by Rachel Lucas
“Be On the Look Out,” Logan whispered to me as an explanation.
“Will do,” she answered.
“And let me give you my direct contact information just in case,” he gave her his name again and his cell phone number.
As soon as he disconnected the call, he was back on the computer, downloading files and pictures, forwarding them to the Park City Police Department.
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I stood up and started pacing around the room. Logan was quick to pick up on my nervousness.
“Caitlyn, are you ok?” He asked while still quickly typing information in to the computer.
I paced a few more steps and took a deep breath before I could answer.
“I just feel so helpless,” I answered in frustration. “This is my fault. I help set her free. Now she’s on the loose and making threats. And here I am, stuck in a police station doing nothing about it.”
“Caitlyn,” he tried to sound reassuring, “we’re on top of it. We’re trained for it. The FBI might be coming in soon. They’ll start a task force if they think we need it. You just need to keep safe for the moment.”
I walked over to stand before the dry-erase board and looked over his notes.
“She’s angry with me, Logan,” I explained as I read the bits and pieces of information he was putting together, “but I don’t think I’m her initial target. She could have harmed me there at the trailer court this morning if she had wanted to.”
Logan paused for a moment and looked up at me.
“She could have,” he agreed, “but I was there, and a lot of other people. Maybe that kept her from approaching you.”
Before I could answer, the police chief was at the door.
“Anything?” Logan asked him as soon as he noticed him there.
“We have a possible ping from a cell tower in Morgan County,” he explained, a look of concern on his face.
“Morgan County is on the way to Park City,” I answered, starting to feel a bit light headed.
Logan and Chief Brickman exchanged a look between them. Whatever they silently communicated, Logan was on his feet in an instant and reaching for his jacket.
“Come on, Caitlyn,” he took me by the arm and started leading me towards the door. “We’re heading for Park City.”
Chapter Eight
Logan only stopped long enough to go through a local drive-thru to get us some fast food before he jumped onto Highway 84 and we headed up Weber Canyon. I glanced out the window at the jagged canyon walls with the tall pine trees scattered along the steep sides. The lazy Weber River followed the path of the highway.
“I know we haven’t had much time to talk with everything that’s happened today,” Logan quickly glanced over at me with a concerned look then back to the road ahead. “How are you holding up?”
I took a sip of the drink he’d bought and searched my feelings. I felt such a crazy jumble of mixed emotions. I was horrified as it kept echoing through me that I may be responsible for a very dangerous person being on the loose. I was still wrapping my mind around the fact that Lisbeth, my once best friend, could be the one that had committed those murders. I was also fearful of what she could now be capable of. How many other people could be in danger now, especially when her acts seemed to be so random? I voiced the last thought out loud.
“I’m worried Logan,” I looked over at this strong profile as he drove, “I don’t know what she’ll do next. All we have is a possible threat against an entire city.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but you’re probably the closest thing we have to an expert on Elizabeth Marshall.” The look on his face showed that he didn’t like the idea of putting me into that position but had resigned himself to it. “Do you have any idea what she might do next?”
“It depends on who’s in control,” I looked out the window as I began to mentally go through the different ‘family’ members and what they could be capable of. “Mick was at the trailer park. He’s mean, sly, he was a cutter. She still has scars on her arms and legs from when he was in control and used to cut himself. Maxine, she’s raw and angry most of the time, but I don’t think she would be dangerous. Although, when I read about the truck driver up in Evanston, it sounded like something she could have done.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Logan nodded, as though putting a few more pieces of the puzzle together. “The reason why the murders were all so different, why they didn’t seem to fit the same profile, except for the symbol found at the scene. They could have each been committed by a different one of her personalities.”
“It’s very possible,” I agreed. “The thought of Vesper on the loose, or Slayer or Myst. It’s hard to even say what they could be capable of. And there could be more that I don’t even know about.”
“What do you mean?” Logan asked sharply. “I thought you knew all the personalities.”
I took a deep breath. It was so complex and so difficult to explain sometimes. There were so many different layers to exactly who Elizabeth Marshall was.
“Years ago, when she was first diagnosed, I knew all the different members of the family, I met almost all of them or were familiar with who they were. Since I started going back to the mental hospital and visiting her again, there were new personalities. I think they were recent splits. Like Myst.”
Logan’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Do you mean she can still keep splitting into more personalities?” He asked.
“It’s possible.” I answered with a tired sigh. “Mental health professionals believe that a split can be caused by a traumatic incident in the patient’s life. If Lisbeth is resistant to medication and she keeps having traumatic things happen to her, there is the possibility of new personalities emerging.”
Logan let out a low whistle and ran one hand through his hair in a gesture I was now becoming familiar with.
“How are we going to know what to look for?” The question was in general but one I had been asking myself. “How are we going to know what to expect next?”
“We aren’t,” I answered bleakly, realizing what a monumental task we might have ahead of us.
