The Girls in the Snow (Nikki Hunt #1) - Stacy Green Page 0,60
sun was setting in the window behind Hardin. Nikki turned the volume up with a sinking feeling.
“Sheriff Hardin spoke to the media late this afternoon regarding the murders of Kaylee Thomas and Madison Banks, as well as the unidentified woman found in Heritage Park this morning.”
Hardin stood behind a podium that barely hid his belly. “We are working around the clock to find the person responsible for the deaths of poor Madison and Kaylee, as well as the unidentified woman in the park. The FBI hasn’t ruled out any suspects, including the serial killer known as Frost.”
Hardin asked for questions and then scanned the audience. He pointed to a mousy-looking woman in the front. She asked about Mark’s retrial and the validity of Nikki’s testimony given her intoxicated state.
“She passed a sobriety test,” Hardin said.
“What about a toxicology test?”
“Nicole Walsh claimed she’d only had a couple of drinks, and she passed the sobriety test. We took her at her word.”
Nikki couldn’t believe it. Was her memory that messed up?
“Do you think Todd’s appeal is distracting Nikki from the case at hand?”
“Yes, because you keep asking about it,” Nikki said to the empty room. Every time she tried to focus on Madison and Kaylee, something about her parents’ case came up. Why didn’t the media have their priorities straight?
Hardin paused and glanced at the camera as though he were thoughtfully considering his answer. She knew Hardin had a working relationship with at least one local reporter. Perhaps the reporter had been instructed to ask that specific question. “I have some concerns, yes.” Nikki’s jaw throbbed from clenching it. “It’s not a reflection on her abilities at all, but she’s not superwoman. I think it’s asking quite a lot for her to work in Stillwater right now.”
“Are you asking her to leave the case to the locals?” another reporter asked. “Given the lack of movement on the girls’ disappearance, it seems your department needs the FBI’s resources.”
Hardin bristled. “I plan on working closely with Agent Hunt from here on to ensure she stays on task.”
Nikki rewound the television and paused on the reporter in the front row. She took a picture with her phone and then zoomed in as far as she could without distorting the image. The reporter’s badge indicated she worked for the Star Tribune, and her first name was Molly or something close. Her last name only had four letters.
Nikki dug into her bag for the article about Mark’s retrial that she’d read in the paper.
Written by Molly Dahl.
Nikki’s phone buzzed, and Miller’s number flashed on the screen. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Your boss planted that reporter and the questions she asked.”
“I had no idea until the piece ran on the news,” Miller said. “But that’s not why I’m calling. We have an ID.”
Twenty
The Doll House was a “gentlemen’s club” that supposedly catered to a higher-end clientele, touting its view of the St. Croix Vineyards as an exclusive perk, along with high-quality dancers. The building’s location on a dead-end road provided discretion. The exterior was decidedly understated, but inside looked like every other strip club Nikki had seen: dark, with lots of shiny chrome and several different stages.
“Sorry to drag you out of bed,” Miller said.
“It’s fine.” Anger still coursed through her. “I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Who called in the ID?”
“Strip club owner, Bart Gibson. He’s waiting for us in his office.”
It was a slow night, with only a handful of patrons watching the two women who were dancing.
Nikki and Miller showed their badges and were led into a backroom by a bored-looking waitress.
“Cops are here for you,” she said.
A petite man wearing a black polo shirt waved them into a tidy but small office. Miller introduced himself and Nikki.
“Her name is Janelle Gomez. She’s only been working here for a few days. She didn’t show up for her shift yesterday morning, so I thought she’d flaked. Couldn’t believe it when I saw her tat on the news.”
“You have a morning shift?” Nikki asked.
“Business meetings,” Gibson said. “Married men skipping work, that sort of thing. Money obviously isn’t as good, but she was new.”
“Do you have any contact information for her next of kin?”
Gibson shook his head. “Story she gave me was that she left Eau Claire to get away from an abusive ex. Never mentioned any other family.”
“Was she friendly with any of the other girls?”
Gibson shrugged. “Not that I know of. She kept to herself, but she wasn’t here long.”