Stone Cold Heart

by Laura Griffin

  “Why?”

  “He’s got some disturbing tastes in porn. This goes beyond the run-of-the-mill BDSM stuff. He frequents sites that serve up violence and snuff films.”

  “As in people being murdered?”

  “Correct.”

  “Can we identify him?”

  “I’m working on it. I’ve got Laney working on it, too, because she specializes in the dark web. But in the meantime, I wanted to show you this.”

  Sara leaned closer for a better view.

  “Digging around, I found another video clip,” Alex said. “This one is longer than the others.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s only a few more seconds of footage—twelve, to be exact—but it reveals something interesting.”

  Alex clicked open a file of video footage. This clip started low to the ground, near some mesquite trees.

  “There.” She hit pause. “See that?”

  Sara leaned closer. “What?”

  “That black glove. That’s his hand in the shot. See? He’s standing right there.”

  Sara saw that there was, indeed, a gloved hand on the edge of the picture.

  Alex resumed the clip, and the camera lifted into the air, giving more of a bird’s-eye view. The ground below whisked by as the drone swooped over parched land dotted with scrub trees. Suddenly, the land dropped away, and Sara recognized Rattlesnake Gorge. A few moments later, the blue tent came into view, and from there all the footage was familiar.

  “This longer clip shows the drone actually being launched,” Alex said. “Thing is, that property it was launched from? It’s not part of the park. It’s private property, and I checked out the satellite images. Whoever owns the land has livestock, along with some oil and gas wells. It’s all gated and fenced.”

  Livestock. Oil and gas wells. Sara thought of her conversation with Will Merritt about the location of the caves he’d visited.

  “Do you know if there are any caves on this property?” she asked Alex.

  “Caves?”

  “It’s a theory we’re investigating. We know he kept some of the victims captive somewhere, and trace evidence suggests it could have been a cave.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And the thing about the gates,” Sara said. “How can you tell all that from the drone footage?”

  “You can’t. I called a friend of mine in the Allen County sheriff’s office and asked him to do a drive-by. He said the place is locked up. Tall game fence, heavy-duty locks on the gates. You can’t just wander in there and launch a drone.”

  “But he did, so you’re saying . . .”

  “I think whoever launched this drone camera is the unsub. And I bet he owns this property or knows who does.”

  • • •

  Grace’s eyes drifted open. A blade of sunlight cut into her skull. She closed her eyes and tried to turn away, but her head seemed to explode.

  She sucked in a breath and felt razors slicing into her side.

  She’d fallen. She’d broken . . . something. At least a few ribs. She tried to move her legs. After a moment’s resistance, she was able to drag them over the gravel.

  She could move her legs.

  She was in sunlight.

  She turned her head, ignoring the pain as she drank in her surroundings. She was in a pit, surrounded by rock walls. The floor of the pit was shadowed, but a shaft of sunlight fell over her face.

  Sun.

  Grace tried to push up. But pain tore through her shoulder, and she collapsed. She looked at her wrists, filthy and black and oozing with pus. The wounds were disgusting, the result of days and days of tight bindings.

  But the bindings were gone now. She was free. She’d stumbled into a pit, and now she had to get herself out before he discovered she was gone and came looking.

  Grace’s eyes burned with tears. They were tears of relief, as well as of terror at the thought of him finding her now when she was so close to escape.

  She took a shallow breath. And another. And another. Bracing herself for the pain, she used her good arm to push herself up. Then she tested her legs. They felt heavy and sore, but with the twine gone, she could move them. She pushed to her knees and leaned on her palm as pain rocketed through her skull and her vision blurred. She probably had a concussion. But that was the least of her problems if she didn’t get out of here.

  She took another breath and crawled toward the wall of the pit. Slowly. Painfully. An inch at a time across the uneven floor. Puddles of milky water reflected the sky above her—blue sky. Her throat felt parched, but she couldn’t drink. Not yet. She didn’t have time to be sick and puking from contaminated water. She had to get out of here.

  He was coming back.

  Pebbles cut into her knees as she inched toward the wall. When she finally reached it, she pressed her hand against the stone. It was cool and damp. She slumped against the rock, dizzy from exertion.

  Looking up, Grace saw clear blue sky. But it seemed miles away. Light-years.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. After another shallow breath, she pushed herself to her knees. Her thighs quivered. Grace gripped the stone and pulled herself up.

  • • •

  Nolan shot backward out of his driveway. He was going to be late, but he’d needed to stop home and change. He couldn’t show up for work in the shirt he’d worn yesterday, which had obviously spent the night on somebody’s floor.

  Cruising down his street, he thought of Sara. Her last relationship had done a number on her. Her jilted fiancé had made her feel guilty for following her instincts and planted the idea in her head that she was bad at relationships. Now she questioned her own judgment—which Nolan recognized, because he’d done the same after Michelle. Sara was wary, and Nolan didn’t want to push. But he wanted to show her she could trust him.

  It was ironic, really. Being with someone deceitful had made Nolan more determined to listen to his instincts when it came to people. His instincts told him Sara was special and they were special together. He just hoped she realized it eventually and didn’t put her guard up again.

