The Nobody Girls (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 3) Rebecca Rane (ereader for comics .TXT) 📖

had observed the slippers Stephanie Dillon hid in her limos and behind podiums these days. You can’t wear spiked heels for decades and not pay the price.

Kendra’s life experience thus far had demonstrated the need to be able to run like hell. Her mother’s experience was running for office. The right footwear for those two jobs was essential.

Kendra spent the car time driving out to the OHP post listening to WPLE. The station broadcast news and even some classic music at various stages of the broadcast day.

She turned it off about ten minutes out to focus on what she wanted to ask Sargeant Newkirk. She’d looked him up. He’d been around a long time. And his beat had always been this stretch of I-75. Kendra wanted to know what he knew. She didn’t want official channels. She didn’t want community affairs spokespersons. She didn’t even care if it was on the record. Something he said had stuck with her.

She parked her Jeep and waited so she could be there as he finished his shift. Kendra watched Newkirk exit the OHP building and walk to his car.

It was time. Kendra popped out of her Jeep and carefully selected her angle of interception.

She arrived at the door of his Chevy Malibu a second before he did.

“Ah, the podcaster lady,” Newkirk said. He was sweating. The parking lot was reflecting the heat back up to them. She hoped he was anxious to get in his air-conditioned car as fast as he could. That would be to her advantage.

“Yeah, hey, I have a question for you. Wondering if you could help me out?”

“I’m supposed to tell you to go to the PIO.”

“You know, and I know, he has no clue about anything.”

Kendra played to Newkirk’s need to be the expert.

“That’s the damn truth.”

“You have experience. You’ve been here longer than any of these new guys. I have a question about something, and I think only you can answer.”

“Ha, there’s probably a lot only I know around here. I’d have retired five years ago, but the ex-wife needs her alimony.”

“Right, so…that woman the other day, at High Timbers, you said it was familiar? Can you tell me what was familiar?”

“Oh, well, yeah, it’s sweet that you’re hitching your wagon to her, but I’m sure that’s going to be a waste of your time.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to find out that she’s a prostitute no one knew, or a junkie, or something like that. If we ever find out who she is.”

“You called her something, uh nothing?”

“Nobody Girls.” Newkirk sniffed. It was a throwaway term to him. And yet, it hit Kendra hard.

“What does that really mean?”

“We had a rash of them along here, back in the day. Women who aren’t important to anyone, no families, no connections. I mean, it’s sad. But it’s the truth.”

“What do you mean a rash of them?”

“I don’t remember the number, but like three or four along I-75.”

Three or four? It was so unremarkable to Newkirk that it wasn’t worth it to remember how many dead women were found on his stretch of I-75.

“When?”

“Probably right when this High Timbers chick was offed, ’78 to around, uh, I think 1982 maybe. About five years.”

That tracked with what Kendra and Shoop were trying to find.

“Was there a pattern? What did you look for?”

“The pattern was they got themselves into this mess if you ask me.”

“What?”

“Turn tricks at a truck stop or hitch hike. You’re going to be killed. It’s not rocket science.”

Kendra didn’t flinch. She wanted Newkirk to think she was on his wavelength and not horrified. He was saying they asked for it. She was sickened and prayed that his world view was disappearing like dinosaurs. She wished he could retire soon too, as much as he did.

“Did you investigate this as a serial killer?”

“Well, that’s above my pay grade. We found the bodies, rerouted the traffic, cleaned up the mess, and kicked it up the flagpole.”

“So, you didn’t have some named killer, hunting, uh, nowhere girls?”

“Nobody Girls, get the lingo.”

“Right, so, other than being Nobody Girls, were their other similarities?”

“Something wrapped around the neck and dumped out in the boondocks. Black girls, white girls, whatever color, the neck thing was the tell, the bag too. When we saw that, we kicked it up the food chain to the feds.”

“Is there an FBI agent you remember that handled the cases?”

“Cases? Yeah, well, I think a guy named, uh, Branson? He was out of the Port Lawrence Field Office. So, your neck of the woods, missy.”

“Yep, okay. Well, thank you for your time.”

“This is all off the record?”

“Actually, I do have this recorded. I’d like to use it. You have an important perspective.” Kendra waived her clearly visible recording device at Newkirk.

“If you screw up my retirement—” Newkirk went from congenial to menacing in half a second.

Kendra stood her ground. “I promise to disguise your voice and even disguise what arm of law enforcement helped with this story.”

“You didn’t say you were recording.”

Kendra looked from Newkirk to her hand, in which she held her digital recorder. “Uh, well, what did you think this was?” Kendra waved it in front of Newkirk again. Wasn’t he a trained officer?

“Fine. But this is it. If I see you again, I’m walking the other way.”

The pretense of Newkirk and Kendra being buddies was over. He got into his vehicle and got away from Kendra as fast as he could.

That was fine. She had gotten what she came for. She had a lead, an FBI agent’s name.

And she had a title for this season of The Cold Trail.

She was going to show everyone that The Nobody Girls mattered to her. Even if they didn’t matter to Newkirk or anyone else.

But if she was going to pitch it to Art or even be sure they could craft a whole season, she’d need more. A lot more.

Chapter 8

Kendra was on the way back to the office. She’d disguise Newkirk’s voice, she’d protect him, but the idea that the women