Christmas Cold Case
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Maggie K. Black
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15.1K
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11
ONE
It was like driving through a thick, vanilla milkshake that was somehow still in the blender. Inspector Ethan Finnick navigated his pickup van through the storm, as thick globs of snow pelted from the darkness and splattered his windshield. He drove slowly across the narrow, one-lane swing bridge that connected Manitoulin Island to the mainland. Narrow iron bars rose on either side.
“Doesn’t exactly feel safe, does it?” Finnick asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at his constant back seat companion, an elderly black Labrador retriever named Nippy.
Nippy—short for Nipissing—had technically retired from his job as a K-9 cadaver dog six weeks ago when Finnick had stepped down as head of the RCMP’s Ontario K-9 Unit to head up the country’s first Cold Case Task Force. But as far as Finnick was concerned, the two of them were partners for life. The vehicle shuddered over a bump and Nippy woofed in complaint before lying his grizzled snout back down on his paws.
Finnick snorted. Then he prayed for strength and wisdom to face what awaited him on the other side of the bridge.
Casey Thompson.
Unbidden, the beautiful heart-shaped face and fierce hazel eyes he’d last seen some ten years ago filled his mind. Instinctively, he pushed the memory away as quickly and ineffectually as the wipers currently trying to keep the snow off his windshield. Casey’s former husband, Tim, was suspected of murdering a college student named Stella Neilson a decade ago, and Casey was the potential key to solving the cold case now. The Ontario police commissioner himself had asked that Finnick’s new team make this case a top priority due to how police had bungled the original investigation.
Finnick eased the van off the single-lane swing bridge and drove past a long line of other drivers waiting to cross in the other direction and get off the island once the light changed. Hopefully, he’d be headed that way too before long. He turned south toward the small town of Juniper Cove.
Finnick had been in his late thirties when he’d first met Casey. His hair had already been going gray back then, and he’d gone by Finnick for so long, he’d almost forgotten that technically his first name was Ethan. Casey had been in her late twenties, with somehow both the idealism of a person half her age and the wisdom of someone twice it. Needless to say, he’d liked being around her. Nippy had just been a pup fresh out of K-9 training when they’d been sent up from Toronto for a few days. They’d been tasked with searching Casey’s sprawling Manitoulin property for any trace of her missing husband and nineteen-year-old Stella, who’d last been seen leaving the island together. They’d found nothing.
When, seven years after Tim and Stella’s disappearance, Casey had successfully petitioned the court to declare Tim dead so that she could collect his life insurance, a lot of people in law enforcement cried foul.
But, so help me, Lord, there’s something about this case that’s stuck under my skin like a splinter I can’t reach. When we met ten years ago, she’d seemed so strong in her conviction that Tim couldn’t be a killer. Not to mention her faith that You’d see justice done, despite the chaos battering her life. Show me the truth beneath the lies. Help me convince Casey to assist us in finally solving what happened to Tim and Stella.
It had hardly been Finnick and Nippy’s first case and they’d worked countless ones since.
Yet when he’d learned the case was being reopened and that Casey was reluctant to talk, he’d felt the urge to jump into his van and drive the six-hour trek from Toronto to try for himself.
“So now I’m going to drop by and talk to her in person,” Finnick told the dog in the back seat, as if Nippy had been listening in on his conflicted thoughts. “Worse she can do is slam the door in my face, right?”
He was less than twenty minutes away, and maybe he should give her an opportunity to slam the phone down before he showed up at her house unannounced. He was about to instruct his hand’s-free feature to call Casey’s number when his phone rang, shattering the silence.
He punched the accept button. “Hello?”
“It’s Jackson,” came a deep male voice. “Hudson and I are calling you to give you some really good news. We’ve decided to take up your offer to join the team.”
