Page 29 of Her Frozen Heart

“After reading the detective’s notes on the case and the report, no. They didn’t have anything to go on, and the boyfriend was the only person of interest.” Miller shrugged. “I just don’t want to say a case was mishandled because of race when I don’t agree. It’s like crying wolf, and it takes away from the cases that are affected by race.”

“I read his notes, and I agree with you,” Nikki said. “The bottom line is that a serial killer is using this area for his personal cemetery, which means he’s likely from here. The Bloomington detective wouldn’t have had any reason to ask about Washington County or Stillwater, but we do. That’s why we need to re-interview everyone in Kesha’s case.”

“How many is that?” Liam asked.

“Ten, maybe twelve,” Miller said. “Including parents, family, boyfriend, friends, co-workers. All of them had been ruled out as suspects except for the boyfriend. I think they’re reaching, but he’s someone I’d like to interview in person if possible.”

“We already asked Kesha’s parents about connections to this area yesterday,” Nikki said. “Let’s divide and conquer the rest first thing tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it.” Liam spoke up. “If they’ve been cleared as suspects, calling them and asking them about ties to Washington County isn’t a big deal.”

“Just make clear you’re asking if Kesha or anyone in her life spent time here, has property here, did she come here for summer camp, stuff like that. Think local.”

“If he’s local, then why didn’t he come back and bury Kesha before the ground froze?” Liam asked. “He had time the first week of December at least.”

“Maybe he couldn’t get out here,” Nikki said. “He might live in the metro area now, but I think he chose this area for a reason. There are dozens of areas he could have found that were easier to reach and probably less chance of being discovered, not to mention the St. Croix River is just a few miles east of us. It’s something about this place specifically, I think. Either way, we’ve got to make sure we cover all our bases.”

“So, what about Dion then?” Miller asked.

“I sent him a text earlier today, asking him to get in touch,” Nikki said. “If he doesn’t reply by tonight, I’ll try again.” Nikki massaged the knot that had formed in her left shoulder. “Just so we’re all on the same page, Liam’s going to search for missing persons in the state and he’s going to contact everyone police interviewed about Kesha to see if he can find any connection to Washington County. I’m going to the mall in the morning, and we’re working on the burial site. Courtney will be able to test the blood from Stanton’s truck tomorrow, so we can hopefully rule him out.”

“Hang on.” Liam went back to his laptop and searched through his open tabs. “I did a property search this morning and had started working up a lead before Caitlin’s family arrived. There was something about Stanton’s wife… it was important. I can’t believe I forgot to come back to it.”

“Isn’t that part of your post-concussive issue?” Miller asked.

“I guess,” Liam said. “Most of the time it’s headaches and random blurred vision. Okay, here it is. The wife’s maiden name is Blaine. Her cousin owns the goat farm just down the road. It’s a five-minute drive, and an hour’s walk. Big coincidence, especially given how fast she asked for the reward.”

“Maybe,” Miller said. “But these little towns in the northern part of the county are pretty insular. A person could probably throw a rock and hit someone they’re related to.”

Liam looked back at Nikki. “Still worth checking out the goat farm, right?”

“It’s worth me checking out,” she corrected him.

“Right now?” Miller asked.

“Might as well,” Nikki said. “Rory won’t be back with the equipment for at least another half an hour. Hope they don’t mind me knocking on their door on Christmas.”

NINE

Nikki turned off Mayberry Trail Road and onto the dead-end gravel road that led to Blaine’s dairy goat farm, which was surrounded by open land and public trail. It would be tough going, but an experienced hiker or hunter could make the trek through the reserve to the burial ground. Blaine’s farm looked like any other Nikki had been on, with three metal barns, a couple of grain silos, and a fair amount of equipment scattered around. It probably looked quaint in the summer, but dismal in the winter, like everything else. A small line of fir trees separated the house from the barns, and the cottage-style home appeared to be well maintained.

Nikki spotted a familiar minivan in front of a locked greenhouse. “Fantastic,” she muttered. “The Stantons must be here celebrating Christmas.”

As soon as she stepped out of the jeep, Nikki heard the shouts of kids playing in the yard, followed by several loud barks. A big, furry, black dog raced around the house, barking. Nikki moved to hop back in the jeep, but a man slammed the front door open and came out onto the porch.

“Sandy, come.”

The dog slowed down and veered right. She raced up the porch steps and lay down next to the man’s feet. “Good girl. Stay.”

Nikki slowly approached. “That’s a well-trained dog.”

“She’s a good watchdog,” he said. “If she thought you were a threat, she would have ignored me. So, what can I do for you, Agent Hunt?”

“I guess the Stantons know I’m here. Are you Mr. Blaine?”

“Call me Tanner,” he said.

Nikki stopped at the porch, her eyes on the dog. “Would she mind if I came in?”

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