Without a Trace Read online

  That was interesting, although Nova didn’t strike me as the sewing type.

  She also didn’t strike me as the type to batter and strangle someone, or lie about having children, but I was about to walk into the Granton police station and ask for a copy of the incident report from when she got arrested. I tried sarge one last time, with no luck, then texted Chad back about the stones we’d found and Martin’s total denial of his daughter’s existence.

  I was about to march inside the station to obtain Nova’s arrest report when my phone rang. Hoping it was Sergeant DelGrande, I stared down at the unknown number.

  “Officer James speaking.”

  “Hi. Ms. James? It’s…it’s Rita Clause, Nova’s sister. We just met at dad’s,” said a meek voice on the other line.

  “Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Rita?”

  The young woman cleared her throat, then said, “I didn’t want to say this in front of my dad, but I knew about Lily.”

  My breath clenched in my chest. I breathed out heavily, through pursed lips. Thank goodness.

  “Why is Martin denying her existence then, and why didn’t your sister tell your dad about his granddaughter?”

  “Martin is an asshole, but what he said was true. My sister was pregnant. I saw her. I took her to a few of her appointments. But she lost the baby. She wanted to wait before she told everyone, and then when she miscarried, she never did. It was so painful for her.”

  My heart fell, and I smacked my hands on the steering wheel. “I already know about the baby, but according to Martin and her neighbor, the child she was carrying was a boy. Are you saying that your sister made it all up? That she called us out there to report a child missing that doesn’t even exist?”

  “I-I don’t know…maybe she was so stressed out over Martin. I never learned the baby’s sex…I just know she lost it. That’s the only baby I know of. My sister liked to drink sometimes. Are you sure she wasn’t drunk and confused?”

  I remembered the smell emitting from Nova on the first morning we met. Was it mouthwash or alcohol I smelled? And even if she was drunk…I still couldn’t imagine being so intoxicated that I thought my miscarried child was still alive. But…I’d never lost a child. Who could really know what her mindset was? Perhaps she is mentally ill, I considered, glumly.

  I asked Rita a few more questions about Nova’s history. She admitted that her sister was anxious and depressed sometimes, but no mental disorders had ever been diagnosed by a doctor.

  “Thank you, Rita,” I said, slamming the phone shut. Circles, and more circles.

  I forced myself out of my cruiser and strolled inside the Granton police department. I thought for sure they’d give me trouble, but the place was quiet as a tomb, well, except for the gum-popping teenager working the desk. She was probably in her twenties, but with her freckled cheeks and braces, and that annoying gum, she seemed much younger. I asked for a copy of Nova’s arrest report and she asked me for nothing in return, not a flash of my badge or even an ID.

  “Thanks,” I said, collecting the thick stack of pages that I hoped would give me some insight into Nova Nesbitt.

  ***

  Air conditioning pumped from the vents in my hotel room. Despite the unusual humidity outside, I was freezing from the rain. I peeled out of my uniform and tossed it in a corner of the room. One nice thing about being here instead of mom’s, was that I didn’t have to worry about being neat.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the cabin and wishing I was back in Northfolk. I felt like I owed it to Nova to be there, and there was still so much more work to do. I was convinced that Martin was guilty, but still, they say that most violent crimes occur near your home. All these worried travelers and phobic fears about foreigners, all the while the real danger is probably lurking in your own backyard…

  But Northfolk wasn’t Nova’s home, Granton was, I reminded myself. If something happened to her, then I was probably in the right place because this town was where she lived and breathed…

  Please still be breathing, Nova, I silently prayed.

  Despite her sister and Martin’s reports about the child, I still couldn’t believe that Martin was innocent. Nova had been so scared…so convincing…

  I took my phone and dialed the station in Northfolk. Everyone should be out working the case, I thought. But I was hoping to catch someone who wasn’t down at the scene.

