by Rachel Lucas
Find Me if You Dare
By
Rachel Lucas
Dedication
This book is dedicated, as always, to my amazing family. To my wonderful Jordan, my patient editor Tara, my Miles that always lifts and inspires me, to my talented artist and illustrator Spencer, and my joy Lucas. I couldn’t have done one, let alone two, without all of you.
Thank you also to my fans and all those that read and enjoyed “Don’t Slay the Dragon” and have patiently waited for this one. I hope you enjoy it also.
Chapter One
“Caitlyn, you abandoned us. You left us. They moved us into that fake, celebrity resort of a treatment center and you never came. After all we’ve been through, I thought you would understand. You were supposed to help us prove our innocence. You were supposed to help us get out of that hellhole of an institution.
“You were supposed to help us get away from that egotistical prick Martin Ross. But you failed us. You promised you would help us, but you didn’t.
“Now we’ve had to take matters into our own hands. We had to secure our own release.
“Now you found the box. Now you know our secret.
“You were the last person we trusted, but we can’t trust you anymore. We have no other choice now. We are free. The fresh air of freedom is finally ours.
“So, we have just one question for you…….
“Come and find me if you dare,
“People will die. Do you care?”
The air slammed out of my lungs as I was pushed forcefully against my car, causing me to gasp for breath. Before I knew what was happening, Logan’s broad shoulders blocked my entire view. He stood, hovering over me as if afraid to let me out of his sight. At first, I couldn’t understand why.
“Caitlyn, don’t move,” he commanded.
It took me a moment to realize that he had one hand reaching for his holster at his side, covering his weapon as though ready to use it, and the other was frantically grabbing for his cell phone.
“Hammond, I need your help,” Logan spoke urgently into the phone as he turned his back to me and started scanning our surroundings in a full circle. “Contact dispatch. Have them send all available units to Riverside Trailer Court. Pull up Elizabeth Marshall’s mug shot from the Barbara Marshall case and distribute it to all units in the county. Have dispatch put out an APB on Elizabeth Marshall for a possible 10-96, mental subject. After that, get here to the trailer court as fast as you can.”
My head was spinning and I was still reading over the note in my hands trying to make some sense of it. My heart was pumping so loudly in my chest I thought I could hear it. My hands were shaky and clammy. Normally, I was faster on the uptake. I must have still been in a state of shock the reason it took moment for Logan’s words to register.
“You’re calling for back up?” I answered vaguely.
“Yes, don’t move until I can get more coverage here,” his answer was firm. Still, he didn’t even look at me. He just kept looking around us, searching.
Why couldn’t I move? Why had he called in more officers?
Then it hit me. The note. Lisbeth was here somewhere. She had to be. That was the only way this note could have been placed on my windshield.
Now I was doing the same thing Logan was. I was scanning everything around us. There were more cars than usual parked along the street, many belonging to people who had probably come to watch the trailer being demolished. I looked around the neighboring trailers, up and down the street in both directions scanning every face I could see, paying more attention to details I might have missed earlier.
The small crowd that had come to watch the spectacle had almost dispersed now. There were only a few still lingering. I was even now trying to register the fact that Lisbeth might have been somewhere in that crowd. I could have walked right past her earlier and not even realized it. I scanned every face I could see from my vantage point, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
I tried to move around Logan, wanting to see if there was anyone or anything I might recognize. Again, Logan pressed me back behind him. Why was he doing that? It almost seemed as though he was trying to protect me. Then, like a sharp right punch to my stomach, it hit me.
I looked down at the words in the note again.
Caitlyn, you abandoned us.
You left us.
You failed us.
Now you know our secret.
We can’t trust you anymore.
He was trying to protect me.
Elizabeth Marshall was loose, she was free. She was free now from the treatment facility she was being kept at. She wasn’t cured. The miraculous medication she had been taking had not cured her mental illness. Just as I had feared, she had never been integrated. Her doctor had been wrong. She had fooled him. She had played the same trick on him that she had played on her other doctors years before.
She was just as much if not more dangerous than I had ever thought. She had to have been here earlier to put the note on my car. She might still be here now.
And if the words in the note were any indication, she was very, very angry with me.
Chapter Two
The small, narrow street of the trailer park started filling up with marked and unmarked police cars. Within moments it seemed as though the entire police force was here. It was a small town with a small force and there probably wasn’t much else going on in this town today.
Logan quickly assigned a female cop, Officer Brenner, to stay with me. He had her escort me back to his car while he took control of the scene. She seemed at bit impatient with her assignment, as though she would rather be out processing the scene instead of watching over me.
Most of the officers had laptops in their cars and had already been sent Elizabeth Marshall’s mug shot as well as a detailed description of her. Logan was assigning each officer a grid and having them fan out throughout the trailer park and the adjoining neighborhoods. Each officer was canvassing the area, knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen the person in question.
