“I’m game.”
Cisco was more excited than usual, emitting whines every so often, as he rode in the backseat of the police sedan. His regal face, alert ears, and attention focused on the road. It was impossible to ignore his enthusiasm as he looked out between Katie and McGaven.
“Are you going to let me drive—ever?” McGaven asked.
“What do you mean? You can drive whenever you want to.” She looked at her partner. “Oh, no, you’re not one of those, are you?”
“One of what?”
“Just because you’re a man you feel the need to drive all the time. I’m driving now because I know exactly where we are going.”
He sighed, trying to hide his smile. “I suppose.”
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” she said, partially laughing.
They both remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts about the investigation. The only audible sound in the car besides the revving engine was the sound of Cisco panting. It was not because he was hot. It was because he was excited, as working dogs become, when they instinctively know they are going to work or into unknown conditions with their handler.
Once again, Katie turned the car into the Basin Woods area. Maybe it was because she knew that the houses were empty or it was due to the fact that it conjured up creepy images, but she felt instantly uncomfortable. It was silly, she realized, but it still didn’t change her reaction. She had Cisco and McGaven with her but that still didn’t deter the slight chill she felt, driving down the streets littered with overgrown bushes and tree limbs along with tattered pieces of garbage rolling along like tumbleweeds.
“This is where Amanda referred to as the ‘big box’.” Katie gestured to the old phone box used for the housing area.
McGaven surveyed the area. He didn’t say anything but his body tensed as if he was being gripped by something unpleasant.
“She told Deputy Windham that it was a house with a blue door and white trim. And she knew how far it was with the landmarks. Windham adamantly believes that Amanda had told the truth—and I believe him. I think she was held here.”
“But there was no evidence in the house at that time to corroborate her story.”
“I know… this is what bothers me about this entire case—this house. Everything hinges on this house—the beginning—this is what set everything in motion. Now, after looking at those blueprints, I think there’s something weird about it.”
McGaven studied the houses around the old neighborhoods.
“At least it’s still daytime,” she said, trying to convince herself that it was just a routine search.
“What does the county plan to do with this area?”
“According to the planning department, they are going to demolish everything and build more affordable housing,” she explained.
“Great. It’ll take, what? Another ten or fifteen years to look like this again…”
“Here is the house Amanda described and even the bushes she landed on while escaping. There’s a small area of the open window that someone her size could fit through. So, it’s possible.”
Katie parked in the same area in front that she did before, lowering the windows slightly for Cisco while she and McGaven got out of the car.
“Don’t you want to take him?” he asked.
“No, he’s watching our backs. Anything or anyone moves within the neighborhood, he’ll bark like a banshee. No one can sneak up on us. And, I have a backdoor release just in case of an emergency.”
Following Katie up to the front blue door, he said, “Works for me.”
Katie didn’t want McGaven to see her hesitation, so she plowed forward and burst through the door, pushing it wide open. As before, the immediate stink accosted her senses with a mixture of urine and decomposing garbage.
“Nice smell. Smells like my first dorm room,” said McGaven partially covering his nose and mouth.
“You get used to it. Leave the door open for some air. What I don’t get is that Amanda said something about flowers, that she got the distinct fragrance, but it stinks like hell in here.”
Katie made sure her weapon was ready to use at a moment’s notice by unsnapping the guard on her holster. “I’ll go this way; you check out the kitchen area.”
McGaven moved through the house, carefully looking for anything that might prove to be a clue or evidence that Amanda had been in that house.
Katie continued toward the bedroom, easing her body down the hallway. Something appeared out of place. She pulled a copy of the blueprint out of her pocket—tracing her steps. The bedroom looked too small for the rest of the house and the layout was awkward. She wasn’t expecting a perfect house plan flow, but there was indeed a structural aspect that didn’t match the rest of the building.
She peeked into each bedroom and realized that there weren’t any closets. Odd. She hadn’t noticed it before. The house wasn’t that old—as a home built in the 1920s might have had little or no closets—but this house should have had ample storage space—at least something. There were none. Looking at the plan, she saw that the closets should be on the far side of the room. She oriented herself. The plans didn’t match what she saw.
Standing back in the hallway she heard McGaven moving around in the opposite area, but the sound didn’t resonate inside the bedrooms. She moved back to the hallway and she distinctly heard McGaven opening cupboards and even his heavy footsteps.
Katie remained quiet, not wanting to alert her partner just yet to the strange sound difference. What did all this mean?
Digging her hands into her pockets, she pulled out the small piece of adhesive she put there the last time she was inside the house. She squeezed the small piece of rubberized plastic between her fingers and straightaway the image of the special effects warehouse came to mind with the amazing, realistic masks and piecework—the building blocks that could transform people, places and things into something else.
“Could it be?” she whispered.
