[Kate Reid 01.0 - 03.0] Unbound

by Robin Mahle

  She was not clothed and parts of her body were caked in mud. The crows had already done a number on her flesh. He looked up the hill. She had not rolled down it; instead, it appeared as though someone had walked down, dragging her behind. The trodden grass revealed shoeprints and a trail about a foot wide. It appeared as though the woman had been placed deliberately in this position: face up, arms folded across her chest, holding what he thought looked like weeds, but on closer inspection, saw that they were dandelions; bunched up and held firmly in her hands that were already in a state of rigor.

  Beneath her folded arms was a sight that compelled Wade to turn away, abating his gag reflex. He pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I—I found a woman. She’s dead.”

  Wade stood roadside, ready to flag the authorities down as they approached. He’d already put a call into the owner, Mr. Cauley, who was on his way in from town.

  It didn’t take long for him to see the flashing red and blue lights in the distance, speeding toward him. He waved his arms, holding his hat in his left hand, hoping to draw their attention. It appeared that he had been spotted as the cars slowed and moved toward the edge of the road. There was no barrier, although there probably should have been. The slope was fairly steep.

  Several law enforcement cars lined up on the empty stretch of highway. This was a small town and the Cauley farm was on its outskirts. Not many people traveled this way unless they were headed out to St. Louis in neighboring Missouri.

  A tall man with a round belly stepped out of the first car. Three others were lined up behind him, and then an ambulance. The man placed his uniform hat – brown and a little too large – on his head and began walking toward Wade.

  “You Wade Burrows?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The officer wasted no time. “Deputy Boudreaux. Can you show me the location of our victim?”

  The men exchanged a brief handshake.

  “Yes, sir; just down here.” Wade stepped sideways along the slope, working to keep his balance on the slippery grass, still damp from the rain three days ago. He knew of the deputy, but never had any run-ins with the law and so had no cause to call upon him until now. “Them crows caught my attention. It ain’t right for me to see that many hangin’ round one spot. Me and my boys was just closin’ up shop on the corn maze when I spotted them. Mr. Cauley’s on his way down. I rang him right after y’all.”

  They stopped at the bottom, a few feet away from the body.

  “There.” He pointed. “She’s just there. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that, Deputy Boudreaux. Lord have mercy on that poor woman and her family.”

  The deputy approached the body. A few of the birds were still trying to go in for a bite, but he kept them away as best he could. “Son of a bitch.” He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Henry, come on down here and have a look.”

  Another officer, a young man in top form and appearing gung ho to find out what his boss needed, quickly approached, jogging down the hill. “Yes, sir.”

  “Henry, take a look at that.” Boudreaux pointed to the woman’s bare chest.

  “What’s that she’s holding, sir?”

  “Flowers, by the looks of ‘em. But take a gander at what’s on her chest.”

  “Jesus Christ Almighty. Is that a V carved into her skin?” Henry replied.

  The flesh had been cut deep, forcing the skin to fold over itself, but there was no blood from the wound. It was as if she’d been cleaned up, except for the mud on her that was a result of being dragged down the hill.

  “That’s a damn V, all right. Christ sakes,” the deputy began. “You heard about that woman they found last week in Virginia?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Same goddamn thing. Looks like we better call in the big boys, Henry.”

  The odor reached Katie’s nose as she and Marshall approached the front door of the stately home. It seemed to hang in the air like a cloud, wafting out of the house. Several other officers were already on scene, taping off the immediate area, working to keep any interested neighbors at bay.

  The case was starting to grow cold until they got the call this morning. Celia Hernandez had been taking her morning walk, pushing the stroller with her one-year-old past the home two doors down. This suburban San Diego neighborhood near Del Mar was supposed to be safe. Living in obscenely large and extravagant homes, the people who occupied this community were exceedingly affluent. Celia, a stay-at-home mom whose husband worked for a financial firm downtown, was the target demographic.

  She had spotted the teenage girl poking her head out of a bathroom window. In that brief moment that their eyes locked, Celia knew something wasn’t right. The girl’s brown hair appeared dirty, stringy, and matted, as if it hadn’t been washed in days, maybe weeks. Her face was pale, gaunt cheeks with circles around her desperate-looking eyes. Then the girl disappeared, but not before she mouthed something to Celia.

  The window was small, too small even for this young girl to have been able to slip out. Celia looked around, eager to spot another who might have seen what she had, but the street was quiet. Shades were drawn, shutters were closed, and the only suggestion that the neighborhood hadn’t been completely deserted were the birds flying overhead. Its manicured lawns, shrubs trimmed to perfection, and mature trees lining either side of the street were otherwise lifeless.

  Celia didn’t know the people who lived in that house very well. They’d moved in about six months ago and she’d attempted to be neighborly by coming around after they’d settled in to introduce herself, muffin basket in hand. The husband and wife were polite, but had made it clear that they preferred to keep to themselves. She hadn’t been back since, only waving on the rare occasion when she spotted them outside. What she was certain about was the fact that they had no children.