  “Northfolk Police Department.” I instantly recognized Officer Freis’s burly voice. He was one of our newest officers. He’d transferred to our unit from St. Paul last year. I’d had this tiny glimmer of hope that we might connect, both being relatively young, and new to the force. But unfortunately, he’d quickly fallen in line with Roland and the other guys after hearing about my shooting incident.

  “Hey, Freis. It’s Officer James. I’m surprised you’re still in the office.”

  “Yeah, well, I have a mountain of paperwork to do from last week.”

  I rolled my eyes. Before Nova Nesbitt came to town, there was very little going on in Northfolk. What sort of paperwork could he possibly be doing?

  “What have you been doing for the Nesbitt case? I’m in Granton, so I’m trying to get an update. I already talked to Chad via text earlier.”

  “Well, we’ve been reviewing CCTV footage from some of the local stores and bars, looking for any suspicious vehicles, or anyone toting around a strange girl with them,” he said. I could hear him rustling papers around. He sounded bored.

  “Any luck with that?”

  “Nada.”

  “Well, what about local sex offenders?” My head flooded with images and feelings that I never wanted to think or feel again.

  “Yep. Been working on that, too.” As Freis started listing off nearly a dozen names, I was shocked to learn that we had so many registered sex offenders in Northfolk and its surrounding counties.

  “Can you grab Nichols and maybe you guys can start working through that list, checking out their current status? Make sure they are still living where they’re supposed to be living and look inside their houses. Make sure they’re not stashing a little girl or a woman there, in other words.”

  Freis groaned. “Don’t we need a warrant to do that?”

  “Not if they’re on probation or parole. Contact the PO officer on record. They might even go do it for you. You can find all that stuff listed in Shuttel.” Shuttel was our central database for local and state-wide criminals. It was also where we could type up our notes and keep them in one place, but most of the guys still insisted on doing it the old way, on paper.

  “Wow, that sounds like a whole lot of work. Isn’t this your case?” Freis groaned.

  “Have you ever noticed the ‘work’ part in the word ‘police work’?” I asked. “There might be a killer in Northfolk, so I think that makes this everyone’s problem, don’t you?”

  I walked over to my hotel window and looked out. Two stories up, my view overlooked the back parking lot. As I stared out at the wet, dark pavement and droopy clouds in the sky, I was hit with a wave of depression. I looked around the lot for signs of life, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear. Two piercing blue eyes and a teasing smile looked back at me from the sky … Martin Nesbitt’s face on a realty advertisement.

  I must have made a noise, because Freis asked, “You okay?”

  “Peachy.” I stared at Martin’s over-confident grin. His face was plastered on a billboard; in the distance, it looked huge. It overlooked the highway, larger than life and high above the ground. Martin was one of those high-rise boys who enjoyed hooking up with girls who lived close to the ground, damaged. It was a strange thought, but I couldn’t shake it. I was convinced he had to be the one who’d hurt Nova and took her little girl…

  “You still there?” Freis asked, sounding tired. I could imagine him hunched over his desk, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “Call me after you’ve gone through that list?” I asked him.

  “Alright. Talk soon.”
He clicked off the phone, but it took me a few seconds to realize he was gone. I was still mesmerized by Martin’s eyes, the way they seemed to be laughing at me…

  With Nova’s arrest report in hand, I slithered beneath the hotel sheets and the thick creamy comforter. Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since I last slept. My thoughts were heady and strange, my head and jaw thudding as I leaned against the soft feather pillows in the bed.

  I was waiting to hear back from my boss and Roland and Mike for an update on their end. There had to be something, some tiny detail would do, anything to crack this case wide open. So far, all I had was a missing child that didn’t seem to exist and a slimy husband that gave me the creeps.

  I checked my phone for missed calls one more time, then set it on the hotel nightstand. Sinking deeper in the sheets, I started reading the first page of Nova’s arrest report. Domestic Battery, Criminal Confinement and Strangulation. Some pretty serious charges.

  My eyes grew heavy and warm as I scanned through the next three pages. I needed to sleep soon. I wouldn’t be able to do any good policework until I got some rest.

