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

by Jennifer Chase

  Cisco was ready to go and began to take Katie down the narrow path, deviating only twice from the track but returning again. She kept him on a short leash.

  Cisco’s sniffs were the only sounds in the forest. All the wildlife was strangely quiet as they waited for the potential predator to move or reveal himself. False clues of clothing worn by another person had been planted around the area to challenge the dog’s concentration on the specific track. Cisco sniffed the air in their direction, but didn’t leave his track. He moved quickly and systematically, head down, tail down: focused.

  It amazed Katie watching Cisco work. She remembered the first time she saw him in the kennel. Loud incessant barking. Unruly behavior, jumping and growling if anyone got too close to the kennel door. Clearly, he did not want to be there. The training sergeant said no one wanted to work with him and he had even bit one of the recruits. But there was something about the dog that attracted Katie to him. There was a misunderstood quality about Cisco. Maybe black dogs were passed over in the military, just like black dogs in animal shelters. That didn’t deter Katie. She was intrigued and asked to see him. After the first walk in the training yard, she knew that they were going to be a team to be reckoned with. His endless energy, focus, and athletic ability were unlike any dog she had ever worked with. At first, he challenged her authority with barking and nipping. But after a while, all he wanted was to hear commands from her.

  Katie watched Cisco work with pride, giving him enough lead, following him around obstacles of trees and off-trail bushes. She wasn’t sure where the decoy was hiding, but that made the experience a little bit more authentic for both the handler and dog. Cisco stopped, head raised, lightly sniffing the open air in the slight breeze that was coming toward him. Katie stood quietly and let the dog do what he was trained to do.

  Another a few seconds passed, then Cisco took off through a tangle of low-lying bushes. Katie, running to keep up, thought that maybe Cisco had been confused by the breeze and perhaps some of the deep forest smells, but knew that wasn’t likely.

  Pulling her toward a large pine tree, Cisco began barking. As Katie stepped toward the area, she saw the decoy dressed in a full training bite suit stand up with his hands in the air, making aggressive gestures toward them.

  “Put your hands behind your head and turn around!” she commanded.

  The decoy began walking towards her with a large stick in his hand.

  “Drop the weapon now!”

  He made simulated stabbing gestures.

  “Drop the weapon now!” Katie leaned down and unhooked Cisco’s lead and he instantly ran and then leapt in the air, catching the decoy’s shoulder and dragging him to the ground. “Stay down!” The decoy pretended to struggle. “Stay down!” she repeated.

  The heavily protected decoy stopped moving.

  “Cisco, aus!”

  The dog immediately let go of the decoy and padded back to Katie.

  “Good boy,” she said, patting him on the side and giving him his favorite yellow ball.

  “Great work,” said Sergeant Blake Hardy as he emerged from a safe distance with another K9 officer.

  “Thanks,” Katie said, smiling and a little breathless. Even though it had been a simulation, it still pumped the adrenalin.

  “You okay, Rick?” said Hardy.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, getting to his feet. “Nice work. I thought he was going to flip me on my head for a split second.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Cisco is great to show everyone else how it should be done,” said the sergeant.

  “Thank you, Sergeant, for letting us participate. Cisco has been a bit antsy with my schedule lately.”

  “I heard that you’re working two homicides,” said Hardy.

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling uncomfortable talking about a current investigation with other officers.

  “I’ve heard good things about your work—glad you decided to stay on here at the sheriff’s department.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” She hadn’t spoken about work with him before, but he seemed genuine. Glancing at her watch, “I better get back so that I’m not late for work.”

  “See you soon,” he said.

  The decoy and other officer said their quick goodbyes.

  Katie hurried back the way they came and made it to the parking lot where her work sedan waited. Loading up Cisco and climbing behind the wheel, she quickly checked her cell phone for texts and messages. There was a text from John in forensics: Have some updates for you—anytime today.

  Katie drove out of the parking lot, leaving behind the K9 patrol cars and a couple of SUVs as the training continued. She was so focused on the road and the cases she didn’t see the anonymous hiker wearing dark running pants and hoodie watching her drive away.

  Twenty-Three

  Thursday 1015 hours

  Katie rushed into the forensic lab eager to talk to John. Just before she reached the main exam laboratory, she turned to see McGaven heading back in to their office.

  “Hey, you want to join me?” she called after him.

  “You have it under control. I’m going to keep organizing searches—taking a closer look at the county workers at Elm Hill.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll update you when I get back.”

  “Sounds good,” he said and kept walking down the long hallway to the last office on the right.

  Katie heard the door open and shut. It was easy to hear just about anything in the forensics lab due to the extreme quiet. The soft hum of the recirculated air was the only thing audible most of the time.

  “Are you coming in, or are you going to just stand there?” said John. It was difficult to say if he was in a good mood or not.

  “Oh,” she uttered and then entered the lab. Katie noticed that the work areas had been reorganized to create room to spread out evidence.

  “I take it you’ve been keeping busy,” he said.

