Stone Cold Heart

by Laura Griffin

  She smirked. “You were vetting my credentials.”

  “I was.”

  “Well, what’d you think?” She started walking, and he fell into step beside her.

  “PhD in anthropology,” he recited. “Associate professor at American University, followed by a stint with the International Forensic Anthropology Foundation. Very impressive.”

  “No, I meant the lecture. It’s part of our summer series. Dr. Filburn asked me to do it and left the topic up to me. I worried it was a little much.” She looked at him, and he was struck again by how green her eyes were. “What was your take?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I was pretty blown away.” And that was an understatement. He’d watched from the back of the room for forty minutes as she’d presented slides showing the mass graves she’d excavated down in Guatemala. Many of the victims were boys or young men who’d been caught up in gang violence. Some victims were killed simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and had witnessed the carnage. When Sara got to the picture of a toddler-size skeleton, her impassioned words had moved people to tears. Even Nolan had gotten a lump in his throat.

  “I’d never heard about it,” he said. “And I keep up with stuff like that.”

  “Stuff like . . . ?”

  “Murder. Violence. The twisted shit people do to each other.”

  They passed the admissions office and continued toward the parking lot.

  “I’m not surprised you didn’t see it in the news,” she said. “Everything’s infotainment now. This happened in a foreign country, and there’s no celebrity connection.” She glanced up at him. “Not to get on a soapbox, but it’s something that bothers me.”

  They reached the street, and he stopped walking. “I got your voice mail,” he said.

  “I take it that’s why you came?”

  “I figure I’m not going to like what you have to tell me. If it was easy, you would have said it over the phone.”

  She sighed and looked out over the parking lot. Her honey-colored hair was smooth and shiny tonight, and she’d left it down. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing a baseball cap and coveralls, and her nose was pink from the sun.

  “There’s a lot we need to go over,” she said now. “We should sit down. How about somewhere close? Maybe Schmitt’s Beer Garden?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll meet you over there.”

  • • •

  Nolan insisted on paying for their beers, and they found an empty table outside under a giant oak. Strands of white lights wrapped the tree, casting a glow over the entire patio. With the misters going, it was almost pleasant outside.

  Sara took a seat at the picnic table and shed her linen blazer. She wore a silk tank underneath, and the breeze felt good on her bare arms. She smoothed her hair self-consciously. She hadn’t planned on a date. She’d skipped makeup and only added a spritz of Chanel before leaving home tonight. She didn’t care for expensive clothes or makeup, but she spent a lot of time around bad smells, and French perfume was her one indulgence.

  Nolan sat across from her. “You come here often?”

  She smiled, and he shook his head.

  “Sorry. That sounded like a line. I’m asking because the only time I’ve been here, I was with Alex and Nathan.”

  “Alex from our cybercrimes unit?”

  “Yeah. I worked with her husband up in Austin way back when.”

  Alex’s husband was a detective with Austin PD, and he had a ton of connections in cop circles.

  “So, you started your career with APD?” Sara asked.

  “Yep.”

  She squeezed a lemon wedge and dropped it into her glass. At Nolan’s suggestion, she was trying a wheat beer from a local brewery. “How come you left?” she asked.

  “Thought I might like the job better in a smaller city. You know, make more of an impact.”

  She sipped her beer, wondering whether that was the full story or if there was more to it. Some people joined a small department to rise through the ranks faster.

  “And do you? Like it better?” she asked.

  “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”

  She looked at his fingers around the beer glass. He had capable-looking hands and a tan that suggested he spent a lot of time outside.

  Sara’s nerves fluttered. This wasn’t a date. Not even close. But something about the way he watched her made her imagination take off. There was an undercurrent of attraction between them. Or maybe it was just her.

  Her gaze met his, and he lifted an eyebrow. Okay, it wasn’t just her. He was definitely giving her a look.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, deflecting the conversation away from himself.

  “No, I don’t come here much. Honestly, I don’t go out a lot. At least, not to bars.”

  She’d just made herself sound like a nerd, but it was true.

  “So what do you like to do for fun, Dr. Lockhart?” He smiled slyly and sipped his beer.

  “When I get time—which isn’t often—I like outdoor activities,” she said. “Hiking, rappelling.”

  “I figured that. Where’d you learn to rappel?”

  “College. It’s my favorite hobby. And in grad school, I joined a volunteer S-and-R team.” She sighed. “What else? Oh, salsa dancing.”

  He arched his brows.

  “You don’t like salsa?” she asked.

  “Dancing’s not my thing. I’m more into sports.”

  She tried to guess which one. Football, maybe? He had the tall, trim build of a receiver. Or maybe he’d been a runner. He certainly had the long legs for it.

  And now she was thinking about his body again. She sipped her drink to distract herself. This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. He was here for her expertise.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “The beer? It’s good.” She cleared her throat. “So, Nolan, I’m preparing my report, and I’ve got most of the basics covered at this point. But there are a few things I wanted to talk through.”

  He nodded.

  “First of all, it isn’t Kaylin Baird.”

