They found the reception area and went through the formalities of presenting ID and explaining what they were after, first to one woman, then another, then a shift supervisor, then someone from management who didn’t look like a doctor.
After explaining who they were and what they wanted for the fourth time, they were left in a small room with a few armchairs, a couch, a poster about STDs and another poster about the benefits of getting the flu shot.
When the door opened, the woman from management accompanied a female doctor, who had dark hair pulled back in a bun and glasses with thick, black frames. “I’m Dr. Waters,” was all she said as she sat down.
Both women carried folders.
Tain glanced at Ashlyn, who held up her ID. “Constables Tain and Hart. We have a few questions about a patient you treated just over two months ago. Millie Harper.”
The doctor glanced at the bureaucrat, who nodded.
“Ms. Harper was treated for a sprained ankle and a sprained wrist, as well as a concussion.”
“Did she provide a local address?”
The manager opened her manila folder and cleared her throat. “Nighthawk Crossing.” She extended a sheet to Tain. “You can keep this copy.”
“Do you know why she came to this hospital?” Tain asked the doctor as he took the offered paper.
Dr. Waters hesitated. “No.”
“But you have a theory.”
“She only wanted me to look at her ankle and wrist, but the moment I touched her, she winced and pulled back. That was to be expected with her injuries, but I moved my hand up her arm and she cried out. When Ms. Harper changed into a gown there were faded bruises visible upon examination, as well as bruises that were purple and black on her arms, legs and back.”
“You’re saying she was abused,” Ashlyn said.
Dr. Waters paused and glanced at the manager, who looked down as she smoothed her skirt. “She claimed she fell down the stairs.”
Tain looked at the sheet in his hand. The reason they’d been forced to jump through hoops and the reason the doctor was being supervised as she answered questions was clear: there was reason to suspect abuse, but the hospital hadn’t reported it. “I understand it was her right foot that was injured.”
The doctor flipped through the pages in the folder. “That’s correct.”
“Did she drive herself?”
“No,” Dr. Waters said. “She was dropped off by an RCMP officer.”
“He left his card,” the manager said smoothly. “I have a copy for you.”
Tain took the sheet and stared at it for a moment. He looked up to see Ashlyn watching him, her forehead pinched.
The hospital had assumed the RCMP officer brought her in after she’d filed charges.
“Did you speak to this officer?”
Dr. Waters shook her head. “I didn’t see him when she was admitted. According to the file, he picked her up when she was released.”
“How did you get his card?”
“He left it with the nurse who admitted Ms. Harper,” the manager said.
“And he never questioned you about her injuries, requested a medical report?” Ashlyn asked.
The doctor shook her head.
“Can I get the name of the nurse who admitted Ms. Harper?”
The doctor and the bureaucrat exchanged a glance, and the manager cleared her throat. “Shelly Brown. She was a temp, and hasn’t worked here since.”
“Do you have her address?”
The bureaucrat offered a thin smile. “I’m sure you understand we have to follow protocol when it comes to releasing confidential information. As it is, we’ve volunteered information to you about Ms. Harper’s case willingly, in an effort to demonstrate our willingness to cooperate with the authorities—”
“You mean cover your ass because you didn’t report suspected abuse to the police when you saw the nature of Ms. Harper’s injuries,” Ashlyn said.
There was silence for a moment. Dr. Waters looked at her lap while the bureaucrat stared back at Ashlyn. Tain cleared his throat.
“Okay, we’ll need a copy of her medical file from when she was treated.”
“We’re correct in believing that Ms. Harper has filed assault charges?” the manager asked as she turned to look at him.
“No, she never filed charges,” Tain said as he stood.
The manager rose to her feet. “Then why—?”
“She was murdered.”
When they returned to the station, they were intercepted before they even had a chance to approach someone and show their ID. They were directed to an office assigned to a Sergeant Yeager, where they were left to wait.
The woman who entered the room a few minutes later was the no-nonsense type and didn’t ask them to be seated.
“Did you fail to catch the real killer?”
Tain was aware of Ashlyn’s sideways glance at his face, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his focus straight ahead, on Yeager’s unyielding stare.
“The Missing Killer case. Did you”—the woman took care to enunciate every syllable slowly—“make a mistake?”
“No, Sergeant.”
She had piercing green eyes that seemed to be trying to bore a hole through his skull. “Yet here you are, investigating the murder of one of the original abductees. You’ll forgive me for being a little sidetracked with this search for a multiple murderer that I’m dealing with, but from what I understand, there are similarities between how she was killed and the murders in Nighthawk Crossing.”
Tain swallowed. “Yes.”
“Why is it I seem to be the only person who thinks maybe you made a mistake and that there’s someone out there who’s finishing what they started a few years ago?”
“With all due respect—” Ashlyn began.
Tain cut her off. “It would be rash to form such a conclusion based on the facts available at present. If we find any evidence that suggests that there was another participant in the murders, who was not apprehended, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Then you’re maintaining that your victim doesn’t have anything to do with the body we recovered in the woods here, a few days ago?”