The city workers that had been there to demolish the trailer were each being screened and interviewed. A canine unit was being brought in to go down by the river to search for a fresh trail. Logan brought the two German shepherds over to me to see if they could pick up a hit off of the letter.
“Let’s put that in here now,” Logan was back at my side, opening up a clear plastic evidence bag and motioning for me to put the letter inside. “We’ll run it for fingerprints and any other evidence we can get from it. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll have to get your fingerprints when we get back to the department to compare with any others that might be on the paper.”
“Of course,” I nodded, still feeling as though I was in a state of shock, numbly going through the motions. “Anything I can do to help.”
“Hammond’s here, I need to brief him.” Logan walked toward the Dodge Ram truck just pulling up.
“The Chief wants to know what the hell is going on,” Detective Don Hammond, Logan’s partner, climbed out of the cab of truck as Logan approached. He was always a bit surly and seemed to be even more so today. “Why the APB? Why the 10-96 on Elizabeth Marshall? The DA dropped the charges, remember?”
Logan walked him over to the back of his car and showed him the decorated box in the back seat.
“Trust me when I tell you I have good reason,” Logan sounded very confident in his words. “Elizabeth Marshall was on an outing from her treatment facility and she disappeared. I have reason to believe she’s a very dangerous threat. While we were here to see the traile
r being demolished, she left a letter on Caitlyn’s car.” He showed his partner the letter I had just sealed in the evidence bag. “If she’s anywhere in the area, we need to find her. We need to take her into custody as soon as possible.”
As Logan went on to explain how the search was being organized and assigning Detective Hammond an area, I noticed a car horn honking down the street. The news van that had been covering the story earlier had probably just left the neighborhood when they noticed all the police cars converging into the small trailer park. They had turned around and were trying to maneuver the van back to the sight of the demolished trailer, sensing there might be more to their story than they had first thought.
As I saw the cameraman/driver try to weave his way back in and on-scene officers refusing him entry, a thought struck me.
“Logan,” I called to him. I hadn’t said much since finding the letter so he immediately looked over at me when I called his name. “The news crew,” I said, pointing to the van, “they were filming. Maybe they got her on tape.”
“Great idea Caitlyn,” Logan started jogging down the street to where the news van was when he paused and called back at me,” why don’t you come with me. If they have any footage, you might be able to recognize her better than anyone else.”
Officer Brenner gave me a nod as I turned to follow Logan. She was probably relieved to be off of babysitting duty. I was just grateful to finally have something to do besides stand there and worry.
Chapter Three
By the time I caught up with him Logan was already speaking to the officers that were assigned to keep the area closed off. He then approached the driver of the news van.
“Detective Sawyer,” Logan showed the driver/cameraman his badge, “can I ask: Did you film much of the demolition today?”
“We filmed most of it,” the driver was a sandy-haired young man with a drooping mustache. He looked as though he might be fresh out of college. The female reporter was in the passenger seat and didn’t look much older. “It probably won’t make it to air though. Most small pieces like this get bumped when a bigger story comes in.”
“Do you mind if I look at your footage?” Logan asked casually. I could tell he didn’t want to clue them in too much yet on what was going on.
The cameraman and the reporter looked at each other.
“Why do you want to look at our footage?” The reporter asked skeptically.
“I’ll tell you after I’ve looked at it,” Logan was good at bargaining. This was a side of him I hadn’t seen before.
Again, the reporter and cameraman passed a look between them.
“We’ll let you look at what we shot today if you’ll give us exclusive rights if there’s a story here,” the young reporter negotiated. My opinion of her rose a notch. Maybe she wasn’t such a rookie after all.
“Deal,” Logan answered.
Within minutes the van had pulled over half onto a curb and the cameraman was getting out and opening the sliding side door for us. There was a panel of television monitors where the filmed news footage could be reviewed and edited on the spot for live coverage. The reporter had gotten out of the passenger seat and had come around to stand next to us to see the footage.
The cameraman introduced himself as “Doug”, the reporter Lacy Lopez.
“Ok, what are we looking for?” Doug asked as he hit the rewind button on the screen.
“We need to see the crowd,” Logan directed. “Any faces that you might have caught on film.”
“There won’t be much,” Doug answered and he slowly forwarded the digital images frame by frame, “I was mostly focusing on the trailer.”
I watched on the monitor where the reporter did a lighting test and just chatted with the cameraman for a moment while he set up the scene and tried to look for the best angle for the shot. They talked a moment about what was the best way to get Lacy in the forefront but the full destruction of the trailer in the background.
On the footage you could see where Doug panned around for a full view of the scene. He was careful to get a wide view of the still-intact trailer. He focused in on the waiting bulldozer and backhoe, quickly scanning past the city workers there for the demolition. I tried to catch each of their faces. Most were older men, some heavyset, all with faces that could be clearly seen. None seemed out of place.