  Nolan wanted to see her tonight. Or at least talk to her. Seeing her was definitely better, but he had the distinct feeling his day was going to go sideways.

  Nolan neared the church on the corner and spotted Reverend Cook in the parking lot. He had been trying to reach the man since Wednesday. Nolan glanced at his watch and cursed, then whipped into the parking lot and pulled into a space. Cook paused on the sidewalk as Nolan hopped out.

  “Detective Hess.” Cook offered him a handshake.

  “Morning, Reverend. I’ve been trying to reach you. Left a couple of messages with your staff?”

  “Oh.” He made a face. “Sorry about that. Betsy’s getting a little . . . forgetful. It’s become a bit of a dilemma for us.”

  Nolan nodded. “Got it. Listen, I need to touch base on something. I was talking to Elaine Hansen, and I had a question about her donation last year.”

  “Todd Hansen’s widow?”

  “That’s right. She mentioned she donated Todd’s car after he died. A white Chevy Tahoe. I need to find out where it went from here.”

  “Here?”

  “After she donated it to you guys.”

  “Elaine Hansen?”

  “That’s right.”

  The reverend shook his head. “We got a sofa from Elaine. And a few bags of clothes, if I recall, but she didn’t donate a vehicle.”

  “You sure? You want to check your records or—”

  “I’m quite sure. We don’t get many vehicle donations, as you can imagine. Now, the sofa I remember quite vividly. We put it in our recreation hall, where our youth group meets.”

  Nolan just looked at him. “You’re sure Elaine Hansen never donated a white SUV?”

  He smiled. “I’m positive.”

  “Thank you for your time.”

  Nolan got back into his truck. Why had she lied? And what else had she lied about? Something gnawed
at him, a detail he’d meant to follow up on but hadn’t. It hadn’t seemed important until now. And maybe it wasn’t.

  He scrolled through his phone and found his list of witnesses in the Kaylin Baird case. He called Maisy Raines.

  “Hello?”

  “Maisy, this is Detective Hess. You got a minute?”

  • • •

  The cramped lobby smelled of tires, and Sara eyed the clock as she left yet another message for Will Merritt. Why hadn’t he called her back? She’d sent him two urgent emails and left a voice mail, but he still hadn’t responded. Maybe he’d dropped off the grid again.

  She checked her watch and cast an impatient glance into the service bay. Her Explorer looked ready to go, but she was still waiting for the paperwork.

  Sara sank into a plastic chair and pulled up the article she’d bookmarked from Outside magazine. She clicked Will’s name, hoping to be taken to an alternative email address or maybe a social-media link. Instead, she was taken to a list of his articles: “Big Walls in Big Bend, Mountain Biking Ramps Up, Caves of Central Texas.”

  Sara went still. She skimmed the list, which included articles dating back six years.

  “Free Soloing in Tennessee.”

  Her blood turned cold. She scanned the list again. Big Bend, Central Texas, Tennessee.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Sara jumped to her feet.

  • • •

  Nolan scanned the cars in the parking lot. He’d expected every member of the task force to have beaten him here, but the lot was almost empty.

  His phone beeped, and he looked down to see a text from Talia.

  On my way in. Task force mtg nixed.

  Yeah, no kidding. Where the hell was everyone? Nolan started to reply, but he got an incoming call from Sara. He picked up.

  “Hey, can I call you back?”

  “No, listen.” Her voice sounded breathless. “Remember the blogger I told you about?”

  “No.”

  “Will Merritt. He writes this blog called High Life, and he freelances for Outside magazine.”

  “Okay, yeah. What about him?”

  “I was going through his archives, Nolan, reading up on caving. Turns out he’s written about dozens of parks in the past six years, including Rocky Shoals in Tennessee plus Big Bend and White Falls in Texas.”

  Nolan didn’t say anything.

  “Nolan? You there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bizarre coincidence? I mean, like, too bizarre to even be a coincidence?”

  “It’s interesting.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “Six years is a long time. How many blogs and articles has he written?”

  “I don’t know. Fifty or sixty that I could find. But three of them feature a park where one or more of these victims was discovered or went missing.”

  “Yeah, and fifty-plus don’t. And the West Texas woman didn’t go missing from inside a park. She was near one.”

  “Come on. You need to look into this.”

  He sighed and checked his watch. “Where are you?” he asked. “It sounds like you’re driving.”

  “I’m headed to Springville. I want to show you the notes from my conversation with this guy. Nolan, I think he’s our unsub. He said he was ‘off the grid’ a few days ago, which is why it took him a while to call me back, and now he’s dodging my calls again. I think he might be with Grace!”

  “Will Merritt, two t’s?”

  “Yes. He has a blog about extreme outdoor sports, and he works freelance for Outside magazine. He fits the profile perfectly, Nolan.”

  “I’ll check him out. Send me the dates on those articles.”

  “I’ll pull over and do it now. Listen, there’s something else, too. Alex Lovell stopped by my place this morning with a new lead on the drone footage. You remember from the recovery site?”

  “What about it?”

  “She thinks the drone was launched from private property adjacent to the park. She thinks the property owner could be our unsub, or maybe he knows the guy and gave him access to the property.”

