by Stacy Green
Rory shrugged. “Who knows? He’s been so fucking railroaded, I can’t count on anything.”
Nikki snatched her receipt and tried not to sprint to the door. “Thank you.”
“You forgot your candy.” Rory grinned and tossed her the sugar babies.
“Thanks.” Nikki pocketed the bag and hurried outside. The cold wind almost pulled the jeep’s door from her hand. “Christ.” Nikki slammed it shut and caught her breath.
She knew Stillwater was still a small town, but what were the odds she’d end up at the same gas station as Mark Todd’s brother? Rory had been in middle school when everything happened, and he used to follow Mark to the bonfires he’d have near the creek that ran between the Todd property and her parents’. Mark had been more tolerant of his younger brother than most, but he’d always sent him home when the alcohol came out.
Nikki remembered Mark as an average-sized, wiry guy with a plain face. Between the green eyes and the jawline, Rory had clearly been blessed with the superior genes.
What would he say if he knew who he’d been standing next to?
Rory came out of the store, and Nikki slunk down into the seat. He got into a white pickup truck with Todd Construction clearly emblazoned on the passenger’s door.
Nikki had intended to read the paper at home, but the headline tormented her.
Striking new evidence has come to light, leading to a retrial of Mark Todd, currently serving a life sentence in prison for the murder of Dean and Valerie Walsh.
The daughter of the victims, one Nicole Walsh, claimed to have discovered Todd in her home when she found her parents dead. Her identification of Todd led to his arrest.
An exclusive source has revealed that then sixteen-year-old Nicole Walsh had been drinking heavily the night her parents were killed, casting doubt on her reliability as a witness.
Nikki almost ripped the paper in half. She’d taken both a field sobriety and a blood test the night of her parents’ deaths and she knew that Mark’s appeal was based on lies.
Both the district attorney’s office and Sheriff Hardin—then Deputy Hardin, who arrived first on the scene—did not return phone calls, but Deputy Hardin’s original report stated Nicole Walsh passed his initial sobriety test.
Nikki remembered the paramedic taking her blood and filling out the chain of custody paper. There must have been a toxicology report too.
If the DNA extracted from the new biological evidence is not a match for Mark Todd, it is possible his attorneys will push for a full exoneration.
Vomit rose in Nikki’s throat. In the mid-nineties, DNA testing had been limited, but technological advancements meant even the tiniest samples could be tested. What had happened to the touch DNA taken from the lamp cord and the windowsill in her room?
Nikki’s stomach turned. Biological evidence almost always meant blood or semen.
She threw the paper on the seat and started the jeep. The windshield wipers clicked and made a grinding sound, but only the passenger side moved.
Fantastic. She dug around for her scraper, hoping breaking up the ice would do the trick.
She’d barely rounded the open driver’s door when her feet shot out from under her, her back and head hitting the icy concrete. Stunned, she lay still and tried to catch her breath.
“Don’t move.” Rory’s worried face was suddenly inches from hers. He definitely wasn’t the short kid with the even shorter hair anymore. His cap was gone, and the mess of dark, wavy hair framing his face made him seem even younger.
“I’m okay,” she said, embarrassed.
“Just take a second and get your breath,” he said. “Can you move your fingers and toes?”
“Yes.” Sleet pelted her face and her elbow stung.
Nikki slowly sat up and touched the growing bump on the back of her head.
Rory held up three fingers. “How many?”
“Three. I don’t have a concussion. I just need to get up.”
He grabbed her hand and slipped his other arm behind her back. “Slowly.”
Nikki closed her eyes against the vertigo, her forehead against his shoulder, her free hand on his chest. He smelled like clean laundry.
“If you’re dizzy, you shouldn’t be driving back to St. Paul, especially in this weather.”
“I’ll be okay.” Nikki stepped back, heat creeping over her face. “I just need a few minutes. Stupid windshield wiper.”
“Sit down and I’ll look at it.”
Nikki tried not to think about his last name as he helped her to the driver’s seat. She mentally went through a concussion checklist while Rory cleaned off the wiper blade.
“This thing is about shot,” he said. “Barely any rubber left. You need to replace it before you drive very far. There’s a hardware store down the road. They can do it for you if you don’t know how.”
“Thanks.” Nikki’s father had made her learn to check her oil, replace a flat tire and put on new windshield wipers before she even got her license.
Rory leaned against the driver’s door. “You’re welcome, Nicole.”
“How do you know my name?” She looked up at him nervously.
“I didn’t until just now. At least I wasn’t certain it was really you. I thought you looked familiar.” He glanced at the newspaper lying on the console and then looked away.
“I should have said something,” Nikki admitted. “But there were other people around, and I didn’t think it was the right time or place.”
“So you made a quick decision and ran. Must be a habit of yours.” Rory wiped the sleet out of his hair and looked at her with disgust.
“Thanks again for your help,” Nikki said. “I need to get this blade replaced and head off.”
Rory still held the door. “But you’ll be back, because you’re investigating those two little girls’ murders.”