  “Yes, two homicides.”

  “That’s quite a work load for the cold-case unit.”

  “It seems to work out that way—at least for us.” Katie always had a difficult time holding John’s gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he was an ex-Navy Seal and seemed to command that type of attention, or if there were some attraction towards him. Either way, she pushed it aside and dismissed it.

  “What do you want to hear first?” he asked, cracking a smile.

  Katie moved closer to him, near the computer area. She noticed that all the computers had even larger monitors, which made it easier to see evidence in closer detail. “Let’s start with the Harlan case.”

  John flicked through some files until he came to a large photo of the right index fingernail. The cotton candy pink was difficult to ignore. “You were correct, the fingernail belongs to the right index finger and there are good chunks of DNA which we will compare when we have Carol Harlan’s DNA.” He looked at Katie for a moment. “What’s bothering you?”

  Katie sighed. “So many things…”

  John chuckled. “Well, let’s start from the beginning then.”

  “Can you tell if the nail was torn because of a struggle or if it was intentionally removed?”

  “It was ripped with force, judging by the bits of cuticle still attached. You don’t like that it was just sitting in the dirt beside her—like someone put it there?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t make sense—seems a little contrived. Do you have photos of the victim’s hands?”

  He switched to another file and did a split screen where you could see the victim’s hands and the torn fingernail.

  “See, look at the condition of the other nails. They are broken and dirty with an older version of polish, but the nail by itself looks like it was newly painted.”

  “Maybe the killer took the nail at a different time and saved it, but there are signs of the flexor and extensor tendons, which would indicate that it was torn forcefully, leaving behind these pieces.”

  “Maybe.”

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nbsp; “Here’s victim number two.” He brought up close-up photographs of Mary’s hands. The condition of the nails and hands were similar to Carol Harlan except she didn’t have nail polish and they looked as if she chewed them.

  “The condition looks similar.”

  “The dirt under the nails is consistent. But there’s no way to determine exactly where the dirt is from in this county because most of the soil is made up of clay, sand and other organic matter. If you get up to the higher elevations, then you might be able to tell due to the organic matter. Like yellow or red soil has more oxidized ferric iron oxides and brown or black soil has more water or oxygen content.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You’re thinking again.”

  “I’ve seen both crime scenes in person, but when I view them on the computer certain things pop up to me.”

  “Like?”

  “I’m noticing now that both of them have clean hair. Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you?”

  “I haven’t thought much about it, but it does seem unlikely that they would have clean hair. But it does answer the question of why I found traces on their skin of what would be consistent as shampoo.”

  “What about the nail polish?” she said, going through the evidence in her mind.

  “From what we know so far, it’s just cheap polish that you can purchase anywhere, the super stores, drugs stores, maybe some beauty supplies outlets. It is a distinct color of pink so that would cut out some of your search. But it belonged to the victim.”

  “Were the rope or twine the same?”

  “No.”

  Katie felt defeated. “A different type of rope?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Now you sound like Dr. Dean.”

  “It was the same type of heavy cotton twine, but different thicknesses. One was quarter inch and the other was three eighths of the same. Now, if I had something to compare them to—something from a suspect’s house—that would be a different story.”

  “I see,” said Katie, jotting down a few notes to jog her memory. “Nothing I can run with. It could mean the same person, or not.”

  “I will send you the report.”

  “I know, but writing it makes me remember it more concisely at the moment. More visual.”

  “How are you doing?” he asked, turning his undivided attention on her.

  “Me? I’m fine.” She thought that was a question out of the blue.

  “I know how hard it was for you with your aunt’s death and your uncle taking the brunt of the investigation.” He paused. “I haven’t seen much of you and well…”

  “John, I’ve appreciated your friendship and everything you’ve done to help me during that time. You and McGaven have been priceless to me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Priceless, huh.”

  Katie laughed rather nervously, and said, “You know what I mean. I don’t know how else to describe it. We all have stressful jobs and understand the nature of this business, but when personal things happen it’s nice to know who your real friends are.”

  “I agree.”

  Katie smiled.

  “I didn’t know if you noticed or not, but your Harlan victim had a patch of hair removed.”

  “Yes, I saw that. What do you mean, though? Like ripped out?”

  “It appears that way.”

  Katie thought about it. “Maybe the killer took it as a keepsake or trophy?”

  “Could be,” he said.

  “Okay, now for the $64,000 question,” she said.

  “The carvings on their backs.” He moved to another computer and with impressive speed brought up several files. One graph showed sharp spikes up and down while the other showed percentages of chemicals—both natural and manmade.

  Katie watched with extreme interest.

  “Okay, we were able to get enough to test what the ink was made of and to determine it wasn’t premade or a common type of ink tattoo, or otherwise; it was actually a concoction that was homemade with a few unexpected ingredients.”

  Katie was completely intrigued and waited patiently.

