

  The heat rushed straight up into his face. “What I meant was—”

  “I’m Dr. Winters,” the woman said coolly. “And I believe I’ll be the judge of how long she’s been dead, how long she’s been lying here and what kind of shape she’s in. Unless, of course, you’re just being modest. Perhaps you have more experience than I do and don’t want me to be intimidated by the fact that you’re really a forensic anthropologist.”

  She stared at him and after a moment said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  There was a tiny tinge of color in her cheeks as she glanced back down at the body. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I must admit from what I’ve seen so far, she does appear to be in good shape.”

  The doctor looked at him for a second. Was the hint of a smile on her lips or was it his imagination?

  “You didn’t answer the other question.”

  Question? Craig scrambled to remember what she’d asked, then nodded. “Sorry. Yes. I’ve dealt with decomps before.” He didn’t add that it was on a case he’d rather forget, a case that could tie directly to the body in front of them.

  Behind him, Mac cleared his throat. Craig didn’t avert his gaze, but the doctor looked up and a shadow flicked across her face before she turned back to Craig.

  “Then you know we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and this won’t be pleasant.”

  He looked down at the body again and nodded. There was a lot of work ahead of them, not just in the next few hours but in the coming days, and he suspected the only thing about the case he’d find pleasant would be closing it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Craig rolled the driver’s side window down as he pulled out onto the road. It was an archaic motion, one most people had forgotten performing, but he’d been unwilling to give up the ’91 Rodeo that he’d had rebuilt when he’d purchased it years before. It wasn’t the most fuel-efficient vehicle—something that he’d been reminded of constantly in recent months of winter and mountain driving—but it was sturdy and reliable.

  Part of him felt that the problem with new vehicles was that there was so much more wiring, it only increased the probability that something would go wrong. Maybe that was the problem with people. So many options, so many choices, opening doors to darkness they might not otherwise have conceived without the twenty-four-hour news cycle and easy acces
s to accounts of barbarity both old and new, foreign and domestic.

  His eyes burned in protest of every set of headlights in the oncoming traffic while his body shivered from the cold air. He guessed it was near freezing, if not below, but he needed the cold to help him keep his eyes open. It was almost 11:30 p.m., and his stomach had long since given up complaining about the lack of food and abundance of coffee, a substance he wasn’t terribly fond of but occasionally drank when necessary to stay awake and alert.

  He’d started drinking it a few months earlier, when he’d left the Lower Mainland on temporary reassignment.

  One temporary reassignment after another.

  The good thing about constantly being shuffled from one team to another, usually because of an emergency, was that he was continually forced to adapt to a new environment, deal with new people. He was living life on the high end of the learning curve, which required him to devote his energy and attention to the here and now.

  No time or energy to think about yesterday and tomorrow, or so he told himself.

  If things ever leveled out, he might be forced to remember what had happened, to process it and come to terms with it and consider what he was going to do when the dust settled.

  Deal with his guilt.

  He had to double-check the number on the motel room before he put the key in the lock, and when he opened the door, there was no feeling of familiarity that greeted him or sense of being home. Just the vague awareness that this room was like so many others he’d slept in over the past few months. Swap out the generic painting on the wall, the color of the bedspread, give or take an extra blanket on the shelf above the open closet and all the temporary accommodations blended together in his mind.

  It stood out in stark contrast to the memory of his own living room in Port Moody, swathed in the glow of firelight and the glimmer of the fiber-optic Christmas tree in the corner. Close his eyes and he could almost feel the warmth of Ashlyn’s presence, the touch of her skin on his arm, the way his chest tightened when he saw her walk into a room, so aware of how much she meant to him, so afraid it was nothing more than a house of cards that would be blown apart by a sudden breeze.