K-9 Officer Jackson Locke and his German shepherd partner, Hudson, had served with Finnick for years and had been among the first job offers he’d made for the new Cold Case Task Force. Formerly of the RCMP, Jackson made five, joining his sister, private eye Gemma Locke, Constable Caleb Perry and K-9 Officer Lucas Harper of the special investigations unit along with his arson-detecting yellow Lab, Michigan.
Thank You, Lord. My team is coming together.
Finnick had always taken an interest in cold cases, wanting justice for victims and families who were still waiting for it. It had been a long-held dream of his to form this unit, and now that dream was becoming a reality.
“So, brief me,” Jackson said. “Gemma said you’ve already started on our first case?”
Finnick replied, “Nippy and I just arrived on Manitoulin Island and I’m on my way to talk to Casey Thompson since the cold case involves her late husband... She may be reluctant to help though.”
“Can’t really blame her,” Gemma’s voice echoed down the line, and Finnick realized he was on speaker. “We’re basically asking her to go before the courts and announce she just might be wrong about whether or not her late husband is dead. The past ten and a half years can’t have been easy for her. A lot of amateur online sleuths think Casey helped Tim kill a woman and cover up the crime, and then killed him too.”
“And the internet is never wrong about anything,” Jackson said, dryly.
Gemma snorted. While Jackson was a cop through and through, Gemma was the team’s lone civilian, a PI and a meticulously focused researcher who matched her brother’s talent beat for beat. She was Finnick’s first hire for the new task force.
“Long story short,” Gemma said, “eleven years ago, Stella Neilson was living on Manitoulin Island and engaged to marry the island’s golden boy, Drew Thatcher. He now runs a real estate business.”
Finnick slowed the van to a crawl and rounded a curve. He was less than fifteen minutes away from Casey’s home now. In between the sheets of blowing snow, he could now see Juniper Cove spread out below him in a blurry tapestry of Christmas lights. He blinked and still saw colored dots dancing before his eyes. A brightly decorated sign loomed above him. “Welcome to Juniper Cove, Finalist for Canada’s Most Whimsical Christmas Village. Sponsored by Thatcher Family Real Estate, the Perfect Home for the Perfect Family.”
Speaking of Drew Thatcher... Despite that Stella’s fiancé might normally be a person of interest in a case like this, Drew’s supervisor at work had provided him with an ironclad alibi back then and he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing.
“Stella and Tim worked together at the local hardware store,” Gemma went on, filling her brother in. “He was her supervisor. Stella disappeared a few months before the wedding, and the last time she was seen alive was leaving the island in the front seat of Tim’s car. Apparently, it was bright red and hard to miss.”
The snow was growing even thicker in front of his eyes now. He slowed further, not wanting to miss his next turn.
“They both vanished,” Gemma said. “There was a rumored sighting of the pair in Sudbury a few weeks later, but it was never proved to be them.”
“And what about the original detective assigned to the case?” Jackson asked.
“He died a few years ago and the case was just left to gather dust,” Finnick said. “We’ve got his files and they’re really weak. He was convinced Stella ran away with Tim. I barely met the man. My only involvement in the case was a search of Casey’s property with Nippy. And that was a full year after Tim and Stella had gone missing.”
Which was how he’d ended up sitting across from Casey in her farmhouse kitchen, touching her hand and feeling like he’d just somehow found something special buried deep in her eyes that he’d never even known that he’d wanted to find.
And that he wasn’t about to let himself act on.
“Now, you are coming for Christmas Eve dinner, right, Finnick?” Gemma asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Because both Caleb and Lucas have confirmed, and with Jackson here, we’ll have the full team.”
“Sure,” Finnick said, making a right onto Casey’s street. He wasn’t really in the habit of celebrating Christmas, but it would be good to get the team together before the task force launched in January. “The storm’s getting worse by the second and I’m nearly there. I’ll call you back.” They said their goodbyes and he disconnected.
Finnick still wanted to give Casey the heads-up he was coming. He commanded his hand’s-free app to select her number.
“Finnick,” Casey said. She’d answered before it even finished ringing once. “I’m on the roof of my barn, trying to fix a twisted string of Christmas lights. Can I call you back?”
