Page 9 of The Girls in the Snow

They walked to the family area in awkward silence. Nikki sifted through her memories, trying to place Miller. He was several inches taller than her, in good shape. She’d spotted a pair of running shoes in the back of his car.

“Wait. Kenny Miller who broke the school’s single-season rushing yards record?”

Miller grinned. “That’s me.” He glanced at the closed door. “Thanks again for coming with me. Just to warn you, Madison’s mother has gotten more aggressive since the case went cold. That’s why I ended up telling them over the phone that we’d found the girls instead of waiting until they got here. She wouldn’t accept anything else. She’s grieving, so I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. But she can be pretty blunt. Just don’t take it personal.”

“It’s likely easier for her to channel her grief into anger,” Nikki said. “And I’ve got pretty thick skin, so don’t worry about me.”

The door flew open before Miller could reach for it, and John Banks filled the space. Nikki had forgotten how John towered over most people. His height had been one of the things that made him so successful in track.

“John, I’m so sorry,” Miller said.

“You’re certain it’s our daughter?” Amy Banks looked like the perfect Stepford wife, right down to the manicured nails and blond hair. She hovered behind John, her arms wrapped around her petite frame. The fierceness in her eyes was every bit as intimidating as John’s stature. He stared down at Nikki, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. “That’s why the FBI’s been called in, isn’t it?”

Sergeant Miller nodded. “You’ll need to make official identifications, but yes, I’m certain it’s Madison. I’ve seen her body myself. Kaylee’s too.”

Amy stepped back as though she’d been slapped. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “It can’t be her.”

“I’m sorry, Amy.” Miller’s soft voice seemed to shatter the last of her resolve.

“Excuse me.” Amy bolted from the room, her sobs echoing down the hall.

“Give her a minute.” John sat down. He still looked lean and fit, his blond hair flecked with gray. Diamond cufflinks decorated his designer shirt. John stared at the table, lost in his grief.

“I’m sorry for your loss, John.”

He looked at her with bleary eyes. “It really is you, isn’t it? I thought I was going crazy.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Nikki down sat across from him, the tragic irony of the moment nearly rendering her speechless. Twenty years ago, their roles had been reversed. Almost. The idea of burying your child was unfathomable. John clearly thought of Madison as his own.

“It’s just not real. I know it’s been weeks, but I still had this hope that she would come home. Who would do this?”

“The worst kind of monster,” Nikki said. “I know this is extremely difficult, but can I ask you a few questions?”

He nodded. “I’m not sure what else I can tell you that the sergeant hasn’t already asked.”

“How long had the girls been friends?”

“Just a few months.” John cleared his throat. “They played volleyball together, until Kaylee was kicked off the team for fighting.”

“This is all Kaylee’s fault.” Amy Banks had returned, her grief weaponized into rage. “That girl barely had any adult supervision. I told Madison to stay away from her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

John took his wife’s hand. “Kaylee wasn’t a bad kid. Her mom worked all the time, so she was on her own a lot. She spent a lot of time at our house.”

Amy’s mouth tightened. “Not because I wanted her to.”

Nikki hadn’t missed the angry glances Amy gave to John every time she said Kaylee’s name. She blamed Kaylee for her daughter’s death, but he didn’t seem to share her sentiments. Perhaps that had driven a wedge between them.

“Kaylee’s mother’s on her way,” Sergeant Miller said.

John looked at Nikki. “I’ve followed your career with the FBI. Maddie, too. She was fascinated by the killer from the Ivy League schools. She wanted to go into criminal justice and when she found out I’d known you in high school, she begged me to email you so she could talk to you as part of her project for career day. I kept putting it off.” John’s mouth trembled and his hands fisted on the table. “Now you’re investigating her murder.”

Throughout grad school and her first few years with the FBI, Nikki kept her head down and worked her way up the food chain. Only a select few of her colleagues knew about her past. Six years ago, while working for the BAU at Quantico, her profile helped track down Marshal Weathers, better known as the Ivy League Stalker. Weathers had terrorized the elite schools for nearly a decade, with murders at Princeton, Brown, Yale and Harvard. Nikki hadn’t been the lead agent, but luck put her right in Weathers’ crosshairs. His dramatic capture at Harvard’s famed Memorial Hall made national news, and so did Nikki, along with her past.

After the capture of the Ivy League Stalker, Nikki had been offered the chance to start a behavioral analysis unit in St. Paul that would serve not only Minnesota but be available to assist law enforcement in Iowa, Wisconsin and Michigan. She’d hesitated to take the job because it could eventually bring her back to Stillwater, but heading a new unit was an opportunity the bureau probably wouldn’t offer her again. Her team made the news that summer after catching the resort murderer.

“To be fair, the Ivy League Stalker helped us. I don’t think we would have ever caught him if his ego hadn’t gotten involved,” Nikki said. “They always make mistakes, eventually.”

“And yet the Frost Killer is still out there.” Amy’s bitter tone matched the anger in her eyes. “You’ve failed to catch him and now he’s killed our daughter.”

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