She pulled on the door again, but Rory didn’t budge. She tried to focus on the anger in his eyes and not his full lips.
“You caught the resort killer, right? I’ve heard you have quite the reputation these days,” he said. Nikki felt nervous under his gaze.
“My team and I caught him,” she replied.
“Now you’re after the Frost guy,” he continued. “You hunt big game. Tell me, Nikki, with all your fancy degrees now, do you think you can you tell when someone’s lying if you’re talking to them face to face?”
Nikki felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t expected to stay under the radar but running into Rory was the one thing she’d hoped to avoid.
As much as she wanted to react to his sarcastic tone, she knew it would only egg him on. “I don’t need to see your brother to tell you that he’s lying,” she said evenly. “I was hiding in my parents’ closet when he came back upstairs. He whispered my name, and he would have killed me too if he’d found me first.”
Nikki had cowered inside the closet for what felt like hours, wanting to flee. She had no idea where Mark was in the house, what he was doing, or if he was close to discovering her. She’d strained to hear his footsteps, wondering when he would enter her parents’ bedroom and discover Nikki’s hiding place. Her heart had pounded in her chest, and the fear had nearly paralyzed her as the minutes ticked by. And then she’d taken a chance, managed to get downstairs and out of the house, fleeing to the neighbors.
“I can’t talk about your brother’s case, I’m sorry.” Nikki had to wrap this up before she lost her temper.
“I don’t want your apologies,” Rory said. “I want you to open your eyes and find out what really happened that night.”
“I know what happened,” Nikki replied.
Rory stared at Nikki for a moment, his eyebrows knitted together. He rubbed the back of his neck and chewed the inside of his cheek.
“What?” Nikki said. “There’s obviously something else you want to say.”
“There’s no tox report.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the paper,” Nikki replied. “That report
er clearly has an agenda.”
Rory shook his head. “Mark’s new lawyer has a copy of the entire case file. There’s no tox report.”
Dread crept through her. She’d had her blood drawn, hadn’t she? So much of the night had become a blur to her because she’d worked so hard to bury the horrible image of her mother’s dead body. Her parents had been good people, respected by the community and neighbors. Her mother loved to volunteer at the library, working with the younger readers. She would have been a wonderful grandmother. The ache in her throat was becoming unbearable.
“Mark can fill in the blank spots,” Rory said. “He’s the only one who knows what happened that night.”
“You’re finally making sense.”
“I’m talking about the party,” Rory clarified. “You need to know what happened at that damn party while you were passed out cold. You told the police Mark attacked you while you were there, that he wanted you and you rejected him. That he went to your house to wait for you and you walked in once he had killed your parents. But the people protecting you back then weren’t honest with you. You don’t have the whole story.”
Nikki jerked the door into Rory’s hip. “I’m leaving now.”
Rory stepped back but still held the door. “You should talk to Mark soon, before the truth all comes out.”
“Goodbye.” She yanked the door harder this time, and he finally moved enough for her to close it.
Screw the wiper blade. Nikki needed a hot shower and a stiff drink.
Nine
Nikki slipped the ice pack beneath her tailbone and tried to get comfortable in the stiff hotel bed. The aspirin she’d taken had helped her headache, but her tailbone still throbbed, and her nerves were on edge. She’d called the district attorney, but he’d already left the office for the day. She told his service to make sure he knew she would be there first thing in the morning.
She’d spent a blissful half an hour on the phone with Lacey. The sound of her happy voice and little-girl giggles had been a perfect distraction. After Nikki told her daughter good night, Tyler took the phone and started in about the newspaper article. Her ex meant well, but Nikki didn’t have the energy to talk about it and telling him about seeing Rory was out of the question. Tyler could be overprotective, and Nikki would get snappy and say something she’d have to apologize for tomorrow. She ended the call with a promise to call tomorrow evening.
Nikki opened the internet browser on her phone and typed in her name. Her heart immediately sank. Today’s article had been picked up by just about every news outlet in the state.
You have blank spots.
That wasn’t true, Nikki thought. She remembered sneaking out of the window and meeting John at the end of the long, winding drive. They’d gone to the party. More of a gathering, really. Only a few of John’s friends had been there. Nikki had felt out of place being the only girl. She’d felt dizzy later on in the night and gone to lie down, but her memory after getting home was crystal clear.
By the time police arrived, Mark had fled, but he was arrested within hours. His bloodstained clothes were found in the trash, the blood later confirmed as her mother’s. His prints were all over the gun. And she was told that it was an open-and-shut case, according to Hardin and the prosecution. So, what biological evidence had the reporter been talking about? she wondered.
Nikki scrolled through the article and realized she hadn’t read the last paragraph.
Nicole Walsh, who now goes by her married name Hunt, is a Special Agent with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. She’s currently in Stillwater to assist the sheriff’s office in the murder investigation of two local teenaged girls. She declined all requests for interviews.