She’s on the roof fixing Christmas lights in this weather?
“What?” The word exploded from his lungs more as an exclamation than a question.
He could hear the wind rushing down the phone line, echoing the wail of it outside his van, along with some kind of rattling sound. He had no doubt she was telling the truth.
“I’m on the roof—”
“—of your barn, I heard!” he said and remembered that Casey ran an online business making handmade soaps and candles out of her converted barn-slash-garage. “Climb down and I’ll talk to you on the ground.”
For a moment, there was no answer but the whistling wind and a clattering sound he guessed was the twisted string of lights. In all the time he’d thought about one day talking to Casey again, this had never once been how he’d imagined it.
“Hang on,” she said. “I’m just making my way to the trap door. Don’t worry, I made sure I was tethered to the drop ladder before I came out.”
Well, at least she hadn’t climbed a ladder up the side of the building.
“Why did you even answer the phone if you’re on the roof?” he asked.
“Because I saw your name on the screen,” she said, “I was afraid the call would drop, and I don’t know how long it’s going to be before we lose cell service in this storm. Phone service isn’t exactly reliable here and it’s actually best at the top of the barn.”
But his personal number was unlisted and so it shouldn’t have shown up on call display. Then it hit him. She must’ve kept it saved in her phone all these years.
His heart skipped an unfamiliar beat. She’d answered because it was him.
“Nippy and I are on our way to see you,” he started.
“If this is about this new Cold Case Task Force thing, I need more time to think about it. It’s a really big decision.”
“I’m the head of the task force thing,” he said. “I’m looking into Tim and Stella’s disappearance, and the Ontario police commissioner has personally asked me to see if we can overturn Tim’s death.”
“Tim’s dead!” Her voice rose above the wind. “He didn’t hurt Stella and I’m not going to help you prove otherwise. Besides, I used the insurance money to pay off his family’s debts. This farm has been in his family for four generations. If I declare him alive now, the insurance company will sue me and I’ll lose Tim’s family’s farm.”
Well, regrettably, it wasn’t up to her.
“Hey! Hey! Get away from there!” she shouted suddenly, her voice aimed away from the phone now, and it took him a moment to register that he wasn’t the one she was shouting at. “Finnick, I’ve got to go, I think there’s a trespasser on my property trying to break into my shed—”
A loud banging noise cut off the final word from her lips.
“Casey!” he shouted, feeling something lurch in his chest as her name exploded from his lips. “Are you okay?”
But the phone had gone dead, and when he tried back over and over again, all he got was the incessant beeping sound of an incomplete call. His heart seemed to thud along with the sound.
Lord, please help Casey! Take care and keep her safe until I can get there.
Wind beat harder against the side of the van, colluding with the ice beneath his tires to try to send him flying into a ditch. Everything inside him wanted to speed to Casey’s farm to find out why the call had dropped and make sure she was okay. Instead, he gritted his teeth and focused on keeping his vehicle on the road. He must be close now.
The snow fell harder, but finally, he glimpsed Casey’s farm. Her house and barn were wrapped in lights. What appeared to be a life-size nativity scene stretched across the entire front of her property.
All of a sudden, a young woman who he’d never seen before dashed out in front of his van so abruptly that Finnick cried out to God for help and smashed his foot on the brake. The van slid, trying to gain traction as the woman stood in shock, like a rabbit caught in headlights.
Fragile—with long pale hair tossed by the wind and eyes huge with fear. His eyes darted to the small bundle she was clutching to her chest.
Hang on, is she holding a baby?
His brakes locked. His van spun wildly.
He was careening toward her with no way to stop.
His phone flew free from its dashboard mount and clattered somewhere behind him.
“Get down, Nippy!” he shouted to his K-9 partner. “Brace for impact!”
Finnick gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ached.
Save us, Lord! Please don’t let me hit her!
