Last Girls Alive: A totally addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Katie Scott Book 4)

by Jennifer Chase

“Okay, what about Amy Striker?”

  “Nothing on her. And the phone number 555-2711 is not a working number—of course.”

  Katie sat back in her chair feeling a bit defeated. “Why the name Amy Striker?”

  “It could be a purely made-up name or a name from the past. An old childhood friend. A neighbor. A fictional character in a book. It could be just about any name that she wanted to use.”

  Katie sighed. “You’re right.” She grabbed her phone. “I just can’t help but think that hooded guy is somehow tracking us.” Looking at the image, “Who are you?”

  “What’s that?” asked McGaven.

  “I took this photo when we entered the crime-scene area at Elm Hill just for documentation.”

  “Send it to my email,” he said.

  Katie sent two photos to McGaven.

  With a few keystrokes, he enlarged the images. “Hmm,” he grumbled.

  “What?”

  “Why is it when you need to see an identity of somebody—they are standing in the perfect position with the lighting to make it next to impossible to identify who they are?”

  Katie pushed her chair next to McGaven and scrutinized the screen. She let out a breath. “Maybe if I had waited another second or two, there would be a better photo. But, we’re assuming that that hooded guy is the same guy I chased at Green Street.”

  “Look at the build,” he said.

  Katie saw the guy had his hands in his pockets and had shifted his right shoulder to further obscure his identity. “Yeah, he appears to be like the guy I chased. But look at how he turns his body to make sure that his identity isn’t seen.”

  “It’s like he knows where the potential cameras are.”

  “Who would know instinctively how to do that?”

  “Well, criminals, for one.”

  “What about someone who understands camera angles?”

  “You mean like a photographer—or a model, I suppose. Interesting.”

  Katie looked at the second photo with other people. “Look at how everyone else is oblivious to anyone watching them or photographing them.” The others were leaning in and craning their necks to get a better look at the crime scene. “It’s a huge contrast between hooded guy and the others. He doesn’t seem to be curious about the scene, but cautious.”

  “Well, we have plenty more information to dig through,” he said.

  Katie glanced at her board and realized that they really needed a confirmation that the body at Elm Hill Mansion was Candace Harlan’s sister—Carol Harlan. She also had a sinking feeling that they were missing something—or someone.

  Thirteen

  Tuesday 1845 hours

  Katie searched for 1188 Spreckles Lane as she slowly drove by the brightly painted houses. It was a nice older neighborhood with cottages that had been remodeled and nicely kept up. It was pretty and inviting. The sidewalks were neat and tidy, as were the grass and bushes. Green was the color of the day, after all the rain they had received made the landscape pop.

  “Eleven eighty-eight, where are you…” she muttered to herself and glanced at the tiny piece of paper with the neatly printed address once again. No explanation. No other notes of direction. Just the address. Even her GPS wasn’t any help.

  Katie drove the police sedan around the block again. “What am I missing?” she grumbled. “There’s eleven eighty-six and eleven ninety… where’s…” That’s when she saw it. A small yellow house tucked back behind two towering trees down a single long driveway. It had climbing vines and two large lemon trees.

  She parked her vehicle on the street and got out.

  Small stepping stones ran along the side of the drive leading up to a detached single-car garage. The instant aroma of orange blossoms and another sweeter smell filled the air—even though it was late in the season. It reminded Katie of long summers when she was young—before going back to school.

  There was a pounding noise coming from inside the small house—like a tool hitting a pipe. Rhythmic and constant. The closer she came to the front door the louder it became.

  The front door was wide open.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “In here,” came the reply.

  “Where?” she laughed and stepped inside.

  “Here.”

  The tiny cottage had a nice-size living room filled with moving boxes, and she spied where there were most likely two bedrooms and a small bath between them.

  “I thought you were a detective,” the muffled voice said from another area.

  “Just clearing the other rooms first…”

  Katie turned to the left and around a corner, finding herself in the small kitchen. White cabinets, a half-size refrigerator, a small butcher block island, and two long countertops rounded out the area. From underneath the sink two legs and part of a torso were visible, the banging sounds continuing.

  “What, are you a plumber now?” she said.

  The man pushed himself free from under the sink. Chad was still wearing his Pine Valley Fire Department uniform. “What took you so long?” he said.

  “This isn’t the easiest place to find.”

  He stood up, his sparkling blue eyes fixed on her. “What do you think of the place?”

  “I… I like it. It’s cozy.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was tiny, but there was definitely a significant amount of charm.

  “Yeah, I know. Small, but affordable. After I do some repairs, I’ll be able to flip it and get something bigger. But for now…” He gently pushed Katie backward and planted a long kiss on her lips.

  “Is that your Chad hello?” she giggled.

  “Is that your gun?” he countered with a sly expression.

  “Sorry, the gun and badge are a part of the package.”

  “It’s nice to see you,” he said and kissed her again. “Really nice.”

  “I thought we were having dinner. This doesn’t look cook friendly yet.”