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and she realized the Bairds weren’t the only ones who had been holding out hope that the bones belonged to Kaylin. Nolan had to know that the chances of finding Kaylin alive after fourteen months were slim, so his most realistic hope was to get her family some closure and move forward with the investigation.

  “The remains are female, likely Caucasian—”

  “Likely?”

  “Ancestry is based on data collected over many decades. But more and more, we’re living in a melting pot, so the lines are blurred.”

  “Okay.”

  “As for age, looking at cranial sutures and tooth development, I’d say very early twenties. Possibly even as young as nineteen. And stature—she was somewhat shorter than average, about sixty-two inches. We recovered some soft tissue, as I mentioned, but it’s desiccated and discolored, so not necessarily reliable in determining race. However, from the bits of hair we have, we know she was a brunette.”

  Sara watched him, waiting for him to absorb all this. She had done some googling of her own and knew from several news stories that Kaylin Baird was a five-foot-four blonde.

  “Another important factor is PMI,” she said.

  “Postmortem interval.”

  “That’s right. The condition of the remains reveals a lot. I can tell you she most likely died between six and ten months ago. But I’d like to provide you with something more specific than that, and I keep coming back to her location.”

  “In Rattlesnake, you mean.”

  “Yes, down in the gorge. In that particular location, buried the way she was under sand and debris.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. It didn’t look like a man-made grave.”

  “Exactly. And the site is remote. Not near a highway.
I can’t see anyone hauling a body down there, on a two-point-six-mile trail, so it seems more likely she was dumped off a cliff and her body ended up there as a result of natural forces.”

  “In other words, you think she was dumped upstream and then washed down in a flood?”

  Sara nodded. “It’s a possibility, yes.”

  “October ninth of last year. That’s the last flash flood.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “You looked it up already,” Sara said, surprised.

  He nodded. “We got six inches of rain in four hours.”

  They really had been thinking along the same lines, and Sara felt relieved. So often she had to spend time and energy bringing detectives around to her conclusions, but Nolan was already there.

  “It’s a theory, and I can’t be certain,” she added. “But what really supports this idea is the bones themselves.”

  His brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “They show trauma—fractures consistent with an inert body being dropped from an elevation. So the body could have been dumped off a cliff upstream. But when it was subsequently buried in sand and debris, the skeleton was intact. That’s the key. If decomposition had been advanced at the time of the flood, the connective tissue would have been mostly gone when the floodwaters hit, and we would have found the bones scattered. Or maybe never found them at all.”

  “That narrows our time frame,” he said.

  “Exactly. Now we’re talking about a PMI of nine to ten months. In other words, her body was dumped shortly before the last flood on October ninth.”

  “A four-week window for the murder. That helps me a lot.”

  She felt a wave of satisfaction. One of her core objectives was to help investigators as much as she could. She liked the spark in Nolan’s eyes, as though he couldn’t wait to run with this lead.

  “This is great. Thank you.”

  “Glad to help.” She sipped her beer again, watching him.

  “So what’s your next step?” he asked.

  “As of this moment, she’s a Jane Doe. But I have DNA, which I’ll submit to the missing-persons database, see if we can get a hit. I’ll also submit her dental X-rays.”

  “I’ll be in touch with law-enforcement agencies, starting local and then moving farther out.” He paused. “I assume you’re treating this as a homicide?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, what else?” he asked.

  “What else what?”

  “The purple string at the gravesite.” He watched her closely. “That’s important. I could tell by your reaction when Aaron found it and called us over.”

  He was right, the twine was important, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. If she voiced her suspicions, she might throw his investigation into a tailspin, and for what? She could be wrong. She was still waiting on feedback from Cliff Underwood, as well as the cordage expert at the Delphi Center.

  “I’ll get back to you on the twine.”

  “That’s it?” His voice had an edge.

  “I’m still checking into a few things. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

  He just looked at her.

  “I’ve barely had this case two days, Nolan. You need to give me some time here. We have to be meticulous. We can’t be pressured into providing incomplete—or, worse, inaccurate—information.”

  He gave a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

  She could tell he was skeptical. And impatient. But he had more than enough information now to move forward, and the answers she needed would be coming soon.

  She hoped.

  “I’ll get you more info as soon as I can,” she said. “Probably by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then slid his glass away. “I had better get back. I need to go by the Bairds’ tonight.”

  She ignored the tug of disappointment as he stood up. Of course, he had to get back now. He had work still to do and a two-hour drive ahead of him. Silently, they walked to the parking lot together. His dusty white pickup was right beside her black Explorer.

  She popped her locks and lingered near the bumper. Despite their friction over the case, she’d enjoyed hanging out with him, and she didn’t want it to end. Which was ridiculous. She had work left to do tonight, too.

  He eased closer, and her pulse picked up. “Thank you for giving up your weekend,” he said.

  “It’s no problem. Thank you for the beer.”

  He held out his hand. She shook it and felt a warm rush as his fingers closed around hers. Their gazes held, and she had the odd sensation of being pulled into him, even though they didn’t move.