He hesitated. “It’s too soon to say. We haven’t had a chance to review this new case.”
Yeager maintained her stare. Tain had seen fish that blinked more often.
“We will pursue every lead until exhausted,” he told her. “That’s why we’re here.”
She shifted her glance to Ashlyn, who remained silent, and then Yeager nodded. “I expect you to.”
“We’re going to need access to the files. Who’s working the case?” Tain asked. He ignored the sharp glance Ashlyn gave him.
Yeager sighed. “Nolan was pretty much handling this on his own.”
“Craig Nolan?”
She nodded.
“Is he here?” Tain asked.
Yeager’s mouth formed a hard line. “He’s been suspended.”
From the corner of his eye, Tain could see the color drain out of Ashlyn’s face. He didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t sure he wanted the answers Yeager might have for him.
“I can give you his local number.”
“And an address for where he’s staying. We’ll need to talk to him.”
Tain watched her nod as she picked up the phone, dialed an extension, requested the phone number and jotted it down before hanging up without so much as a quick thank-you. She passed the slip of paper to Tain. “Keep me informed” was all she said before she dismissed them.
Once they were back in the car, Ashlyn turned to look at Tain. “What the hell is going on?”
“I have no idea,” he told her as he handed her the second piece of paper with the photocopied image of Craig’s business card. He’d only needed a quick glance to confirm the number for the cell phone was the same number Yeager had given him moments before. “But we need to find out. Fast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Whatever had happened between Cr
aig and Ashlyn in the aftermath of her assault, Tain had never asked.
She’d stayed with him during her medical leave. For hours at a time he was at the station and he’d never questioned her about how she’d spent her days. One afternoon when he’d returned home, he’d found her sorting through some boxes.
More things she’d brought from the house she’d shared with Craig.
Whatever had happened between them, he’d told himself it wasn’t any of his business. He’d told himself he didn’t need to know. He’d told himself Ashlyn was one of the strongest people he’d ever met, and that in time, she’d come to terms with her grief over the loss of her unborn child.
He’d never concerned himself with whether she’d come to terms with the end of her relationship with Craig. Craig, so hell-bent on questioning whether his father was infallible that he wasn’t there for Ashlyn when she’d needed him most.
There were days he found himself wishing Craig would rot in hell. Usually, they were the days he saw the shadow of pain in Ashlyn’s eyes as she walked by Craig’s empty desk, the paleness of her skin when someone mentioned his name. The act of walking into her sergeant’s office served as a daily reminder.
He would have throttled Craig himself if he could be certain that every ounce of pain he inflicted would be less pain Ashlyn would need to carry, but it didn’t work that way. He knew that. His own scars ran too deep, and in the years since the death of his daughter, he’d come to terms with the hollow realization that no amount of punishment Noelle’s mother faced was enough. The woman who’d given Noelle life and then ultimately took it from her had faced justice from the courts, but the judgment against her had only compounded the grief he still carried within him. The years of Noelle’s life that she would never have had been measured against the time her mother had served when they released her on parole after only a few years behind bars.
Thinking about the injustice of it made him wonder why he’d stayed with the RCMP when the system he served had failed him so completely, first with Noelle’s death, then with the hand slap they’d measured out to punish the woman who’d killed her.
As Tain looked around the motel room at the liquor bottles scattered across the floor, the picture dangling above the bed by a thread of wire, the phone book lying open near the doorway, some of the pages bent beneath it like it had been hurled across the room and left where it landed, the blood on the sheets left in a heap on the bed, he realized the justice he would have measured out against Craig was being served.
If his wish had the power to inflict this upon Craig, he would have retracted it the moment he saw the look on Ashlyn’s face. She moved for the first time since Tain had opened the door and crossed to the nightstand beside the bed, where a torn photo lay. He walked over and stopped beside her and looked down.
A photo of Ashlyn, in black and white. She was in a dark skirt with a matching jacket, one that always caused more men than usual to give her a second glance, talking to Liam Kincaid, the detective constable from the New Westminster Police Department who’d assisted with the Reimer case.
He knew it must have been taken only a few weeks earlier, when they’d been called to answer questions relating to the pending charges against Officer Parker.
Parker. The kind of cop who liked the uniform because of the power it brought the person, not because of how it enabled the person to serve the public. Tain doubted he’d met a more egotistical sonofabitch in all his years on the job, and Parker’s recklessness had jeopardized Tain and Ashlyn’s investigation of the murder of Jeffrey Reimer from day one.
Parker had ultimately been responsible for at least one more murder.
Some would argue Parker was partly to blame for four deaths. Tain included.
He remembered the day they’d been summoned to answer questions. Parker remained a suspect in Ashlyn’s assault, and Tain had worried about how Ashlyn would handle the proceedings, but Officer Parker hadn’t even appeared to hear the testimony given.
At the time he’d been relieved, but now he found himself wondering why.
Craig hadn’t been there, so what was he doing with a photo of Ashlyn and Liam Kincaid? Had he been stalking Ashlyn, having her followed?
