“Detective Scott have you observed anyone recently who might be following you? Showing up in more than one place? Anything that seemed out of the ordinary?” the sheriff asked. The room became completely quiet waiting for her answer.
“No, I have not seen anything out of the ordinary since I’ve been home. No sign of anyone following me when I was searching for Chelsea that I was aware of. Believe me, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure this out.”
The continued silence held the room hostage for another minute.
Finally, Sheriff Scott spoke again. “It’s clear that this isn’t a childish prank, and it has been directed at one of our own. What it means exactly will take more investigation. For now, I want to make sure that you are all careful and pay close attention as you go about your duties. Understand?” He waited for everyone in the room to nod in agreement. “Dismissed.”
The other officers and detectives immediately stood and made a quick departure. Deputy McGaven loitered in the hall with his hands in his pockets, not looking anyone directly in the eye. It wasn’t clear whether he was nervous or he just didn’t want to discuss his new detail.
Katie focused and concentrated on what she had to do today as she waited for the official identification of the other girl. It would be a long, tedious day interviewing Chelsea’s neighbors and others. After four years, it would be interesting to hear what they had to say now that the body had been found.
“Detective Scott, don’t forget to have your daily report on my desk.” The sheriff addressed Katie in an official manner. “With all things considered, it wouldn’t be frowned upon if you took the day off.”
Katie smiled. “With all things considered, the longer this investigation takes, the more likely it is that the killer will abduct another little girl—and kill again.” Gently squeezing her uncle’s arm, she continued, “I appreciate the thought, though.”
She left the room carrying her clipboard and notes from the original case and met the deputy in the hallway.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied, and headed out toward the exit, McGaven following her.
There was a cluster of police officers near the door, and Katie heard the distinctive sarcastic voice of Detective Templeton. “… and then she skipped back to the department thinking she had solved the case.”
The group erupted in laughter.
Here we go again…
Katie and the deputy made their way around the group to get to the exit. She decided to stop and face the detective. “You’re quite the funny guy, Templeton. Did you happen to tell them how you didn’t do your job four years ago and find Chelsea Compton?”
A lungful of anger exploded from the man. “You’re not as tough as you think you are—you better watch yourself,” he hissed. He lunged toward her, but two of the officers held him back.
Katie wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually struck her or shoved her to the floor, but she was prepared to handle whatever he had to throw at her. She wasn’t intimidated or scared by him.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to antagonize the detective in a direct and provoking manner, but she felt he deserved some mocking, just like any other officer. He was going to have to accept her presence sooner or later. It was obvious that he didn’t care what she did, as long as she didn’t get in his way or solve the case before he did. It gave her some breathing room to conduct her investigation and check in with her uncle at the end of each day.
She did notice that McGaven was instantly at her side and seemed to be prepared to defend her if necessary. Maybe it was a cop thing, but either way, it was encouraging that the deputy was beginning to warm to her.
Neither spoke when they got to the police car, but there seemed to be something a little bit different between them—he wasn’t as agitated and tense as before. Katie would have to be patient, though, if she expected him to treat her like other officers who had sworn to protect and serve.
She scanned through her notes. She knew from the daily investigative sheet where Templeton would hover, so she decided to have a chat with the Comptons’ neighbors, Sig and Ella Stanley. She had done a little background on them and found they weren’t a quiet conservative couple as she had imagined, but had had brushes with the law over trespassing, drunk and disorderly, and restraining orders. Officially, they stated that they had seen Chelsea on the day she disappeared, but then they changed their story and said they were mistaken.
She glanced at the deputy as he worked his cell phone with his thumbs; he kept his solemn stare focused on the tiny screen.
“You do realize that we’re working on a case involving the abduction and murder of two little girls?” she said, cutting through the silent treatment and hitting the truth right between the eyes.
The deputy turned to her, eyes narrowed and jaw tightened. “Of course, that’s why we’re here,” he replied.
“Then I would suggest you start acting like it.” She realized that she sounded a bit harsh, but her nerves were wearing thin from dealing with Detective Templeton.