  I put the arrest report on the nightstand next to my phone and flipped the lamp beside the bed out. Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine that day and what might have really happened. Police reports are so formal and concise; they rarely depict the whole story.

  According to the report, police were called to the scene of a domestic disturbance at the Nesbitts’ six months ago. They’d received a distress call from Martin Nesbitt. When they arrived, he met them on the porch. Bruised and bleeding, there were distinctive finger print marks circling Martin’s neck. She’s lost it, really fucking lost it this time, he told them. Supposedly, he called them out of fear—his wife, Nova Nesbitt, threatened to kill him if he tried to leave. When asked what provoked the initial argument, Martin admitted that he was a “piece of shit”, and that his wife had found images and messages on his phone that revealed he was having an affair. I shouldn’t have called the police, I just got scared she might really kill me. He begged them not to arrest her, but they did anyway. She was inside, tucked between the toilet tank and sink, when they went inside the apartment. She didn’t have a scratch on her. When they asked her why she did it, she just shrugged. She never made a statement, not even after she got arrested, and for the next forty-eight hours, she sat in a holding cell before Martin bailed her out. She went to court a few months later and in open court, Martin stood and pleaded with the judge to drop the charges. The only words Nova ever spoke were ‘not guilty’. The judge went easy on her, only assigning one hundred hours of community service.

  It was a pretty typical story of domestic abuse, except for the fact that the victim was male in this case. It wasn’t unheard of, just less common. Often, the victims dropped the charges after their abuser went to jail, so that part wasn’t surprising either.

  I tried to imagine Nova, such a wispy, nervous woman, with her hands around Martin’s neck. He was a muscular, athletic man, and I was having trouble picturing it. But that was unfair. Just because he’s a man doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a victim of domestic violence. I knew that. My training made sure I knew that. But still, he seemed so cocky and arrogant when I was alone with him. I couldn’t wrap my brain around this story. A picture was being painted of a crazy woman who told lies. But that’s the same thing all of the officers said about Mandy Clark. She was hard to handle. She drove him to drink. He wasn’t really abusive. Officer Ezra Clark was local, and his wife wasn’t. A good old boy who played football in high school, served in the military, and climbed the respected ranks in the police force. His wife was painted as the needy, dramatic one. And when I shot him to protect her and myself, it was like I’d murdered a hero.

  I refuse to just accept these stories about Nova being unstable, until I find out where she is and can talk to her myself, I decided.

  Closing my eyes, I reviewed the details of the case in my mind until my thoughts turned murky and weird. Sharp, plastic teeth and mangy claws. Big black button-eyes transforming into sunless, shimmery, black puddles that sucked up little girls and ate them alive…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  2 years earlier

  The Mother

  NOVA

  When I became a mother, nothing changed, much to my disappointment. It was silly of me, thinking things would be different. Not just Martin, but life. I thought things might look different somehow, like looking through a new pair of lenses; I thought the world would make either more or less sense; I thought I’d feel like a grown-up. Like a real woman.

  But the trees on Meadow Lane still looked the same. The sidewalks are still filled with cracks. Step on a crack and break your mother’s back, that’s what my half-sister Rita and I used to say as we skipped and hopped over fissures in sidewalks when we were little. Since our mothers weren’t around, we didn’t care if we cursed them or not.

  Mailboxes on Meadow Lane all looked the same. Houses loomed like old ghosts and the walls of my apartment with Martin still closed in on me. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s the walls, really, or if it’s my own skin that’s too itchy, too narrow, too tight…

  Lily was tiny and flimsy. She cried, she cooed, and I was terrified to be her mother. I tried to keep her quiet all the time, so as not to upset Martin, but sometimes that wasn’t always possible. Other women said, ‘Don’t worry. When she gets here, you’ll be a natural’. Lies. All lies.