Katie ran her fingers along the edges of the wall and down to where the baseboards should have been. The walls went to the floor but she could feel a faint breeze.
Just like the monsters at ScareFest, nothing was as it seemed.
Taking a step back, centering her balance with her arms up, gripped fists, she then attacked the wall with a high stomp kick. It barely made a dent, merely chipping some drywall that littered the floor. She repeated her technique two more times until she had made a hole the size of a dinner plate with her foot. Adhesive, similar to foam used on construction jobs, filled the makeshift wall and acted as a soundproof barrier.
McGaven ran into the room. “What the hell is going on?”
“Look.” She gestured to the wall.
He walked up to the hole and peered inside. Even without a flashlight, he could see into the small hidden room; to an old box-spring bed with a headboard, magenta sheet, rope, and two small air vents above. “What in the…?” he uttered.
“We just found where Amanda was being held. She was telling the truth. She was here. Everything she described.”
Katie ran out of the house to the car; opening the trunk she retrieved the tire iron and ran back inside. Using all her anxious energy and frustration, she managed to wind up and execute several well-placed swings, hitting the wall, opening it farther for them to enter.
McGaven searched the perimeter of the wall and found cleverly disguised hinges and a finger hold to release and slide a narrow portion to open the room—just wide enough for a person. “Here it is. Tricky.” He showed Katie.
“We need forensics in here right now. But what if Tess Regan is here somewhere?”
“Let’s go,” McGaven agreed.
“We’re going to need help searching all the houses on this block,” she said.
Fifty-Eight
Tuesday 1545 hours
Tess awoke with a jerk, still weak and disoriented. Her vision was still blacked out but her hearing was acute. Her chest ached and her neck and throa
t felt tight, making it difficult to breathe. Her energy was dwindling at an alarming rate and she didn’t think she could muster enough energy to try to loosen the restraints again.
Moving her wrists in any direction made a sharp excruciating pain shoot down her arms. There was warmth enveloping around her wrists and slow blood droplets dappled her forearms. The restraints felt different. They cut immediately into her flesh like razor wire. If she kept working her wrists or hands, the wire would no doubt cut a major vein causing her to bleed out.
“No, no, no,” she said, moving her head from side to side. It was the only thing she could do that didn’t cause her to cry out in pain. Her voice faded. “Why…?”
The sound of a motor caught her attention. The engine gunned and gears shifted several times.
“Please, help me, I’m in here… please…” Her voice petered out and was too low for anyone to hear her.
The vehicle sat nearby in idle for a while before she heard it leave—slowly driving away. She listened for as long as she could until silence returned once again.
Sleep overwhelmed her and pushed her to submit, the disappointment too heavy to bear.
Tess thought she heard voices talking and more cars approached, but she soon dropped into a semi-conscious state.
She tried to speak, but it only came out as a faint whisper—her last whisper.
She could only wait—to die—alone.
Fifty-Nine
Tuesday 1605 hours
Forensics arrived thirty-five minutes later as several deputies including K9 teams were dispatched to help search for further evidence or victims in the abandoned neighborhood.
Katie had called Sheriff Scott to make sure they had permission to trash the houses to search for potential crime scenes or victims. She wanted to make sure that she was doing everything within police protocol and following the appropriate chain of evidence. She didn’t want anything to hinder an arrest or prosecution of the perpetrator once they were found.
“Great work,” said Sheriff Scott to both Katie and McGaven. He made three calls to the developers, the county, and the district attorney’s office to make sure they were within their rights.
“What bothers me is that I was here previously and I didn’t connect the dots,” replied Katie.
“Most people wouldn’t have put it together,” the sheriff said.
“Even with the plans, it didn’t look like there was a secret room when I walked into the house,” said McGaven.
“Now we have to wait,” she said.
“We’ve got everything under control here. I want you and McGaven to go back to the station and keep working on your suspect lists. I’m sure this search is going to go into the night.”
“But…” Katie began.
“I’m sure both of you are exhausted. Get some food and keep working. Keep me updated,” the sheriff ordered.
Sixty
Tuesday 1905 hours
A new awakened life rushed through Katie’s body, which was something she had so desperately needed during the investigation. She also needed sleep and food, but was too focused on the new break in the case and what was going to happen after the searches were over.
Katie pored over the massive amounts of paperwork and her notes to try and find some cohesive connection between the hospital and Basin Woods—the person who was responsible. Glancing back and forth from her cell phone to the desk phone, she knew that at any moment they would call and announce that they had found someone alive. Maybe even Tess Regan.
“What’s the whereabouts for Dr. Jamison?” she asked McGaven, who had been bombarded with numerous phone calls ever since they arrived back at the department.
“He was at the hospital and now he’s back at his hotel suite,” he said.
“The entire time?”
“There were about forty minutes where he was unaccounted for.”
“Shit.”