  Celia paused a moment longer. Her glance struck every window fronting the home. Each was obscured by heavy-looking curtains and wrought iron bars. The baby was growing impatient at the break in movement and began to make her distress known. Celia looked down at her and it was then that she knew what she had to do.

  She told the 911 operator that the girl had mouthed something to her that she could have sworn were the words “help me.” As it turned out, Celia was right to call.

  “You’re the responding officer?” Marshall asked as he lifted the tape wrapped around the columns of the front porch.

  Katie slipped in behind him.

  “Yes.” The officer extended his hand. “Officer Gutierrez. I took the call.”

  “I’m Detective Avery and this is Kate Reid.” Marshall returned the gesture. “We’ve been looking for this girl for quite a while. How’s she holding up?”

  “Come see for yourself.” The officer stepped aside and allowed Marshall and Katie to enter.

  The home was pristine. High-end furnishings in shades of cream and white. Dark hardwood floors. High ceilings with ornate crown molding and chandeliers. Staircases on either side of the foyer that wound their way up to the second floor. To the left of the foyer was the living room.

  Katie approached the girl, who was wrapped in a blanket and looked small beneath the covering. The paramedics hovered over her, seemingly checking for signs of injury. “Olivia?” Katie asked.

  The girl slowly raised her head. When their eyes locked, an image, just a split-second flash, filled Katie’s mind. She quickly blinked to rid herself of the vision. A trigger. That was what Dr. Reyes had called it. It sometimes happened when she would walk a crime scene and it seemed to bring back the same vision: Katie, tied to a chair, Hendrickson inches from her face in that warehouse.

  “I’m Katie Reid. Detective Avery has been in contact with your parents. They’re on their way here now.” Katie looked to one of the EMTs. “These guys are going to make sure you’re okay.” She knew not to touch the girl; she was in shock and God only knew what she’d suffered already. The para
medics were trained to handle victims in shock; she was not, but the desire to offer comfort was always there. Instead, Katie offered a warm smile and left her to the professionals.

  Marshall and Officer Gutierrez were still standing in the foyer when Katie approached and listened in on their conversation.

  “From what the girl said, they left her locked up for up to twelve hours a day, only to let her out long enough to do what they wanted, then put her back in the room,” the officer said.

  “Where is the smell coming from?” Katie asked.

  Gutierrez looked at Marshall, seemingly wondering if he should disclose any information. Marshall’s slight nod suggested the officer could continue. “I’m afraid there was another victim, deceased, and likely starved to death. The girl was forced to stay in the same room with the body.”

  Katie’s expression shifted at the abhorrent news, but only momentarily. She had been working as an evidence technician for more than a year now and of course had already seen the darkest sides of humanity. This was just another glimpse into the depravity of human nature.

  A year. More than a year, actually, and Katie could hardly remember what life had been like before Hendrickson. She and Marshall were still living in his apartment downtown. There had been talk of moving, but their lives were so busy that the topic never seemed to go beyond a few casual words late at night after they’d had a drink or two, ultimately deciding the discussion would be put on hold at least until Katie finished school. Her graduate degree in criminal justice was within reach now, only months left. Figuring out what to do after that would be a challenge, although she’d been kicking around the idea of becoming a cop, but it was more likely she’d find herself in the Crime Scene Unit.

  Her decision to go back to school had been an easy one. Katie was the type of person who wasn’t happy unless she strived for more. It seemed she always had to be working toward something. What happened when she finally reached her goal would be the real challenge.

  “Olivia’s been missing for almost two months. Thank God she’s okay.” Katie looked back toward the living room. “Relatively speaking.” On returning her glance, she continued, “Do we have an ID on the other victim?”

  “No. Not yet. The team has just headed up there to secure the scene. The medical examiner is on the way,” Gutierrez replied.

  The first thing Katie noticed when they entered the home were all the locks on the front door. She hadn’t made her way upstairs where they kept the girl, but she assumed it had been secured in a similar fashion. There were even bars on the windows; the decorative kind that gave the impression the owner wanted security, but not at the expense of tasteful exterior design. The only exception was the bathroom window upstairs. It didn’t seem there were any other houses, at least in the immediate area that had bars on the windows.

  “How did she make it to the bathroom?” Katie asked.

  “We haven’t been able to get much from the victim yet, but it seemed she got hold of a screwdriver or something similar and was able to loosen the hinge pins on the door and pulled them out. When we got the call from Mrs. Hernandez and made it on scene, the girl was attempting to escape through the French doors downstairs at the back. She knocked out a few of the glass panes and made it through to the security doors on the other side. These people had this place very well secured. My guess is, had Mrs. Hernandez not called, the girl wouldn’t have managed a way out and would have suffered for it when her captors arrived back home.”

  “Our priority should be finding the people who took her.” Marshall looked to Gutierrez. “Where are the owners?”

  “The victim said she knew the man; had been treated by him at the hospital about three months ago. He’s a doctor at St. Gabriel Medical Center. Not sure where the wife is. The vic thought she might be a nurse there too. That’s when you got the call. I just sent a squad car down there to check it out.”