  I’m still the same woman I was before I gave birth to my daughter. Still that same girl from ten years ago, retainer sliding around her teeth and clumsy paws for hands. I’m still me, but I’m not me. And when I look in the mirror, I wonder: where did I go? It’s like there are all these versions of me walking around town: the unwanted child, the gawky teen, the free-spirited adult, the abused wife, the inexperienced mother…and none of them are who I want to be, not really. There’s me and then there’s the reflection of me—these are two very different things.

  Today was my last day of my community service down at the soup kitchen. I rarely left the house anymore, unless it was for my “punishment” the court assigned. I say “punishment” but it feels like a gift, getting out of the house and away from Martin’s watchful eyes and a break from Lily’s beggary.

  As I parked at the curb in front of 609 Meadow Lane, I was relieved not to see Martin’s truck. I let myself inside the apartment and set my purse on the kitchen counter. I could hear Lily’s bubbly laughter, sweet and melodic, floating down the hall from her bedroom. The door was closed and when I pushed it open, my face broke out into a smile. My eyes tickled with tears, the kind of tears that spring up and catch you by surprise. Lily was sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor playing patty cake with Rachel. They both looked up at me and smiled.

  “Mommy’s home,” Rachel squealed, in that childlike, singsongy voice that all adults tend to use when they’re in the presence of cute, chubby-faced babies.

  “How was it?” she asked, standing up and lifting Lily from the floor. She passed her to me and I squeezed her tight, sucking in her sweet baby smells of lotion and spoiled milk.

  “Went f-fine. I’ll sort of m-miss helping out d-down there. Does that s-sound crazy?”

  Rachel stroked the soft little curls around Lily’s neck. “No, of course not. It’s nice to get out, Nova. You should do it more often. And just because you’re not assigned there anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t ask to volunteer on your own.” Strangely, the idea had never crossed my mind. Probably because Martin would never agree to it. I was lucky enough to be allowed to have Rachel over as a babysitter on my community service days.

  I nodded, my eyes glazing over as I stared at the tightly drawn blinds in Lily’s room. She rarely saw the sun and I almost wished I could have taken her down to the soup kitchen with me. She would have enjoyed the sights and the smells, and the kind people, who were just so happy to receive a hot meal.

  “M-Martin isn’t home yet,” I said, more to myself than to Rache
l.

  I could feel her staring, her eyes burning holes in the side of my face. “We’re alone for once,” she spoke, softly.

  I snapped out of my daze. Lily was wiggling around in my arms, eager to run around on the floor. I eased her down, the movement still awkward and scary for me even though she wasn’t tiny anymore, and she quickly raced across the carpet toward her basket of toys.

  “What d-do you m-mean by that?”

  “I just mean, he’s always here. That’s all. I’m always happy to come watch Lily for you, for any reason. Even if you just want to take a walk, or sleep.”

  “Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate all your h-help. With watching after Lily, and…my pr-pregnancy with M-Matthew.”

  “How are you feeling? Would you like me to give you a check-up sometime soon? You’re way overdue for one.” This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. Besides the secret ultrasound when she determined Lily’s sex, she hadn’t examined me.

  “I just wish you would have let me help more…” she said, reaching out and pulling me in for a hug, surprising me. She’d never touched me unless she was examining me, so it was unexpected and shockingly pleasant. “Listen,” she said, pulling back and squeezing my shoulders gently, “before he gets back, I wanted to give you this.”

  “What i-is it?” I watched her take out a small card from her right jeans pocket.

  “It’s a knitting club. I think it would be good for you, Nova.”

  “Oh.” Dumbfounded, I accepted the card and turned it over and back. It was white and nondescript, with a website address in the center. Knitting tips dot com. I’d never knitted a single thing in my life. Home Ec was still required when I went to school and for the second half we learned about sewing. I preferred the cooking and the eating part of the semester because my hands were too shaky to hold the fabric straight. My teacher, Miss Langley, told me I was one of the worst she’d ever seen. I could have told Rachel this, but I didn’t have the heart.