She was here in Northfolk all along. Strangely, as I peered over the shoulder of the medical examiner and other officers at the scene, I couldn’t help thinking her face looked serene, almost peaceful.
Lips curled up, almost as though she were smiling, and hair spread out around her face like a shiny black halo of feathers. It was her body that told a different story. It was blackened and burned, her arms and legs curled up to her torso like a newborn baby.
Sergeant DelGrande said, “They’ve collected evidence here, and around the woods, but there’s still more to do. If there were footprints, the rain must have washed them away, though…”
“That isn’t Nova Nesbitt.” I choked the words out, holding my hand up to my face to combat the overpowering smell of charred flesh.
“What did you say?” Sergeant DelGrande knelt down beside me.
“I recognize her face from the photo. This is Rachel Coffey, the other missing woman from Granton.”
Sarge stood up and walked off to make a phone call. When he returned minutes later, I was still mesmerized by the doll-like mask that was Rachel’s face.
Clara was right—her sister is dead. But where are Nova and Lily?
As though he were reading my mind, Sergeant DelGrande said, “These guys have been combing through every square inch of these woods. We haven’t found any other bodies. Why don’t you go home and get dressed? It’s cold out here. You haven’t even been home since getting back from Granton, right? You don’t need to see her like this,” he told me, delicately.
“I’m fine. I don’t see you telling Mike or Roland or anyone else to go ‘get dressed’,” I snapped, angrily.
“Okay then. Well, the medical examiner is going to take her now. If you want to meet us down there in a few hours for the autopsy, you can.” He gave me a tight smile.
“I’ll see you then,” I said, bitterly.
I headed back to my cruiser, mind reeling. If the medical examiner could determine that she’d died on Saturday night, then Rachel Coffey died around the same time Nova went missing.
Could Nova be involved in her former midwife’s death? Or possibly Clara?
It seemed unlikely, but still…
My mind drifted back to the farm and Clara Appleton. I hadn’t even told the Sergeant yet about her connection with Nova. I was about to turn back and go tell him, when I had a thought: Martin probably killed all three of them. Nova, because she left him. Rachel, because she knew about Lily. But Lily…no. Why would he go to the trouble of covering up her existence if he was simply going to kill her?
My thoughts turned around and around, going nowhere.
Inside my cruiser, I laid my head against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Nova. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to answer your call. If I had, maybe I could have helped you. We’ve found Rachel, but where are you…?” I pulled my phone from my pocket, staring down at the buttons until they looked wavy and foreign.
Why couldn’t I have been the one to take her call that night? Why?!
I’d never listened to the voicemails she’d left on the on-call cell phone the night she vanished. Over the past couple days, I’d been so swept up in looking for evidence at the Nesbitt residence, that I hadn’t bothered to listen or look close to home. Somehow, listening now seemed like a bad idea…listening to a possibly dead woman’s distress calls…
But listening was the least I could do.
I clicked on the voice messages and held the phone to my ear. A robotic woman’s voice informed me that I had zero messages. “Roland, you prick.” I clenched my jaw, my face reddening with anger.
Roland was probably worried he’d get in trouble for not responding to an emergency call and had deleted the messages. Disappointed, I flipped through the call log, trying to figure out what time she’d called. I scrolled through, stopping when I saw her number on the screen. Nova had called at 11:03 on Saturday night. I expected to find it listed as a missed call, since Roland said he got the messages on Sunday morning. But instead, I was shocked to see that the call had lasted for twenty-six minutes.
I tried to imagine Roland down at the bar and the strip club, accidentally bumping the phone while he was stumbling around drunk. Or what if…?
I pulled out my personal cell and dialed Mike. “Pick up, pick up…” I chanted.
“Hello?” He was somewhere out there with the rest of the guys, combing for evidence in the trees.
“Mike, it’s Ellie. You and Roland were out drinking on Saturday, right?”
“Yeah, why?” He sounded far away, his voice tinny and strange.
“Were you together all night? I’m trying to coordinate Rachel Coffey’s death with the time Nova called the on-call line.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, he got a call that he responded to. I told him he was too drunk to go, but you know how well he listens. He’s not in trouble, is he?” Mike sounded grave serious now, always looking out for his buddy.
“No. Just trying to figure out some details for this case. You said he left? About what time?”
“About 11:30, why? These questions are weird, Ellie. You’re making me uncomfortable.” I could almost see him shaking his head on the other line.
“Did you see him again after that? Did he come back to the bar?”
“No. He went home after checking on a domestic call. Said he was wiped out. Ellie, why don’t you call Roland and just ask him? I d— ”
I hung up too fast to hear his last words.