  “How does pizza and wine sound?”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Great.” He retrieved his cell phone.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.”

  “What?” he said.

  Katie smiled genuinely and said, “Congratulations on your new house.”

  As they relaxed on the sofa eating their favorite combination pizza and sipping a nice red wine, Katie felt relaxed. It was the first time in a couple of days that she’d taken a breath and didn’t feel rushed, stressed, or ready for something unexpected to jump out at her.

  Chad studied Katie and said, “What’s up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve known you long enough to know when something is bothering you.”

  Katie chuckled. She had always loved Chad, even when she didn’t know it herself. Growing up with such a great friend through happy and terrible times was something that she had cherished. She sighed.

  “I heard about that girl’s body found at Elm Hill Mansion. I figured it was going to be your case,” he said, waiting patiently for her.

  “Yep, you guessed correct. It was already one of my cold cases, actually—that’s why it’s our case. It’s actually more complicated than that.”

  “Sounds fair enough.”

  Katie took another drink of wine and paused. “Yes, but I can’t help but feel that I’m stepping on toes…”

  “Why? Hamilton again?” He had known that Hamilton was the detective in charge of Katie’s aunt’s murder case.

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?” he said and moved closer to her.

  “There’s a new superior that will be watching me… it’s so…”

  “Annoying?”

  “I was going to say disheartening… I know that the cold-case unit is new, and that I’m still considered a rookie in some ways, but this new undersheriff definitely has her eye on me.”

  “Her,” he said. “Oh, I get it. A little competition.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I just got the feeling that she wants so
mething, that she’s going to try to be my buddy— I wonder if it has to do with my uncle, but maybe I’m totally off about that. That doesn’t work when you’re a cop—you don’t pal around with your superiors.”

  Chad shook his head and said, “It might be nice for you to have a woman on your side—even someone in the brass.”

  Katie looked away and thought about all types of scenarios, how they would go down, and none of them seemed good in her opinion.

  “Look,” he said. “Just keep working your assigned cases and you’ll be fine—you always are. And as for your uncle, he’s a big boy and can handle himself.” He put down his wine glass and said, “As for me, I’m only interested in one detective—a hot cold-case detective.”

  “You’re right,” she said, feeling the wine relaxing her body. She leaned in to kiss him.

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Great,” Chad said irritated. “Can you ignore it?”

  “Yes.” And then, “No, I better get it.” Katie reached over near her jacket and retrieved the cell phone. “Detective Scott,” she said as Chad nuzzled her neck. Listening intently, she frowned and bit her lower lip. “I understand. Yes, I know where it is.” The call disconnected from the third watch commander.

  Chad straightened up. “Let me guess. Work.”

  “Yes.” Her mind was already one step ahead. “They’ve found another one.”

  “Young woman?”

  “Yes.”

  Fourteen

  Tuesday 2015 hours

  The calm Katie had found in Chad’s arms dissipated as she raced to the crime scene. Two women found murdered in two days was highly unusual and extremely disturbing. She couldn’t waste any time. She knew that the Harlan case could go in many directions, but another dead woman with ties to the Elm Hill Mansion couldn’t be coincidental.

  The daylight had fizzled and with an almost moonless night due to the heavy cloud cover it would be near-impossible to search a crime scene in any real detail. The dark shadows in between the trees stretched as she drove, creeping into her thoughts.

  When she reached Stately Park, there were already a half dozen patrol cars securing the area around the hiking trail and helping the crime-scene unit carry large freestanding lights over to the crime scene.

  Katie had never worked an outdoor crime scene at night before and it made her nerves rattle and her mouth go dry. Willing her anxiety to stay at bay, she focused as best she could on the task ahead. Questions plagued her mind.

  Did the victim suffer the same injuries?

  Would there be the same disturbing message carved on the victim’s back?

  Could they have a serial killer on their hands?

  She ran over in her mind what she needed to pay particular attention to when looking for evidence in the dark. She’d need to work more of a spiral grid than a typical cordoned zone search to assess the area. The first impressions of a crime scene were usually the most important, so she’d have to use all her senses to capture as much as she could in the dying light.

  Parking in an available area, Katie saw McGaven and a few familiar patrol officer faces in the crowd. He approached her car just as she got out of the driver’s seat and they hurried together towards the entrance to the hiking trail.

  “How did you get here so fast?” she asked, switching on a large flashlight she’d grabbed from the trunk.

  “I caught a ride with Deputy Anderson. Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason,” he said. “But your blouse is undone…”

  “Just stick to crime scenes,” she said, clutching her shirt underneath her jacket and trying to hide her smile.

  “Noted, Detective.”

  Katie watched the patrol officers set up lights along the trail which led down to the creek. They went some way to illuminate the area, but the contrast and color of the trees and surroundings were muddled in the darkness. There were more shadows than light.

  With all the rain they’d had in the past few weeks, the creek was higher than normal going into the fall season. The sound of water rushing along the rocky bed grew louder and louder as they approached the crime scene, blocking out the voices around them.