Then he was flying off the road through a field and into the snow. He heard a thud and realized he’d hit something, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a large, four-legged creature bouncing off his windshield. A wall of snow rushed up to meet him. Then came a bone-shattering crunch as the van smashed into something hard hidden under the snow. He was thrown against the seat belt. The airbags deployed. His windshield cracked and caved in.
And then it was over and silence fell. He couldn’t hear the woman he’d nearly hit or the child she might’ve been holding.
“Nippy!” he called. “Are you okay?”
As for himself, he was sure to have aches and pains later, but nothing worth worrying about now. He wrestled with his seat belt, it fell free and then he twisted around to look into the back seat. Nippy scrambled up from the floor and licked his hand reassuringly. Finnick yanked his hood up, shoved the door open, then stepped out into the storm. He sunk into snow up to his knees. Nippy leaped into the front seat and climbed out, appearing unharmed. Sparkling Christmas lights that seemed to cover every inch of Casey’s farmhouse and barn cast an odd ethereal glow over the snow. Thankfully, the object that had bounced off his van was some kind of camel that’d been part of a sprawling nativity scene. He didn’t see the young woman with the baby anywhere.
“Hello?” he turned toward the road and shouted into the darkness. “Is anybody out there?”
The barn door flew open. There, in the golden light, stood the dark silhouette of Casey Thompson.
Tall and lithe, with her arms crossed and shoulder-length hair flying around her face.
“Finnick, is that you?” Casey’s voice rang out through the darkness, brave and strong with only the tiniest hint of fear. “Are you all right?”
But as he opened his mouth to answer, a dark shadow moved behind her.
Then he heard Casey scream.
The figure had come out of nowhere, leaping from the shadows of the barn from somewhere behind her van, slamming into her body and throwing her back. Her feet slipped out from under her. Her body hit the floor. Then her attacker was on top of her. She couldn’t make out his form, let alone his face. Strong hands clamped around her throat and squeezed. She grabbed at them, trying desperately to ease his grip on her neck as she thrashed about, struggling to throw him off her. A second scream for help ripped through her lungs, even as she felt her attacker squeezing her throat again.
“Finnick!” She shouted the name of the man she hoped had just crashed onto her property, throwing all the fear, strength and hope she had into the word. “Help!”
Help me, Lord! Save my life!
Her attacker’s grip heightened until it hurt to breath. Darkness swam before her eyes. A second male voice shouted now, from somewhere on the edges of her consciousness. She couldn’t make out his words. Then another sound reached her ears. A dog was barking, furiously.
“Shut up, sweet pea, or I’ll kill you!” Her attacker leaned toward her. His voice was harsh and artificially deep, like he was afraid she’d recognize it. “Where is he? Is he here?”
He? He who?
Is he looking for Tim?
“No...” She tried to shout the word but all she could manage was to whisper, “He’s...dead...”
The faint light of the Christmas bulbs outside the barn swam before her, and she finally saw the face of the man attacking her. It was a mask, rubbery and loose, of a shepherd with a supersized grin and yellow beard molded to his face. She blinked. He was wearing the very mask and robes she’d decked her scarecrow out in just a few days ago.
Her older sister had complained it was creepy.
Now, it was downright terrifying.
“If you’re hiding him, Casey,” the man hissed, “I will find him and kill you both.”
The barking rose to a fever pitch.
“Get away from her!” Finnick’s voice reached her ears.
The man in the creepy shepherd mask leaped off her. He ran into the dark recesses of her barn, no doubt to escape through the back door. She sat up and gasped quick and painful breaths, as her wobbly limbs struggled to let her stand.
“Casey! Are you okay?” Finnick’s voice sounded toward her.
Within seconds, he’d burst through the open barn door with a black Labrador retriever at his heels. And for the first time in a decade, she looked up into the face of Inspector Ethan Finnick.
He’d had sandy blond hair that was lightening prematurely ten years ago. Now it was full gray and peppered with fresh snow. There were new lines on his handsome face.
Worry pooled in the depths of his eyes.
