Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(24)

Sara’s phone chimed as she reached the highway. Aaron.

“Hey,” she said.

“I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“My battery’s been dead.”

“Okay, well, check your email. That report is in from the tool-marks examiner. I forwarded it to you.”

“I thought you were off today?”

“I am, but I checked my email from home. And heads-up, word is that APD pulled a floater from Lake Austin.”

“Damn. Really?”

“Cops are saying suicide. Guy jumped off a bridge, and they say he left a note. But you know how that goes. It’s a homicide until it isn’t.”

“I’m back in Springville,” Sara said. “And I’ll probably be here tomorrow, too.”

“You found something? Why didn’t you call me?”

“You’re off today, and anyway, Raul and Peaches were here to help.”

“Well, you could have called me.” Aaron paused, and Sara could tell he felt slighted. “Anyway, don’t worry about the floater. TCMEO’s got it.”

The Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office sometimes requested help with bodies recovered from the water, particularly those where identification was difficult.

“You sure?” Sara asked.

“That’s what I heard. I guess he wasn’t in long. If you want—”

Aaron’s voice cut off. Sara looked at her phone and cursed. She’d call him back when she had more battery.

Pulling into town, she passed the Morningstar Motor Lodge with its flickering VACANCY sign. She fought the urge to pull in and get a room. She could have used a long, hot shower. Not to mention a nap. But she was nowhere near finished for the day.

“And miles to go before I sleep,” she muttered.

She reached the Springville police station, a surprisingly new building with a glass atrium and a limestone facade. She’d expected something small and humble, but maybe the building reflected the city’s expanding tax base. The landscaped parking lot was divided into two sections—a gated area for police vehicles and an open section for visitors. Sara pulled into a space near the flagpole and looked around.

Not too busy, considering it was a holiday. She’d expected the place to be crowded with drunks and scofflaws. Maybe Nolan’s day had improved since she’d last seen him. Maybe his mood had improved, too. Their last conversation had been tense, and he’d seemed to think she was blowing him off. She wasn’t. She just needed to be sure of some things. Detectives never understood that. They were impatient by nature, and certainty took time.

Sara reached for her duffel bag in the back seat. She used a wet wipe to freshen up and threw a clean T-shirt on over her tank top. Not great, but nothing short of a full scrub-down was going to make her presentable at this point. She grabbed the backpack she was using as a purse today, tossed her cell phone inside, and headed for the door.

The waiting area and the squad room were separated by a tall glass wall, and Sara immediately spotted Nolan standing at a desk and talking on his phone. As if sensing her arrival, he turned around and looked directly at her. He motioned for her to come on back.

Sara stepped up to the receptionist. The woman’s headset suggested she might be a dispatcher as well. She wore a white T-shirt with a sequined American flag across the front, along with American flag earrings.

“Excuse me. I’m—”

“Dr. Lockhart.” She smiled. “They’re expecting you. Go right on in.” She reached under her desk, and a buzzer sounded as the door unlocked.

Sara entered the bull pen and walked to Nolan’s desk. He was talking to an older man now. White hair, sun-browned skin, paunch hanging over his belt buckle. In jeans and cowboy boots, he looked like a rancher, but his badge and sidearm said otherwise.

“Sara Lockhart, this is Hank Miller, chief of police,” Nolan said.

Sara nodded. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”

“Likewise. I hear you been busy at Little Rat.”

“Little Rat?” She looked at Nolan.

“Little Rattler Gorge. The ravine where you were today. It leads into the big one.”

“Yes. I didn’t know it was called that.” She looked at the chief. “Is there a place we can talk?”

The chief led the way past a glass conference room and ushered her into a room without windows. She appreciated the privacy, and her heart leaped for joy when she saw the coffeepot in the corner.

“Mind if I . . . ?” Without waiting for an answer, Sara grabbed a paper cup and poured.

“That’s been there since this morning,” the chief warned.

“I don’t mind.” Sara dumped in several sugar packets and took a seat at the table opposite Nolan and Hank. They watched her warily as she took a sip.

“We’ve got a microwave in the break room,” Nolan said.

“It’s fine.”

Really, it was cold sludge, but she was too tired to care. She hadn’t realized how light-headed she’d been until just that moment.

“So.” Sara slid the cup away and looked at the chief. “I spent most of the day in White Falls Park working with a canine unit.”

“The cadaver dog,” Hank said.

“That’s correct. Peaches—the German shepherd—she’s the best in the business. I’ve seen her alert on a body twenty feet underwater. She first alerted on a metacarpal. That’s a hand bone, about the length of a matchstick in this case.”