Page 15 of Her Frozen Heart

That’s not what had her stomach turning, though. She’d been in law enforcement long enough that working a case was often like muscle memory. Every murder had its own unique circumstances, but at the beginning of an investigation, certain bases always had to be covered and Nikki could run those in her sleep at this point. As sickening as the crime might be, Nikki could compartmentalize those emotions—at least until it was time to talk to the victim’s family. That experience never failed to leave a mark on Nikki’s soul, but she knew today was going to be even worse.

So much for Christmas being the happiest time of the year.

THREE

On the drive to the sheriff’s office, Nikki called Courtney and broke the news. As she’d expected, Courtney was eager to get back to the city and help with the case. “I’ll make sure I’m at the lab by tomorrow evening. What’s priority?”

“The blood from the back of Stanton’s truck along with the weapons we found in his toolbox. He said it’s all deer blood, and I believe him, but I need to rule him out. Those have already been bagged for evidence, but the truck itself is a different story.” She explained the decision to impound the truck. “We may not be able to get the truck to the lab until Sunday, but the electronic warrant allows us to search the inside for any biological evidence tied to Kesha. I’m going to call Blanchard in a little bit and see how quickly she can get to the autopsy.”

Blanchard had a reputation as a hard-nosed, no-nonsense medical examiner, but Nikki had earned her respect in the last year. She was banking on that to keep her from getting reamed for calling on a holiday.

“She’ll handle the tox tests, I’m sure,” Courtney said. “If there’s anything with the body she needs me to test, let her know to send ASAP and I’ll do it myself.”

“You sound way too excited to cut your holiday short and work a murder,” Nikki said. “Things going that badly?”

Courtney snickered. “Just the usual judgment from my self-righteous family. It’s okay to spend time in jail for drugs, but apparently, being a lesbian and a forensic examiner means I will never find love or happiness in my life.”

“Good grief,” Nikki said. “Too bad you’re not in a serious relationship right now. You could have brought her home to the family and really caused a stir.”

“I know, right? How’s Lacey doing?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. I’m still a little worried about her spending a week with Tyler’s parents, but she says that she’s excited.” Her ex-husband’s parents had always blamed Nikki for the divorce and resented the time she spent at her job, and Tyler’s murder had spurred them to threaten a custody battle for Lacey, blaming Nikki for his death and for Lacey not wanting to visit them. Fortunately, they’d been receptive to the mediation Nikki’s attorney offered, and after speaking with Lacey’s therapist, agreed to take a different approach. Lacey’s reticence had nothing to do with her grandparents. She just struggled to spend time with them because they reminded her of her father. At the therapist’s suggestion, Tyler’s parents had been brought into a couple of therapy sessions with Lacey. The open dialogue had helped everyone, and Lacey was excited to go to Florida with them and spend a week on the beach. “I just hope she doesn’t realize it was a mistake once she’s on the plane.”

“She won’t,” Courtney said reassuringly. “And if she does, you’ve got people who can step in and help out.”

“I know,” Nikki said, turning into the big parking area at the Washington County Government Center. “Try to have a good holiday and enjoy your mom’s cooking.”

“There is that,” Courtney said. “And same to you. I know you already know this, but it’s okay to be happy on Christmas, even when everything else is shit. That’s my version of Christmas spirit, anyway.”

“Thanks, Court.” Nikki parked in the same row as Miller. Normally she’d have to park way in the back, by the exit, but the holiday exodus meant half the lot was empty. “Be careful driving home tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you when I get in,” Courtney said. “Mom made enough to feed several families, so hopefully I’ll still be able to fit through the lab door.”

“Good luck with that,” Nikki said. “I’m going to check in with Hernandez, so I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Drive safe.”

As Special Agent in Charge of the Minneapolis Field Office, Hernandez usually took a hands-off approach, but with all the media attention bearing down on them, Nikki knew he’d appreciate her checking in.

“Nikki.” Hernandez sounded surprised to hear from her. “You calling on Christmas Eve seems like a really bad omen.”

“I’m sorry to say you’re right, boss. We have a situation in Washington County.” She briefed Hernandez on what little they knew so far. “Thanks to Stanton’s wife, the media knew the victim was Kesha Williams by the time I arrived on scene. Local channels and a couple of national affiliates are camped out at the north entrance to Big Marine Lake. There’s already chatter about how the Bloomington Police Department dropped the ball on her case because she’s black.”

“Christ,” Hernandez said. “Even if it’s not true, we have to control the narrative.”

“Honestly, at this point, we don’t know enough to really do that,” Nikki said.

“We can make it clear that we are putting Kesha Williams at the top of our priority list.”

“She’s at the top of mine.”

“That appearance needs to be given to the media too,” Hernandez said. “My bosses have made it clear they don’t want any of the racial bias in the city leaking into our investigations. I know you won’t do that, but we need to make sure the press understands we’re doing everything we can to prevent it.”

“I’m going to let you handle that, sir.” Nikki got out of the jeep, cradling her phone against her shoulder. “I’ll check in with you later.”

Nikki signed into the sheriff’s office at the front desk, the young, unfamiliar officer at the county sheriff’s entrance barely greeting her with a grunt and a nod. The officer looked more like a high school student than a young cop, but seniority always won the holiday battle. As she walked past the cubicles towards the conference room, the nearly empty bullpen was silent, save for the deputy with the back corner desk.

She found Miller in Conference Room B, his laptop already open. “My office is a mess right now,” he told her. “Hope this is okay.”

She took the chair next to him. “Conference room B is kind of our tradition,” she said, referring to the previous cases they’d worked together. “Might as well continue it. Has the family been informed?”

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