Page 8 of Her Frozen Heart

“I know,” Caitlin said. “But that’s the narrative that’s already brewing. The gray area doesn’t matter. I’m just giving you a heads-up, Nik. We live in a volatile, angry society, with one side doing everything they can to prevent change, and the other side desperate to force it through, even if the truth has to be fudged along the way. Normally I’d be okay with that since I’m not a racist bigot, but you’re my friend, so I’m telling you the spotlight is going to be excruciatingly hot on this one.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Nikki said. “I’ll call my boss as soon as I get a chance so he can hopefully get ahead of it.”

Miller cleared his throat. “I just got a text from Reynolds. He wants us to look at something over at the other end of the lake. Follow me?”

Nikki nodded. “Lead the way. Caitlin, don’t follow.”

“I won’t,” she said. “But please call Liam the first chance you get and update him. It will do a lot for his mental state.”

“So will following the doctor’s orders,” Nikki said dryly. “But I will brief him as soon as I get the chance. You guys still coming to Rory’s parents’ for dinner?”

Liam’s family lived out of state, and he’d never been close to any of them. He normally worked as many holidays as possible. Caitlin’s teenaged son lived with her former in-laws, and Nikki knew Liam would rather be working than spend all Christmas Day sitting around pretending to enjoy a family ritual that had never interested him. Nikki usually managed to get him over for Christmas Eve dinner because Liam loved food more than just about anything else.

Caitlin nodded. “You think you’ll make it over there by five thirty?”

“I promised Lacey that I would.” Nikki crossed her fingers she didn’t have to break that promise.

Like most parks, the Big Marine Contact Station consisted of a mid-sized log building, with a metal roof that shifted in the wind gusts. The playground and a sandy beach area near the building were closed for the season, while the motorized boat launch remained open during the winter. Miller’s deputies had cleared the area to ensure privacy when Kesha’s body arrived. Lt. Huff had already docked the ice boat, and he was helping a middle-aged man in snow boots and furry cap with ear flaps transfer the remains to the transport vehicle from the medical investigator’s office.

“Most of the death investigators are off, just like the medical examiner,” Miller said as Nikki exited the jeep. “When we called for transport, the service said only part-time employees were available today and tomorrow, with no autopsies or tox testing being done until the day after Christmas.”

“I know it’s unavoidable,” Nikki said. “But I hate being this behind already.”

The stout man from the M.E.’s office shut the vehicle’s loading door, double-checking that it was secure. “Sheriff Miller, since this is your scene, I need you to sign off before I take the body to the morgue.”

Miller took the clipboard and quickly signed. “Happy holidays. Before you leave, can we get another look at the black trash bag her remains are in? I want to compare them to some others we found.”

The investigator looked at Miller in confusion. “You mean the body bag?”

“No, I mean what her remains were in when she was put into the lake.”

“Yeah, that’s a body bag, not a trash bag. I guess it would be hard to tell since it’s all water-logged and ripped, but it’s the kind of body bag we use in major disasters. Guess the divers didn’t realize it.”

“You’re certain?” Nikki asked.

“Ma’am, I’ve worked more major disasters than I can count. Have your people do their testing, but I’m positive that’s exactly what your victim is in, not a trash bag.”

“Thanks for the help,” Nikki said.

“Happy holidays.” He climbed into the van and drove out of the lot, leaving Nikki and Miller confused.

“I’ve seen those disaster bags before,” Miller said. “They do feel about the same as a strong yard bag. What kind of killer has those on hand?”

“The kind who plans,” Nikki said. “Where’s Stanton’s truck?”

Miller pointed to an old, white 1976 Chevy Scottsdale held together by rust. A blue tarp that must have been covering the bed flapped in the wind.

“What was your initial impression of him?” Nikki asked.

“He’d been smoking pot,” Miller said. “Recently, because it just hung in the air over him. He’s shaken up and a little jittery, but anyone would be in the situation. That’s why I didn’t say anything about the weed when I arrived.”

They walked over to the truck, both snapping on latex gloves. Thanks to the wind, the tarp had nearly come completely loose, and it was easy to peer over the side and get a good look into the truck.

Stanton had covered the rusting bed with a large piece of plywood and from the looks of it, the wood had been there for a while. It was stained nearly black, and Nikki could detect the scent of engine oil and grease. Her dad used to smell like that when he came in from the fields.

“What are you smiling about?” Miller asked.

“Just thinking about my dad. He was always working on equipment because he never bought anything new, and his work clothes were always stained with grease and oil. Some days Mom would make him strip to his underwear before he even came into the house.”

---