Before either of us said another word, Logan’s cell phone rang. He hit the button for speaker and answered it.
“Detective Sawyer.”
“Detective,” the voice on the other end was deep and masculine, “this is Chief Zimmer from the Park City PD. Dispatch gave me your number. We’ve just had a call come in on a possible home invasion. The victim has been strangled.”
Chapter Nine
Logan’s car had been customized with police lights he could turn on when needed but weren’t obvious when they were off. No sooner had I written down the address the Police Chief gave us before Logan told him we were in route and he hit his lights and siren.
The rest of the drive to Park City went by in a blur as Logan focused on carefully weaving through the numerous trucks, cars, trailers and motor homes as we continued the loop through the mountains and valleys up towards Park City.
Park City was a booming tourist town with world famous ski slopes and beautiful views. The mountains were still covered with snow from the last few snow storms and the town was at the height of its tourist season.
The address the chief gave us didn’t take us into the small town or near the busy ski resorts but to one of the surrounding communities. Many wealthy citizens had migrated to the tourist town and its neighboring areas. Large mansions and estates could be seen from the highways, climbing up through the hillsides and benches.
We took an exit and followed up a residential road through the stately homes, easily seeing the flashing red and blue lights in the distance from the police officers already on scene. We stopped before the numerous police cars. They were all parked before a large home that resembled a beautiful log cabin.
Logan showed his badge and ID to the officers at the front door securing the scene. They seemed to be expecting him. They didn’t seem to question my presence, jus
t the fact that I was with him seemed good enough. We both accepted the latex gloves that were handed to us and entered the home.
It was something right out of a home design magazine. The front foyer was open and spacious, a large winding staircase lead to an upper floor with a balcony. The main room was two stories high with a stone floor to ceiling fireplace. A forensics team was already there gathering evidence.
They seemed to be gathered mostly in the main room. I half expected to see a body lying there but there wasn’t.
“Detective Sawyer,” an older female officer approached Logan. She was dressed in civilian clothes with a thick hooded coat around her and her badge and ID hanging from a chain around her neck. She was tall for a woman and had short black spiked hair and light brown eyes. “I’m Detective Margie Scott. Call me Margie. Chief Zimmer told me you were on the way.”
They shook gloved hands while Logan looked around.
“Logan,” he introduced himself then motioned towards me, “this is Caitlyn. She’s been helping our department with this investigation.” I shook hands with Detective Scott while Logan took in the scene. “Where’s the victim?”
“She’s at Park City Medical Center,” Margie answered.
“She’s still alive?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, fortunately,” Margie walked over to where the forensics officers were taking samples of possible evidence from the carpet and furniture. “She’s still unconscious though, the last we heard. I have officers with her in case she wakes up so they can question her.”
“What do you think happened?” Logan asked.
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be a forced entry.” We walked back to the front door where she pointed around the foyer and to a security panel on the wall. “The security system wasn’t tripped either. The victim, Tracy Warner, may have just answered a knock at the door. The suspect could have just forced their way in. The people in this community are notorious for being trusting. We have almost no crime here. It’s common, even with these large homes, to leave doors unlocked.”
“Was there anything missing or stolen?” He questioned.
“We won’t know for sure until we question the victim,” Margie explained. “Her husband works in Salt Lake. He’s been notified and is on his way.”
Margie barely got the words out before a distraught, middle-aged man came through the front door. He wore an expensive executive suit and his hair was peppered with gray in a distinguished way. His eyes were full of concern and worry.
Detective Scott was quick to assure him that his wife was at the Park City Medical Center and they were doing all they could for her. She asked him if he would just quickly look through the house to see if anything was missing or out of order before he headed for the hospital to see his wife.
He agreed reluctantly and began walking through his chaotic and probably once pristine home. As Logan and Detective Scott followed him through the house, I hung back, feeling out of place.
What did I know about crime scenes and police work? The only other crime scene I had been on was the small trailer where Barbara, Lisbeth’s mother, had died. I certainly wasn’t an expert.
I wandered through the main room and past an open doorway to an expansive kitchen. It was state of the art, with stainless steel appliances, black and silver marbled countertops and a spacious island and bar with several stools around it. Everything was clean and spotless, as though ready for a photo shoot. The only things out of place were a few ink pens that looked to be scattered on the countertop of the island. I moved a scooped barstool out of the way to get a better look and noticed there was something in the seat of the stool.
“Logan,” I called, wondering how far away he was in this big house and if he could even hear me.
“Do you have something?” He called, coming down the curved stairs from the upper floor.
I pointed to the designer purse on the barstool and looked at the husband as he followed Logan. Logan picked up on what I was looking at right away.
“Did this belong to your wife?” Logan asked him.
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
“Can you look through it?” He suggested. “See if anything is missing?”
The husband began shuffling through his wife’s purse. He pulled out a designer wallet and leafed through it.