Tain walked around the bed to the dresser and pulled the drawers open one by one, then checked the bathroom, returned to the main room and looked under the bed.
Nothing but carpet and one single slip of paper. He picked it up.
Forty-seven Old Main.
He looked around the room again, and this time, instead of focusing on the mess his eyes took in what wasn’t there.
No clothes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Craig stared down at the photo in his hand. They’d rushed to get it done.
“They’re going to keep working,” Dr. Winters had told him when he’d stopped by the coroner’s office twenty minutes earlier.
He’d told her not to worry, that he understood it took time to generate an image from remains. What he held in his hand was the baseline, like a picture that was slightly out of focus. The more time the team had to scrutinize the measurements and factor in the state of the body and damage to the corpse, the closer the image would be to the actual girl it portrayed.
Craig pried his gaze away from the ghost that stared up at him and slipped the photo back into the folder.
The body they’d found was the right height and ethnicity, but one thing that didn’t fit was the image they’d come up with after scanning her face and trying to generate a reasonable likeness.
Kacey Young had been a slender girl. The victim had been heavy, and her jawbone had been poorly set after a blow, which caused it to twist to the left side permanently.
Jane Doe’s eyes were dull, not at all like the vibrant eyes that had sparkled in all the photos he’d seen of Kacey Young, but he had to remind himself that Jane Doe’s eyes weren’t real eyes.
They were just part of a generated image. Placeholders. What dreams, what experiences, what happiness and hope all combined to make Kacey Young the energetic, lively girl she’d appeared to be was something no doctor or artist looking at a corpse could detect. Dr. Winters had said it herself; she preferred to deal in facts. She had to.
He glanced at his watch. Summer’s hotel was on the other side of the city, but he’d been careful to pick an inconspicuous diner that had a narrow entrance beside a gas station on the outskirts of town. This was the type of place that picked up a fair bit of passerby revenue from highway traffic, and made its bread and butter off local residents who liked a certain kind of atmosphere. For those who wanted privacy, there were more booths in the back, where the décor changed to dark paneled walls. Near the entrance there were smaller booths to the one side, a long counter area with stools to his left, which spoke to the type of trade the diner specialized in. Customers who usually came in alone, on their way to work, looking for a friendly face to chat with and quick, cheap food that was made to order.
It wasn’t where the tourists or upper middle class thought to stop for coffee.
Craig opened the door and went inside, careful to keep his face tilted so that the swelling wouldn’t be so obvious. It was a diner filled with shadows, which was exactly what he wanted.
He picked a booth in the back and took the far side so that he could watch the door, then pulled out his cell phone and sent her a text confirming he was there.
A few minutes later, the string of bells on the door clanged as it opened. Summer paused as she scanned the room, then let the door fall shut behind her when she saw Craig. She’d started to sit down across from him before she got a good look at his face.
“What happened to you?”
“Don’t worry about me.” His jaw still hurt like hell.
“What can I get for yas?”
“A Coke,” Craig said. “Egg-salad sandwich and fries.” He wasn’t taking chances trying to chew a burger, and once he left he didn’t want to stop anywhere else before leaving town.
“Toast
ed?”
“No. Thanks.” He looked at Summer.
She ordered tea.
Craig waited until the waitress was out of earshot. “Like I said on the phone—”
“I know. It’s a pretty basic image.”
He slid the folder across the table and watched the battle on Summer’s face. She blinked and reached for it, but then paused as she looked up at Craig, her eyes wide with the fear. Summer would tell herself Craig’s caution was part of the job, to make sure he didn’t say anything that would cloud her judgment. Summer would tell herself whatever she needed to, so long as she could hold on to the hope that there might be a break in the case. Once she looked inside, she might have the answers she’d sought for so long, but part of her was starting to realize that the answers might hold truths she wasn’t ready to face.
To have a sister disappear was hard enough. Craig knew that. Hope hovered like an angel of light, while despair lurked like a creature of darkness. Every phone call, every knock at the door threatened to confirm your deepest fears, to bring answers that could serve as wounds that would scar the soul forever. The initial pain of suffering a loss could be compounded by the awareness that your sister had suffered, that her final days were spent in agony, that she’d died at the hands of a madman before you had a chance to tell her you loved her one last time.
The things left unsaid between loved ones often cut the deepest.
Ashlyn’s face flashed through his mind.
“You’ll have to try to imagine how she might have changed in the months since you last saw her.”
Summer lifted a trembling hand to tuck her dark hair behind her ear. A mechanical motion, one Craig remembered from before. She came off strong and confident, ready to fight anyone who dared to stand in her way, but beneath the tough exterior there was a tender heart. This was the woman who’d talked to the press before the task force had been created, the person who’d first accused them of racism.
The person who’d made the task force happen.
She was also the woman who’d created a makeshift memorial for the girls listed as The Missing.
Lullaby for the Nameless (Nolan, Hart & Tain Thrillers) Page 19