  He stepped back. “Keep me posted, Sara.”

  “I will.”

  • • •

  Sara lived in a vintage building that had been a paper factory before it was converted to loft apartments. The place had a lot going for it—charming brickwork, a prime location, affordable rent. What it didn’t have was parking, and Sara leased a space in the lot behind the bakery next door.

  She grabbed her computer bag and locked her car, eyeing the dark corners of the parking lot for anything suspicious. In many ways, San Marcos was an idyllic college town, but as Nolan had pointed out, looks could be deceiving.

  She walked past the bakery and was surprised to see a white SUV roll to a stop at a meter across the street. Kelsey Quinn slid out and gave her a wave. Sara waved back as her coworker waited for a break in traffic and hurried across the street.

  “Didn’t know you were back,” Sara said.

  “Just got in.”

  Kelsey was tall and slender. She wore jeans and a sleeveless white shirt that showed off her new tan. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a ponytail.

  “How was Belize?” Sara asked.

  “Restful. How’s everything here?”

  “Fine. Not exactly restful, but we’ve managed to juggle it.” Sara paused, searching Kelsey’s face for clues. She wasn’t in the habit of stopping by, so something had to be up.

  “Sorry to just drop in,” Kelsey said.

  “Not at all. Want to come up?”

  “For a minute, yeah. I won’t keep you.”

  Sara tapped her entry code, ushered Kelsey into the tiled lobby, and led her to the stairwell.

  “Elevator not working?” Kelsey asked, glancing at the antique cage with an ornate door.

  “It’s temperamental.”

  Sara’s second-floor unit was the first door on the left. She unlocked it and let Kelsey inside.

  “Hey, you changed it,” Kelsey said, looking around.

  “Finally got around to unpacking.” Sara dropped her computer bag on the armchair and went into the kitchen. Her place was all one room, with a long granite bar dividing the kitchen from the living area. Her bed—currently unmade—was pushed against the exposed brick wall to maximize living space.

  “It’s a mess, I know.”

  “You should see my place.” Kelsey set her purse on the counter and glanced around.

  “I’m out of wine, but I’ve got juice, tea. Think there’s a Corona in here somewhere,” Sara said.

  “I’ll have tea, if it’s handy.”

  “Hot okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Sara took out a kettle and filled it with water as Kelsey stepped over to a shelf filled with anthropology books. She seemed intrigued by the titles. Kelsey had been over once before to pick up a report, but everything had been in boxes.

  Kelsey looked at a small wooden statue of a rice god, guardian of the harvest, which had been given to Sara on a visit to the Philippine rice terraces. Sara displayed it on her top shelf beside a Virgin Mary triptych—which would have made her devout grandmother frown with disapproval. Sara was too much of a scientist to believe in superstitions, but for some reason, she liked having guardians from two totally different cultures keeping watch over her home. She found them comforting, and they reminded her of special people in her life.


  “Are these Salvadoran?” Kelsey asked, studying a row of painted figurines.

  “Guatemalan.”

  “That’s right. You spent a summer down there, didn’t you?”

  “A year.”

  Kelsey wandered over to the kitchen and leaned on the bar. “How was that?”

  Sara took her time answering. “Heartbreaking.”

  Kelsey nodded knowingly. She had spent a summer in northern Iraq and had seen her share of atrocities as well.

  “But educational, too. And I met some amazing people.”

  “I bet.”

  Sara waited for the water to boil and for Kelsey to get to whatever was on her mind.

  “I’m sorry for leaving you guys in a lurch,” Kelsey said. “Two weeks is a long time, I know. I’ve never taken a vacation that long.”

  “It flew by.”

  “For me, too.” Kelsey smiled, but her eyes looked worried. “I really needed the break.” She paused. “You know, I probably should have told you this, but several months ago, I had a miscarriage.”

  Sara stepped closer. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No one did.” She shook her head. “It’s fine now. Well, not fine, obviously, but better. We’re going to try again soon.”

  Sara didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what the correct response was. Through some lighthearted teasing at work, she’d picked up on the fact that Kelsey and her husband were trying to have a baby. She hadn’t realized they’d lost one.

  “How is Gage doing?” Sara asked.

  Kelsey tipped her head to the side. “You know, most people don’t ask about him.” She paused. “Gage is . . . okay. It’s been hard for him. Not only losing the baby but seeing me hurting.” She looked at Sara. “You’ve never been married before, right?”

  “I was engaged once, but it didn’t work out.”

  Kelsey waited, and Sara felt oddly compelled to explain, which she didn’t usually do. “We’d been engaged almost a year, and then a few months before the wedding, I started to panic. I had all these doubts about, you know, spending my whole life with someone. I kept thinking, ‘What if I change? What if he does? What if this isn’t a good fit?’ ” She stopped talking, surprised she was sharing all this. Maybe she was doing it because Kelsey had let her in on something painful. “I couldn’t shake the doubts I was having, so finally I told Patrick what was on my mind. Maybe things would have worked out between us if he’d reacted differently.”