  “Her name’s Olivia. Sixteen. Daughter to Michelle and Jerry Markham. She ran away eight weeks ago.” Katie hadn’t yet mastered the ability of detachment and her curt tone suggested Gutierrez ought to have a little more regard, especially considering there was another soul still lying in a room upstairs.

  “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect,” the officer replied.

  Marshall quickly intervened. “You said Olivia knew the man. That he’d treated her. From my interviews with the parents, Olivia had run away because they were going to send her to rehab. She’d already overdosed once before. The parents said she’d been treated at St. Gabriel’s. Damn it. I’ve questioned that doctor.” He looked to Katie.

  She instantly recalled the man. “Stanton. Dr. Gary Stanton,” Katie said, a hint of eagerness in her eyes.

  It hit all of them in an instant and, before Marshall said another word, Gutierrez pressed down on his radio. “Unit 216, please respond.” Static noise sounded from the radio.

  “Unit 216, we’re pulling up to St. Gabriel Med Center now.”

  “Dr. Gary Stanton. Detective Avery has just confirmed Stanton as a suspect. Proceed with caution.”

  “Kate, stay here and see if you can assist in evidence collection and take care of Olivia’s parents when they get here. I’m going to St. Gabriel’s.”

  Katie nodded and moved into the living room to speak with the crime scene investigator.

  “Nice work.” Marshall acknowledged the officer and took leave.

  2

  ON HER RETURN to the police station, Katie noticed the gilded sky was dimming. The long day wasn’t over yet, despite the imminent nightfall. She considered skipping class tonight, as it seemed meaningless in light of what had happened, but if she waited for only the good days, she would never go. Days like these happened all too often.

  Olivia was taken to the hospital, suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. Her parents rode with her in the ambulance. The girl had been severely abused, as had the deceased victim. The coroner’s report would reflect cause of death as starvation. No identity yet.

  Marshall’s office was just ahead. Katie hadn’t spoken to him since this morning, but knew they had taken Stanton into custody. He’d given up without incident. “This is everything I’ve got so far.” She handed him the reports. He looked just as exhausted as she had. “I’m sure Hearn is all over you for the files. They’re gonna want to push this one through to the DA as soon as possible, I imagine.”

  His desk was covered in paperwork and crime scene photos from the Markham investigation. Marshall grabbed the files from Katie and added them to the growing pile. “He’s already been in here twice. The press conference is scheduled for seven tonight.” Marshall glanced at his watch. “Gives me ninety minutes to get my shit together. I’ll be home late. You’ll be okay?”

  His words seemed to burrow under Katie’s skin. Marshall meant well, and she felt guilty for her frustration, but she didn’t need his protection as much as he thought she did. Their love for one another was never in question, but she was not the same woman he had met nearly two years ago. It seemed the more she tried to pull away, regain some of her former independence, the more he tried to keep her close.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got class tonight, but I’m just not sure I can handle it right now.”

  “You know you need to go. It’ll be the best thing for you.” Marshall replied, folding his hands on top of the files.

  “You’re right.” She shrugged off his assertion, knowing it was pointless to argue with him. After a momentary scan into the hallway, ensuring no one was around, Katie moved toward his desk and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “See you tonight.”

  The answering machine blinked from the office of their two-bedroom apartment. Katie had been home for an hour or so and had tried to ignore it. Instead, she opted to take a hot bath as she waited for Marshall to come home. It seemed the bath had served to offer some relief from the day and perhaps she was ready to press the button, already knowing what would be waiting.

  She pulled her robe closed, securing it wi
th the belt, and listened to the messages. Only moments later, the front door was opened. Marshall was home. Katie turned to catch sight of him, his footfalls echoing on the tiled floor.

  “How many calls today?” he asked, his arms braced against the door frame of the office.

  “Only two.” She pressed the delete button and moved to greet him where he stood. “They’re not as insistent anymore. I think their interest is dying down, which I can’t say I’m too upset about.”

  “Well, I’ve said this before, it’s up to you to decide if you want to write about what happened. You know I’d support you, but I’m just not sure now is the right time, with school and everything.”

  Of course he wanted to put it behind them just as much as she did and although the money being offered would probably set them up for life, she just wasn’t willing to relive the past for someone else’s entertainment under the guise of “bringing awareness.” She wasn’t healed yet and was unsure if she ever would be. The scar above her left eye, although faded, served as a constant reminder every time she looked in the mirror.

  Thoughts of her best friend Sam still churned in her mind on an almost daily basis. Occasionally, Katie would pick up the phone to call Sam’s husband, Jarrod, but never could finish dialing his number. He’d helped her out so much and had very little reason to, but speaking to him was too great a reminder of the reason Sam, the woman who had been like a sister to her, was gone.

  The media attention was slowly eroding, however, and that was a good thing. It was what they both needed to move on. Katie looked forward to finishing school and that was really all that mattered right now. Marshall had helped her to put her energy into more productive causes, letting go of the darkness that occasionally weighed her down, but she still felt like a work in progress.

  “I agree with you. I don’t plan on calling them back.” She led the way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, retrieving a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cabinet. “Did you get everything over to Hearn for the press conference?”