Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(93)

Now he peered through the window into the autopsy suite where Sara was finishing up. She made a few notes on a clipboard and then set it aside on the counter where Aaron stood at a laptop. The two exchanged words, and then Sara stripped off her latex gloves and tossed them into a trash bin before scrubbing her hands and stepping out of the laboratory.

“Have you been here long?” She checked her watch. “I thought we said nine.”

“We did.” He nodded toward the lab. “How’s it going?”

Sara heaved a sigh. “It’s done.”

Nolan was surprised.

“I still have to write up my report, but my findings are complete. You have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She perched on the edge of her desk and took a deep breath. “Cause of death, blunt-force trauma to the skull. The instrument was something long and heavy.”

“We recovered a tire iron from the Tahoe with some blood on it.” As Nolan had expected, Gaines’s vehicle was a treasure trove of evidence.

“An instrument like that would fit,” Sara said. “We can have our tool-marks examiner take a look to confirm.”

“Okay, what else?” Nolan braced himself.

“No further fractures. The only other sign of bone trauma is an old injury to her arm, which matches the X-rays provided by the family.”

“From when Kaylin was thrown from a horse.”

Sara nodded.

“So you’re saying . . .”

“She was not tortured and held captive like the others. No signs of further bone trauma, no garrote marks. It appears to have been a blitz-style attack from behind. She was buried soon after, clothes intact, in an eighteen-inch grave, which is pretty standard.”

Jesus. She had a standard for what constituted a shallow grave.

Nolan studied Sara’s face. She looked tired. She was tired. She’d had less than four hours of sleep last night before waking up and embarking on an excavation, followed by an autopsy. It had been a marathon day.

“So.” She checked her watch. “What’s the plan?”

“After this, I’m headed to the Bairds’.” He needed to do it tonight, even though he was dreading it.

She nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

She stood. “Just give me a minute to clean up.”

Nolan put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve had a grueling day.”

“So have you. And the worst part isn’t over yet. I know, Nolan. I’ve done this before. Talking to families is the hardest part.”

Her eyes glinted with determination. She wanted to come, and if he was honest, he wanted her at his side.

And in that moment, it struck him. She was the strongest person he knew. He’d always thought he was tough, but Sara was tougher.

“Nolan, these people are grieving and heartbroken. They’re going to have questions, and I can help you answer them.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Let me come with you.”

“All right.” He nodded. “Let’s get this done.”

? ? ?

Talia went straight to the hospital after work and nearly bumped into Dax as he walked out the door.

“Hey.” He stopped in front of her. Talia hadn’t seen him in the two days since Gaines’s arrest.

“I’m here for Grace. Is she—”

“You just missed her,” he said. “They discharged her twenty minutes ago. She went home with her parents.”

A nurse appeared behind him, pushing a man in a wheelchair. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Sorry.” Dax stepped out of the doorway, joining Talia on the sidewalk.

She hadn’t expected to see him here, and she wished she’d brushed her teeth after the Italian sub she wolfed down for lunch.

“Are you here for an interview or . . . ?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said. “I just wanted to check in, see how she’s doing.” She paused, searching his face. “Better, I guess, since she’s been discharged?”

His brow furrowed. “Better. Not good, but better.”

Another plainclothes cop stepped through the door, this one with a fat brown case file tucked under his arm.

“Hey, I’ll catch up,” Dax told him. The guy headed for the other parking lot, and Dax turned back to Talia.

“How’d the interview go?” she asked.

He blew out a sigh. “Fine. That was our last one, I hope. She needs to be left alone for a while.”

“Was it as bad as we thought?”

“Worse.”

Talia’s heart squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She looked at him more closely. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes this job . . .” He shook his head.

“I know.”

Their gazes locked. It wasn’t often she heard people talk about the stress. Men almost never did.

“I just sent you an email,” she said. “We ID’d one of our Jane Does from the park.”

His expression perked up. “Who is she?”

“Teresa Marin. Turns out she’s from Abilene.”