  “We tested in a couple of places from both victims. It revealed that sometimes the ink was stronger and then weaker in its mixture.” Clicking to another open window, “Here’s the list of the main ingredients: part linseed and soybean oil, mixed with pigments of black henna and oxide to obtain a rust color, with raw materials of equal portions of benzene, ethylene, and propylene.”

  “Isn’t that similar to what’s in standard writing ink?”

  “Some of it with the manmade oils and various pigments, which makes different hues and adds a type of preservative to keep the colors.”

  “What if he used an old-fashioned pen—the kind that you dip into a small jar of ink.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “A nib that’s flat with sloped sides that holds the ink—similar to a quill,” she said.

  John changed photos and stopped on three photos of the victims’ carved backs stained with ink. Each photo was taken from a different distance. The close-up one he magnified on the screen. “You can see that there are varying levels of depth—but the writing style is consistent with both victims. You can see the tail on the gs and es. This was done freehand and it’s quite competent, but it still leaves little craters here and there, based on pressure and hesitation. It would be impossible to keep the pressure exactly the same, free-handed. I would have to say it was written by the same person.”

  Katie leaned in and studied the photos. It was amazing to see details through twenty-four to fifty magnification. Each stroke resembled a peak or valley with a streaked dark substance running through it. It made her think of the crime-scene locations with the trails and views of stunning landscapes. “It’s difficult to imagine anything else making that cut. Would a thick knife or ice pick give that same result?”

  “That I cannot give a conclusion on and there’s no way of testing for accuracy.”

  “Dr. Dean said that the Harlan victim was written on post mortem.”

  “Now we’re getting into more of the psychological aspect of the evidence—and that, detective, is your territory.”

  Smiling, she said, “Well, it never hurts to ask, does it?”

  “Oh, by the way.” John interrupted her many contemplations.

  “Am I forgetting something?” she said.

  “An interesting tidbit.”

  “From the killer?” she said, hoping that was the case.

  “The letters were all written in a standard style of calligraphy—a bit crude but a good effort—like when someone buys a beginner calligraphy set.”

  Twenty-Four

  Thursday 1925 hours

  Rain tapped on the roof of the car, keeping a distinct tempo as Katie sat waiting for McGaven to arrive before going into The Well to talk with Hugh Keller, ex-deputy sheriff, who was now a managing bartender at the dive bar. She wondered when he had last had contact with Shelly McDonald.

  Katie’s nerves buzzed with a strange energy. She glanced at her watch again, willing it to tell her something else: McGaven was running late. He had to attend a patrol meeting since he was still active on patrol one to two shifts a week.

  Katie took the opportunity to read back through the police reports for Elm Hill Mansion. Deputies from the sheriff’s department were dispatched seventeen times in a six-month period. From the reports, it was mostly screaming arguments with some pushing and shoving, but nothing that led to any arrests. Most of the problems stemmed from Mrs. McDonald and Candace. Sometimes it involved Heather Lawson or Terry Slaughter. Some of the statements were worrisome, with accusations of sexual assault, excessive discipline, and outside people being brought in for sexual favors. Shockingly, no one was arrested or prosecuted for any of the alleged abuse.

  You don’t understand, Detective. If I would have left, then one of the other girls would have to take my place for the discipline.

  …Just like it was Candace’s place to protect us from…<
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  The conversation with Tanis had left Katie drained mentally and physically. There was something about the young woman that stirred every emotion inside her. Maybe it brought up memories of losing her childhood friend at camp when she twelve. Her instincts told her that Tanis had told the truth as she experienced it—the genuineness of her recollections was undeniable.

  Katie didn’t want to think about the abuse and violence that was rife at Elm Hill Mansion. McGaven had forwarded her the official report from the county, detailing the reason to close the foster house was that the house was too unstable and posed a safety risk due to its age and there wasn’t enough money to fix everything. The allegations of abuse had been investigated, but didn’t reveal anything substantial. It was left open.

  Her cell phone alerted to a text from Chad: Hey, haven’t heard from you. Love you.

  She stared at the words and smiled. She had forgotten to call him earlier when she was rushing around at her house and feeding Cisco, but he would have to wait a little longer.

  As Katie flipped through reports and background pages, she could see why no one wanted to live at Elm Hill or remodel it, until some investors saw the potential—caring more about the location and land than the history. She had to admit it was one of the most beautiful settings in the area.

  She looked across the parking lot. There were four more cars than fifteen minutes ago. It seemed that Thursday nights were pretty busy here, but Katie thought that some of the patrons weren’t the run of the mill: the last three men were all carrying some type of satchel with them, which seemed odd for a Thursday night beer.

  Katie thought she had better check out what was going on at the bar sooner rather than later, so she changed from her blouse into a hoodie. She already had on a pair of jeans and wanted to blend in – it was also easier to conceal her gun with a bulkier top. She pulled the rubber band out of her hair to be more casual, and look less like a cop, and then opened the car door. The light mist dotted her face and clothes. Taking a last moment to decide to wait or not, she jumped out of the car, slammed the door and jogged to the entrance of The Well.