A snowmobile roared from behind the barn. Her attacker was escaping.
“Are you okay?” Finnick asked.
“I—I think so...”
Her breathing was getting stronger and steadier by the moment, and nothing felt bruised or broken. Finnick crouched beside her and reached for her hand. She reached up toward him. His strong fingers held hers tightly and pulled her up to her feet. Despite the fact he was wearing gloves, she could feel warmth radiating through his palm into hers. She remembered a moment like it ten years ago, when they’d sat at her kitchen table talking and his fingers had suddenly grazed hers. They stood there in the barn for a moment, face-to-face, with his hand still holding hers, as if to make sure she was steady before letting go.
“Casey, who attacked you?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said. “A man...in a shepherd mask and robes...that he stole off my scarecrow.”
“Where is he?” Finnick asked.
“Gone... He ran.” She watched as Finnick whispered a prayer thanking God that she was safe, and Casey felt the warmth in her hand move up into her chest. “I thought I saw someone when I was up on the roof, and I dropped my phone. When I climbed down I couldn’t see anyone, then he jumped me.”
“Okay,” he said, “give me a second.”
He stepped back and placed a quick call to the island’s police chief, Rupert Wiig, who seemed to know exactly who Finnick was, and who she remembered he’d worked with before. She listened as Finnick relayed what she’d told him about her attacker.
The elderly black Labrador poked his head out from behind Finnick’s legs. The dog’s soft, black snout butted against her hand. He was Jackson’s partner, Nippy, she remembered. She ran her fingers over his silky ears, brushing the snow from his fur. Nippy licked her fingers and his tail thumped on the wooden floor.
Finnick stepped away and exchanged a few more words with Wiig that she couldn’t hear. Then he ended the call and turned back.
“Nippy remembers you,” Finnick said.
There was an odd tone to his voice that she couldn’t quite place.
“Wiig said he’d get his team looking out for the man who attacked you,” he went on. “I told him I’d take your statement and relay any pertinent information to him. I’m afraid my van crashed on your lawn and the windshield is shattered. Also, I should tell you that a young woman ran out in front of my van and I had to swerve to avoid her. I don’t know where she is now or if she’s okay. So, I gave her description to the chief as well and he said he’d have people looking for her too.”
Casey looked past him at the dark and blowing snow.
“I know it doesn’t look like it, but there are houses five minutes’ walk in all directions,” Casey said. “And the center of town is twenty minutes on foot. She won’t have to walk long for help. Thankfully, we have a really good neighborhood watch, organized by my big sister, Eileen.”
The same sister who’d told her to take the creepy costume off the scarecrow. She fished her cell phone from her pocket, pulled up a text to her sister and handed it to him.
“Here, input all the details,” she said, “and in a flash, Eileen will have every person on the island looking out for her. What did she look like?”
“Young, with long hair, and scared,” Finnick said, as he typed. “She was holding something. It might’ve been a baby, but I can’t be sure.”
“A baby?” Casey repeated.
“I’m afraid so.”
The text swooshed away from her phone and within a second, it pinged again as Eileen sent out an all-island alert about the woman.
He handed the phone back. “That’s a handy neighborhood-watch thing to have.”
“Eileen set it up after Stella and Tim vanished,” Casey said. “I know everyone thinks that Tim killed Stella and then vanished, but—”
The piercing and panicked sound of a baby’s cry rose suddenly on the wind.
Casey’s heart lurched. Was this the baby Finnick had seen?
But even as she was about to ask, it was like something instantly snapped inside Finnick. Immediately, he turned without hesitation and sprinted through the snow toward the sound, even while her brain was still scrambling to process what was happening. Nippy ran after him and so did she.
Lord, help us find and save the child!
The plaintive cries seemed to be coming from the center of her nativity scene.
Then she saw the baby.
A real, live infant, no more than a month or two old, was lying in the manger, in between the figures of Mary and Joseph, with a note pinned to its chest.
SAVE ME.