Nikki had instructed her unit’s office manager to weed out any media requests regarding her parents’ case as soon as news broke about the DNA testing. The reporter’s information wasn’t wrong, but her wording suggested she’d spoken to Nikki personally. She could probably get the newspaper to make the correction, but that also opened up a line of communication she had no interest in pursuing, and besides, the comments were already pouring in. The top two appeared to be social justice warriors engaged with several posters on whether or not the sheriff’s office might have railroaded Mark Todd. Some users claimed to have stories about other wrongdoings by police, a few attacked Nikki’s character and one user seemed particularly fascinated with the Frost Killer, but his supposed insider knowledge was way off target.
Nikki’s hand froze, and she stared at the screen.
Join our protest in Stillwater. We meet at the intersection by the sheriff’s office every morning at 9:00 a.m. Agent Hunt will have to use that entrance and we’re hoping to talk with her.
The user had commented with the information at least three times. She clicked on the username, but the account had been created today. Nikki had no way of tracing the identity. She fired off an email to the FBI’s press liaison, directing them to ask the newspaper to monitor comments that could interfere with Nikki’s investigation into Madison and Kaylee’s murders.
Nikki didn’t have time to ward off continuous interview requests and pushy protesters. Should she make some sort of statement asking the media to back off? The idea of giving anything more to the wolves was sickening, but maybe it would keep them at bay long enough for her to work this case.
She closed the browser and opened the group chat with Liam and Courtney. They’d already been brought up to speed about today’s interviews, and Liam had come back from Hudson without anything useful. Courtney didn’t have a lot to do without physical evidence, but Nikki knew she’d pressure the medical examiner to prioritize Madison and Kaylee when they could. She sent them a quick update.
Miller found us a space in the government center. Let’s meet at nine tomorrow morning and figure out where to go next. Court, I’ll call the medical examiner first thing in the morning for an ETA on the evidence.
Liam replied with a thumbs up. Courtney was probably asleep, but she’d see the message in the morning.
“Ouch.” Nikki got out of bed and hobbled across the room. She tossed the melting ice into the trash and made sure the door was locked. The cheap wine she’d bought at Target tempted her from its spot on top of the bureau. If she opened it, Nikki would probably drink too much and end up with a hangover. Her body already felt bad enough.
She set the alarm on her phone for six, giving her plenty of time to go to the district attorney’s office before heading into Stillwater. As she shifted around trying to find a position that didn’t put pressure on her tailbone, ideas for her potential statement ran through her head. The objective was making it clear to the media that Nikki’s priority was finding Madison and Kaylee’s killer. I understand the media’s interest into my past… two grieving families… parents shouldn’t have to bury their kids… prioritize…
Despite the drowsiness settling over her, Nikki continued drafting one version of the statement after another in her head. None of them sounded exactly right.
A strange buzzing sound filled her head, followed by images too murky to understand. And then she was back in the farmhouse, her heart pounding and sweat running down her back. Blood on the stairs. The creaky step. A woman lying in a pool of blood, her face slack, her arm dangling over the bed.
Her eyes flashed open. She stared straight at Nikki. “You did this.”
Roger Mathews had been elected district attorney last fall. He had an impressive run as a prosecutor, but his track record suggested he only took slam-dunk cases to trial. Nikki sat down in the chair in front of his desk and tried to keep her composure. When she’d woken up this morning, the old FBI T-shirt she’d worn to bed was drenched in sweat. She’d slept for five hours but felt like she hadn’t even closed her eyes, and she still hadn’t managed to loosen the muscles in her bruised back by the time she made it to Mathews’ office. “I assume you’ve read the paper?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was at a family event and didn’t learn about it
until late last night. I planned to reach out this morning.”
“Good thing I’m here then.” Nikki glared at him. “What biological evidence is the paper talking about? Now suddenly there’s a new sample?”
Roger Mathews sighed. “I apologize for the way you found out. As I told you when we spoke before the holidays, I’ve only recently taken over the office. This case has moved very quickly.”
“I just want answers.”
“As you know, Mark’s been working on an appeal for several years and asking for new DNA testing. He’s been denied multiple times, and he didn’t have the money for legal representation beyond a public defender.”
“Until the Innocence Project became involved over the summer.”
Mathews nodded. “They originally requested to test the touch DNA taken from the lamp in your room, your father’s clothes and your windowsill.” DNA testing had come a long way since the original investigation. Microscopic samples of skin cells could now be tested and produce what was called touch DNA. Nikki had read about touch DNA convicting people years after the crime, but she’d also heard some experts argue that certain kinds weren’t reliable enough to use in court. Nikki also knew that this type of DNA testing was expensive, and with so much other evidence against Mark, she’d previously been told that no judge would approve it. “Patsy Moran convinced the judge to order the testing,” Mathews said quietly.
Nikki’s mouth had gone dry. “Patsy Moran took the case?”
Patsy Moran was a retired prosecutor who had tried and won some of Minnesota’s grisliest murders. In 2014, a man prosecuted for the murders of four teenaged girls nearly two decades prior was fully exonerated with DNA evidence. Moran worked for the original prosecutor’s office, and the conviction never sat right with her. She’d joined the Innocence Project the day after the news of the exoneration broke. She hadn’t lost a case since.