“I think there’s money missing,” he confirmed, “though I don’t know how much. Tracey usually carries around a few hundred in cash for emergencies. There’s nothing in here now. Her bank card is missing too.” He put the wallet down and searched a little further through the baggy purse. “I can’t find her keys either. Check the garage for her Lexus.”
Chapter Ten
The jet black Lexus LX was missing from the spacious four car garage. Margie and Logan were frantically getting on the police radio and cell phones to get an APB out on the make, model and license plate of the vehicle.
The husband, John Warner, stood next to me in the kitchen looking lost.
“Logan,” Margie was walking back into the kitchen after searching the garage, Logan at her side, “how do we know this isn’t just a random home invasion? The crime rate here is low, but there’s always a first time.”
“It could be,” he admitted. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and started to unfold it. On the paper was a copy of the artist’s rendering of the symbol we suspected Lisbeth of using as her calling card. I didn’t even realize he had taken the time to bring the picture with us. He passed it to Detective Scott. “Have your team here look for this symbol. It could be anywhere. Call your officers at the hospital with the victim. See if that symbol is on her anywhere.”
“Are you telling me your suspect is leaving this symbol at crime scenes?” Her eyes widened as the full picture started to emerge for her. “What do we have here, Logan? Do you think this could be a serial killer?”
“It’s a possibility,” he answered, “we’re still trying to put it all together.”
She didn’t ask any more questions but immediately went over to brief the forensics team then put out a call to the officers at the hospital. As she paced between the main room and the kitchen, I looked back at the stunned husband and then over at the purse still in a heap on the stool.
The ink pens on the marble countertop caught my eye again.
“Mr. Turner?” I asked quietly. I had to call his name again before I could get his attention. “John?”
He looked at me though blank eyes.
“Do you know why these pens are lying here?” I pointed to the four ball point pens lying on the countertop. “They look out of place.”
“I don’t know,” he seemed to snap himself out of his daze, “they weren’t here when I left this morning. It’s not like Tracy to leave things lying around like that.”
I walked around the countertop to look at the pens again. I didn’t think anyone had touched them since I had first noticed them. Somehow, their placement didn’t seem random.
“I just talked to my sergeant on duty at the hospital,” Margie was back standing in front of Logan. “He just spoke with the attending physician.” She walked closer to talk to him, speaking in a quiet voice so the information couldn’t be heard by too many at the scene. “The symbol was found on the victim’s neck, right above the strangulation marks. The physician thinks she was strangled with the suspect’s bare hands. The symbol must have been half-written, half-carved into the victim’s skin after she passed out. It looks as though it might have been an ink pen.” She looked around the crime scene in confusion. “Logan, what are we dealing with here?”
He was about to answer when he looked over and saw what I was staring at. The pens. He immediately started putting two and two together. He went to reach for the pens to see if there was any evidence on them when I all but shouted.
“Logan, stop!” His hand was only inches away from the pens when he froze and looked back at me in surprise. I was grateful that he trusted me enough by n
ow to listen to me. “Look, they’re placed on the counter a certain way. I don’t think it’s random.”
He pulled back his hand then took a step closer to me, trying to see what I was seeing from my angle.
There were four regular ink pens, the kind you would find in any desk drawer. One was pointing straight up with another across the top of it, as though in the shape of the letter T. The other two were next to it, one crossed on top of the other, as if in the form of the letter X.
“TX?” I asked, seeing the letters clearly now. “Do you think they stand for something?”
“They might,” Logan turned to Margie,” can we get these photographed then bagged? We need to check for prints and to see if any of them might have been used on the victim’s neck.”
Margie was quick to respond. I stepped out of the way as camera bulbs started to flash and evidence bags were brought out. The countertop was swabbed for any DNA and the kitchen was now another focus of the investigation.
“TX,” I spoke to myself as I walked back through the main room, “what could TX stand for?”
“I’m originally from Texas,” one of the officers at the front door answered me, trying to be helpful, “that’s the abbreviation for it.”
Logan heard his remark and was next to me in an instant.
“Do you think she might be telling us where she’s headed to next?” I asked him. “Her message on my voicemail said this was just a ‘taste’. Do you think she left the victim alive because this was just a warning?”
“I don’t know, but Texas is a big state,” he shook his head, “hopefully we’ll get a lead on that Lexus. Maybe we can stop her before she gets there.”
Chapter Eleven
There wasn’t much more we could do at the crime scene so Logan and I left and headed back towards Riverview. We hadn’t gone far when Detective Scott called us with an update.
The victim, Tracey Warner, was awake now and in stable condition. There was some damage to her vocal chords from the attack, so she couldn’t speak yet, but she was trying to communicate by writing on a notepad. Just as Detective Scott thought, Tracey had answered a knock at the door, thinking it was a neighbor. The attack happened so fast she didn’t really have time to respond.