  This lead sounded a lot more promising than the blogger.

  “You have the address?” Nolan asked.

  “I can send it,” Sara said. “A sheriff’s deputy did a drive-by, but as far as I know, no one’s really checked this out.”

  “I’ll handle it. How far out are you?”

  “I don’t know. Forty-five minutes, maybe.”

  “When you get in, go to the police station, all right? I’ll meet you over there.”

  “Okay.”

  He ended the call.

  Sideways, just like he’d thought. He had too much to do to waste his morning waiting around for people, so he got on the highway and called Talia.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “How come everyone bagged the meeting?”

  “I don’t know about everyone,” she said. “But Dax Harper is in Austin, Rey Santos got tied up with something in San Antonio, and I’m at Arnie’s getting gas.”

  “Where’s the chief?”

  “No idea.”

  Nolan gritted his teeth. “Well, did you interview that clerk?”

  “Yes, and he confirms the guy in the Austin police sketch is the same guy he saw.”

  “Hey, that’s great.”

  “Yeah, what’s not great is that APD wants to release this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They want to put it on the news and set up a hotline,” she said. “See if we can get an ID from the public.”

  “What the fuck? That’s the fastest way to tip this guy off. We need to circulate this thing locally, see if we can get an ID on him, and then close in on his location before he figures out we’re on to him and has a chance to bolt.”

  “I know. I told them that.”

  “Damn it. Call Hank. Fill him in on the situation. He’s friends with a couple of lieutenants there. Maybe he can convince them to wait.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll do it.”

  “And I also need you to call Rey Santos and ask him if he’s come across the name Will Merritt anywhere. That’s spelled with two t’s.”

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “A magazine writer who did some work in this area. Sara thinks he might be a suspect, and we need to see if he has a sheet.”

  “Okay, but why don’t you call Santos?”

  “I’m driving. I’m heading out to the Hansen place to interview the widow again. Everything she told me in our interview is crap, and I want to know why she lied to me.”

  “You think she’s protecting someone?”

  “If she is, I’ll find out,” he said. “And send me that sketch, would you? If he’s local, I might recognize him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I’ve lived here longer than you have.”

  “Okay, let me get Hank to lean on APD, then I’ll work on the rest.”

  They clicked off, and Nolan trained his gaze on the road. His pulse was thrumming like it did when a case started to come together.

  The unsub regularly bought gas at Arnie’s, which meant he probably lived nearby. It was a stronger lead than the magazine writer, but he’d promised Sara he’d look into it, along with the lead about the ranch near the park. But first he needed to follow his gut, and at the moment his gut was telling him there was something extremely off about this thing with the widow.

  Elaine Hansen had lied about donating an SUV to her church. She’d lied about having a receipt from Cook. And if Maisy Raines was to be believed, she’d lied about seeing Kaylin Baird at the movies with her “boyfriend” Tristan Sharp. Maisy swore Kaylin and Tristan had never been a couple.

  Nolan tried to recall what he knew about the Hansens, but it wasn’t much. Todd Hansen had died last year, and he remembered they had a daughter, but she would have been ahead of him in school. />
  The Hansen place was on the outskirts of town, where the houses sat fairly far apart. Still, people tended to know their neighbors. Nolan hung a right at the mailbox and scanned the driveway, half expecting the phantom white SUV to be parked there. It wasn’t. Neither was the green VW. He eyed the garage, which he had assumed was used for the Mustang Todd kept on cinder blocks.

  He parked and got out. Glancing at the shed and then the house, he decided to try the shed first. The flimsy door stood ajar.

  “Mrs. Hansen?” He tapped lightly on the door with the back of his knuckles, and it swung open. “Elaine?”

  He stepped inside the makeshift studio, which was hot and stuffy. The potter’s wheel sat silently in the center. A low creaking noise drew his attention to a kiln in the corner. A glowing red light indicated the kiln was on, accounting for the heat. Nolan’s gaze landed on some blocks of clay wrapped in plastic along the wall. Several of the bags were tied with purple twine.

  Nolan stared at the bags, then looked around the room at the stool, the workbench, and the shelf lined with potter’s tools. Someone had tacked pegs into the wall, and from one of them dangled a twisted wire with wooden handles on the ends.

  Nolan’s pulse pounded as he stepped closer. The thick wire was kinked from use. The wooden handles were smooth and rounded and smeared with dried clay. In strong hands, the wire could slice through a block of clay like butter.

  He imagined what it could do to human flesh.

  Nolan slid his phone from his pocket and dialed Dispatch. In a low voice, he relayed the situation and requested backup, then switched his ringer to silent.

  Unsnapping his holster, he left the shed and approached the house. With his hand on the butt of his gun, he scanned the bushes and trees, then checked the windows for any sign of movement. As he mounted the steps to the front porch, muffled barks erupted behind the door. Lucy’s face appeared at the window as she barked and pawed at the glass.

  His phone vibrated, and he checked the screen before answering.

  “It’s too late,” Talia said.

  “What’s too late?”

  “Hank called, but they’d already released it. The sketch. It went on the news half an hour ago.”