Katie was impatient as she tapped her index finger on her desk. “What about Robert Sykes and Marco Ellis?”
“Ellis has been working a twelve-hour shift and hasn’t left the hospital.” McGaven made notes and conversed with a few of his fellow deputies who had been assigned special details on the case. “Okay, thanks,” he said and hung up.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“Sykes took a dinner break. The deputy assigned to him said he’s still at the hospital, but he doesn’t have eyes on him.”
“Tell him to go and actually lay eyes on Sykes. That guy is really slippery. The way he was able to get those messages to me without me knowing. He’s like a ghost.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had?” asked McGaven.
“None. This is just me. I know we’re close—really close—and I can’t rest now.”
The phone rang.
Katie snatched the receiver up. “Scott.”
“I know you must be chomping at the bit,” said the sheriff.
“That’s an understatement,” she said.
“I wanted to update you—we haven’t found anything else since you were here.”
Katie remained quiet.
“I’m sorry, but we’re about to wrap things up as far as the searches are concerned. John and the forensic crew are still finishing up processing the scene. It will take a while, most of the night,” he said.
“Okay, thank you.”
The sheriff ended the call. Katie still held the receiver and slowly hung up.
“Nothing?” McGaven asked.
“No.”
“It seems like the perfect area for a killer to keep his victims hidden. He could’ve had all kinds of victims scattered throughout that abandoned neighborhood and nobody would have ever known.”
“That’s it,” Katie said with urgency.
“What?”
“When I was at the county planning department, I noticed that when Shane pulled out these drawings there were notations about another area. There were notes that said something about a non-profit. It seemed strange that this would be written on those particular blueprints. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Where is it?”
Katie rolled out the blueprint copies—there were more than a hundred pages to go through. “It was next to the legend—handwritten.” She turned another page. “Wait, here is the notation. It says in quotes Highland Project NP #367-44. Does that mean anything to you?”
McGaven thought a minute. “Sounds somewhat familiar and I’m not sure why.” He sat down at his computer and typed in “Highland Project Sequoia County California.” “Okay,” he said. “It was the first area where the county and state government wanted to build a low-income housing development, but the community was outraged and didn’t want it in their neighborhood. A crazed group of so-called concerned citizens against crime actually torched the place—several buildings were burned to the ground and two firefighters were seriously injured. It was an ugly situation.”
Katie shook her head; she wasn’t familiar with that project.
“Oh, wait. I keep forgetting. It was when you were in Afghanistan.”
“What’s the status now?”
“Everything has been locked up in multiple lawsuits and the places have been just sitting. What else is new?”
“How big is it?” she asked. “It must be a crime zone.”
“Wait,” he said and hit a few keys to bring up articles about the housing project. He scrolled through several and stopped on one in particular. “There are only five houses still standing and the others were burned. I’m not sure why those five stood through that. This area is next to a large agricultural property of more than two hundred acres—making it pretty isolated. They originally wanted to build a small community and a small shopping strip mall, but protesters were adamantly against housing near agriculture fields that use pesticides. Protection of children, food, and the overall community, and so on.”
Katie skimmed the stories and said, “Looks like they called it the ‘Humanity Project,’ which was
originally planned for one hundred units, or single-family dwellings, but had been downsized to less than fifty. And now only five houses remain after the fire? Wow, it’s so isolated,” she said, studying the map. “Seems strange to build that there.”
“Maybe that’s where the contaminated water found in Amanda’s hair came from?”
She stood up and scrutinized her preliminary profile. “Definitely possible. What makes you think that a killer would only stay to one small area? He would spread out, but remain in his comfort zone. Not keep all his victims in one place. His distinct signature is to keep his victims in condemned, foreclosed, and abandoned houses. Simple, but brilliant.”
McGaven followed what she was describing. “You think that he’s using another area.”
“But,” she back-pedaled her theory, “there was nothing in Sykes’s background that had anything to do with this project. This project wasn’t Jamison’s Magna Group. So we can’t link Dr. Jamison. What, or who, is the connection? Someone would have to be connected to this other project. It looks like Simms Construction took over.” Katie was frustrated. They were close—very close.
“Who do we have now?” McGaven pulled up the three suspects they were able to link from First Memorial Hospital and the Basin Woods Development. “Okay, some of my reports have finally come through from the last background checks.”
“What do you have?” she asked.
“Looks like Sebastian Harding has been doing time for robbery for the last year and half.”
Katie frowned. “He’s out. Whose this other guy?”
“It’s for Chris D. Randall. He lived at Basin Woods, but it’s weird. There’s a big chunk of his history that just ends—it’s missing. Like off the grid.”
That caught Katie’s attention. “Usually when people have clean chunks of history, it means that they are using another name. Everyone leaves some type of footprint, debit cards, applications, employment…”
Her Last Whisper: An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Katie Scott Book 2) Page 24