  As Katie picked up her pace, McGaven slowed to allow Katie to take point and survey the body and immediate crime scene alone. As always, he hung back to cover the areas of entry, exit, potential evidence, and anything deemed unusual or possibly left by the killer.

  As she approached the body, the crackling sound of police radios faded and voices all around her lowered to a muted tone. She blocked out everything that might interfere with her concentration and focus. Refining extreme focus was something she had learned in the army—it kept her attention expertly sharpened and alive.

  This time, Katie decided that she wasn’t going to stop and speak with Detective Hamilton first, but forge straight ahead while she still had a little light to work with. She needed to stop worrying about the other detectives and keep her attention on her orders from the sheriff and on the investigation.

  The crime-scene techs were readying themselves and waiting for the order to document and collect evidence. They nodded at her as she made her way around several large trees until she reached the yellow tape.

  The sound of running water from the creek increased in volume again as she felt a slight mist spray her face where the intensified humidity hit cold air. Her boot heels started sinking into the soil; it took her total concentration to keep from falling down or slipping into the creek.

  Why did the killer pick this spot?

  Was it because no one would hear the girl’s screams or pleas for help?

  Katie stopped abruptly and sucked in a breath as her eyes adjusted to what was in front of her. Approximately three feet away, illuminated in a yellow pool of lamplight, lay the naked body of Mary Rodriguez, lying on her side, eerily reminiscent of the other victim. Her arms were tied behind her back, one shoulder protruded upward, horribly discolored as if it had been dislocated, and her face looked directly at Katie with open eyes. Her expression was that of torture and pleading—Katie had difficulty keeping her eyes locked on the body.

  Steadying her trembling hands, Katie slipped on a pair of gloves. To the outside world she appeared calm, but her anxiety was always ready to wreak havoc on her nervous system during accelerated times of stress.

  There were no obvious footprints or drag marks around the body, which seemed strange: either the killer expertly covered his tracks or had some way of tossing the body without any evidence of detection.

  Unusual.

  Disturbing.

  In Katie’s peripheral vision, she saw Detective Hamilton talking to McGaven. She knew that there were others around, but tried to block everyone out and focus only on the victim.

  She leaned down to examine the girl’s wrists tied behind her back. There were numerous deep red and purple marks with areas of dried blood on her wrists and up her forearm, indicating that she had been restrained for some time before she drew her last breath. Her neck was also ringed with the same type of ligature marks, which indicated she had been strangled. There was no sign of decomposition—just the beginning stages of rigor mortis with the stiffening of limbs. If Katie had to guess she would estimate this poor girl had been dead less than a few hours, but the medical examiner would confirm in the report.

  She noticed that the victim’s short blonde hair had dark roots and showed areas of damage with patches missing from her scalp, as if the killer had pulled the hair out forcefully in a struggle.

  Taking in the positioning of the body one final time, she carefully moved the torso to one side so that she could see between the girl’s shoulder blades and down to the lower back. The body’s stiffening limbs made it somewhat difficult, but Katie managed to see what she dreaded most—hand-carved letters on the skin with slightly running ink that read ‘raccoglitore di cacciatori’.

  Hunter-gatherer.

  Katie now knew that it was
a distinct possibility they were dealing with a serial killer hunting and gathering victims…

  The crime scene was in an out-of-the-way location and the killer seemed intent on dumping the body at this exact site. There were no visible footprints or drag marks and it didn’t seem likely that the rain had washed them away. Did the killer travel to the creekside in some type of boat, like a canoe or row boat? As she studied the body, it made her wonder why at that spot, naked and with the message.

  Why? For the drama? Not to be found straightaway? Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to leave the body on the trail or in the parking lot? In some ways, the crime scene appeared planned due to the preparations it took to get the body there. And in other ways, it appeared haphazard to dump the body beside a creek.

  Katie stood up and did a quick 360-degree sweep to double-check for footprints in the dirt or surrounding landscape, but the night was closing in and the evidence technicians were more apt to catch anything that was initially overlooked by detectives.

  “What do you think?” asked McGaven over the sound of the rushing creek water. He had done his own inspection of the scene and now waited to compare notes with his partner.

  Katie turned to him and said, “We have another ‘raccoglitore di cacciatori’.” Her tightly knitted eyebrows and slightly downturned mouth told him everything he needed to know about the seriousness of the case they had been handed.

  “Hunter-gatherer,” he replied to himself.

  “Who called in the body?” Katie asked, raising her voice.

  “Avid hiker whose dog got away and then found the body,” he said.

  Katie looked around the body for pawprints, but saw nothing. If a curious dog had found the body, there would be dozens. “Was it an anonymous call?”

  “Yes.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “It was unclear.”

  “Unclear?” she said. “What do you mean?”

  “It was one of those electronic voices.”

  “You mean like for the hearing impaired?” she said.

  “No, like the person used an electronic voice changer. You can buy these devices almost anywhere where electronics are sold.”