Lacy started in on her monologue, giving a brief history of the infamous Barbara and Elizabeth Marshall case. She described the grizzly death of Barbara Marshall by stabbing and how the authorities had accused and then arrested her daughter Elizabeth for the murder. She hinted at some mental instability with Elizabeth and what a surprise it was when the DA announced she was dropping the charges against Elizabeth, the daughter.
The camera went back to the focus on the trailer. Lacy then went on to explain why the murder scene, the trailer, was being demolished. She was just finishing when the engine on the bulldozer started up.
Self-consciously, I watched to see if I had been captured on the footage. I had tried so hard to stay out of the public notice through this whole ordeal. Thankfully I seemed to be right outside of the camera’s view.
I watched for the second time that day as the bulldozer moved forward and started demolishing the trailer. Occasionally, the camera would pan away from the destruction to capture the reaction of the faces in the crowd gathered to watch the spectacle.
“Stop,” I called as the camera started moving towards the crowd. Doug hit the pause button. “Go slow, frame by frame.”
Fortunately, Doug didn’t question my request.
“Who are you looking for?” Lacy picked up on my interest.
“We’re not sure yet,” Logan answered evasively. “Anything?” He asked me.
“Not yet,” I replied.
Doug was right, there wasn’t much footage of the crowd. Most of the faces were elderly. They made up most of the population in the small trailer court. There were a few younger children, a couple of teenage boys.
The camera panned back to the ongoing demolition. The trailer was now half destroyed, the front half caved in, an ugly pile of wood and metal. Suddenly, the camera seemed to catch sight of a movement off screen. It jerked away from Lacy trying to narrate over the roar of the bulldozer just in time to film Logan climbing up onto the ledge of that bulldozer and start yelling at the city worker behind the gears.
I knew Logan was yelling for him to stop, to cut the engines. Then I remembered what came next. My stomach turned to acid as I watched Logan start frantically searching through the wreckage and there I was, tearing open the door and climbing into the trailer.
“It was you,” Lacy breathed as she saw me on film. “You were both searching for something, weren’t you?”
I remained silent, afraid to reveal too much.
The camera was back on Lacy. She was obviously confused as to why the bulldozer had stopped. She cut the scene but the camera kept rolling. She started complaining about what a lame assignment this was.
The real Lacy, standing beside me, seemed to squirm a bit at having been caught in a less than professional way.
Back on firm, Lacy and Doug seemed to debate for a moment whether or not they should just wrap up and head back to the station or stick around a bit longer to see if there was anything more to cover here.
In the background, I could see myself and Logan coming out of the trailer, Logan walking over to talk to the man operating the bulldozer. While Doug probably wasn’t intentionally focusing on me, you could see me off to the side, at the end of the still-intact part of the trailer.
It wasn’t much longer after that the camera showed Logan and me diving under the trailer, tearing away the white lattice work at the base of the trailer in our effort to get underneath it. Doug seemed more interested in the crowd’s reaction to our strange behavior. He briefly panned back to the waiting group. They showed various expressions of confusion and curiosity.
The camera moved back to show two dusty, dirty figures crawling
out from under the trailer. You could catch just a glimpse of a square object I was holding. It was then that something I had just seen caught my attention.
“Stop!” I almost reached over to stop the footage myself. “Go back.”
Chapter Four
Frame by frame the footage went backward, everything moving in slow motion. Logan and I looked as though we were going back under the trailer but in reverse, then coming out again. The broken white lattice fence was now whole. The camera was scanning the crowd.
“Wait!” I called, inching closer to the monitor as the footage froze. “Right there!”
“What do you see?” Logan quietly asked.
“It’s Mick.” I pointed to the screen.
“Who’s Mick?” Lacy and Doug asked in unison.
With one finger I touched the monitor, tracing the outline of a figure. There were three teenage boys standing together. They looked like normal teenagers. One had long black hair, a narrow face and gauges in his ears. He had a black T-shirt with a skull on it and an over-sized gray jacket. The other was slightly taller with white-blond hair spiked into a faux-hawk, a T-shirt with an athletic logo on it and a plaid jacket.
The third figure in the group was the one that caught my eye. He stayed slightly behind the other two. He had a too-large black hoodie on that covered most of his face. His shoulders were hunched forward and it seemed as though he was trying to blend into the crowd. He also seemed to notice that the camera was there and carefully kept his face turned away to avoid it.
I might have never given him a second glance, but when the camera was about to turn away, a tiny wisp of orange-red hair escaped the hood. His stance and demeanor were masculine. I would probably never have noticed him, if I hadn’t met him before.
“That’s Mick,” I confirmed again.
“Do you mean…?” Logan gave me a look. He was asking me if Mick was one of the ‘family’. He didn’t want to ask out loud. Not with two very curious members of the media right next to us.
