Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(3)
“I’m Detective Nolan Hess, Springville PD.”
Sara’s pulse quickened at the tone of his voice, and she dug through her purse for a pen.
“I’m at White Falls Park,” he continued. “That’s on the outskirts of—”
“I know where it is. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“A couple of hikers discovered some bones this evening. The ME gave me your number. We could use your help out here.”
“Which ME?”
“Doc Froehler over at the Travis County ME’s Office. They handle our cases.”
“Okay. Are you sure they’re human bones? People often mistake—”
“There’s no mistake. How soon can you be here?”
“You mean tomorrow?”
“Tonight.”
She glanced at her watch again. “Well, we’ve only got a few hours of daylight left.”
No response.
“I could make it if I left now.” No pen in her purse. Only a lipstick, damn it.
“Sounds good. What’s your vehicle?”
Sara gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind leaving the wedding, but his pushiness was another story. Then again, she had yet to meet a detective who wasn’t pushy when he wanted something. Which was pretty much always.
“I drive a black Explorer,” she said. “Why?”
“I’ll tell Tom, the park ranger. We shut the park down early. You know the way?”
“I can find it.”
“Come to the west entrance, off Route Twelve.”
“West entrance. Got it.”
“Oh, and Doc? Bring sturdy shoes. You’ll need them.”
? ? ?
She took the interstate north from San Marcos, then cut west toward Springville, which had been a farming community before the fast-growing city of Austin began to encroach. Scattered farms gave way to trailer parks, then modest neighborhoods with names like Oak Grove and Shady Creek. Then the real money kicked in, and she passed a series of subdivisions with dramatic entrances. Saddle Ranch. Belmont Hills. Churchill Downs. There wasn’t a horse in sight, or even a pasture, but luxury cars abounded. Sara navigated half a dozen congested traffic lights before the highway narrowed and she spied a sign assuring her that White Falls Park was only ten miles ahead.
She was losing daylight. She nudged up her speed and glanced at the quiet cell phone on the seat beside her. Nolan Hess had been determined that she come tonight. She could only guess why. Depending on the age of the hikers who discovered the bones, he might be worried about word leaking out on social media, which would cause headaches for his investigation.
Was that the only reason, though? She’d never worked with Hess before, but he’d been confident the bones were human. Sara was keeping an open mind. The Delphi Center forensic anthro unit got all sorts of bones. She’d known veteran law-enforcement officers who’d sent in remains they insisted were human, only to be told they belonged to a cow or a deer or even a raccoon.
A rural sheriff’s deputy bringing bones to the lab was one thing, and it happened all the time. A police detective calling Sara on a Saturday and insisting that she drive a hundred miles to view bones in situ was another. Nolan Hess was adamant, and he was in a hurry.
Sara scanned the rolling hills. Away from sprinkler systems and lawn crews, the ground was brown and thirsty. Oaks and cedars dotted the landscape, along with the occasional herd of cattle. The cows took shelter wherever they could, under trees and near fence posts, waiting listlessly for the temperature to dip.
Sara turned onto Highway 12 and soon spotted a sign pointing to the west entrance of White Falls Park. She took the turn, trading smooth asphalt for a pitted road that was several decades past needing attention. After a few jaw-rattling potholes, she reached the west gate. A rusted swag of chain blocked the way.
No gatehouse. No attendant. Cursing, she shoved her Explorer into park and got out to look around. She walked over to the chain, examined it a moment, then unhooked it from the metal pole. After driving through, she got out and reattached the barrier, not that it provided much of a deterrent.
She proceeded through a parched valley flanked by steadily rising cliffs. The terrain here was rugged. Hard. She was glad she had her hiking boots with her. She still needed to change clothes, but she hadn’t wanted to take the time to pull over.
Another sign appeared, offering a choice between WHITE FALLS LOOP or PARK HEADQUARTERS. Sara opted for headquarters, taking a road that made a gentle ascent to the top of a plateau. She came to another sign—yet another decision point, but this time she had help in the form of a red-and-blue flicker on some distant cliffs. Pointing her car toward the emergency lights, she followed the road through some scrub and brush and turned into a gravel lot where vehicles were parked haphazardly. A dusty white pickup, several old hatchbacks, a green Suburban with the logo for Allen County Parks District on the door. Sara pulled into a spot beside a police cruiser where a uniformed officer sat talking on his radio. He didn’t spare her a glance as she got out.
Sara zeroed in on a woman with blond dreadlocks seated on a railroad tie near the trailhead. The woman swiped tears from her cheeks as she talked to a shirtless man crouched beside her. He wore cargo shorts and climbing shoes and had a brown pouch attached to his belt.
“Park’s closed, ma’am.”
Sara turned to see a man in an olive-green park ranger uniform striding over.