“What’s your problem?” he asked.
“Okay,” she said. “I thought we were past this. I have half a mind to dump you out here and go on by myself.” She sensed anger teetering in her body, muscles tensed and growing more agitated.
The deputy leaned in as if to say something unprofessional, then decided against it. A big sigh ensued instead.
Katie took a slow breath. “Look, we’ve all had jobs or duties we’ve hated. But get over it.” She waited patiently for his response.
“Fine. Let’s go,” he said finally.
“Not good enough,” Katie persisted.
“What do you want from me, Detective Scott?” He stared at her directly, his eyes boring into hers.
“We’ve got a job to do, so let’s do it,” she said.
“It’s just…” He stopped before he finished his sentence.
“It’s just what?” Katie watched him closely.
“Look, I don’t have anything against you. But I’m getting more than my fair share of harassment and I’m the butt of every joke.”
“I see,” she said softly. “A little ribbing from the guys and you fold like a paper bag. Whining and complaining.”
“Well, that’s not really fair,” he said slowly.
“Fair?” she said, raising her voice. “You want to talk to me about fair? Is it fair to watch two of your teammates have their limbs ripped from their bodies because they happened to be too close to a bomb when it went off? Is it fair to sit with a friend who was there for you when everyone else wasn’t, and watch him die because that’s just the way it is?” She caught her breath and curbed her anger. “And tell me, Deputy McGaven, is it fair that two girls were murdered while the killer is still roaming free?”
The deputy looked away, visibly shaken by what she had said. His eyes were wide in astonishment as he fidgeted with his hands. “No, Detective, of course not.”
Katie started the car. Her heart pounded and that familiar feeling of panic tried to overpower her, but she pushed it away by concentrating on the case. The conversation was over, and she didn’t want to have to explain herself again.
She drove to the Stanleys’ house. She knew Mrs. Stanley would be home while her husband was at work—she had called them earlier. After speaking with Mrs. Stanley, it was clear she wasn’t enthusiastic about talking to the police again.
Katie slowed the vehicle and pulled into a parking space between the Compton and Stanley homes. It wasn’t difficult to imagine children playing on the quiet street filled with trees. The scenario was the same all across Middle America. Neighbors waved and smiled to one another. No one was loitering who didn’t belong; no one had any devious acts in mind. It exuded the appearance of a middle-class family neighborhood that would be portrayed in a book or movie; though in reality, no one knew what happened behind closed doors or who might wander through.
Chelsea’s house was quiet a
nd there was nothing to set it apart from other homes. The yard had a sad appearance; many plants and flowers were dead, as was the lawn. It had most likely not been tended after Chelsea disappeared.
The Stanleys’ house showed the exact opposite, with blooming plants, dozens of vivid shades of green, and the fence recently painted. It was a house that had been maintained and loved. There was a window, presumably the kitchen, facing Chelsea’s house, with a clear view of the road and driveway.
Katie slowly exited the car, still observing the area, before shutting the door behind her. McGaven appeared to study the neighborhood as well and followed Katie’s example before joining her at the front door of the Stanley house. They appeared to be on the same page in the investigation at last.
Katie rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened and an attractive middle-aged blonde woman wearing yoga pants and a pink tank top stood there. She studied Katie and the deputy for a moment.
“Mrs. Stanley?” said Katie. “I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven. We spoke on the phone.”
“Of course, please come in.” The woman opened the door wider, allowing them to enter.
Once inside, Katie immediately noted the Chinese theme to the decor, with Asian rugs, several Buddha statues, and a myriad of collectibles signifying good luck in traditional Eastern beliefs. There were also framed family photographs scattered around, and some holiday snaps. Katie noted that there were no children in any of the pictures.
“Please sit down, Detective,” Mrs. Stanley invited.
Katie wanted to make the conversation as casual as possible, but for a moment, all three of them sat uncomfortably. She realized she had little experience in interviewing witnesses in an investigation. Most interviews she had done on patrol were immediately after a crime occurred. She began the process by forcing a smile. “Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, but time isn’t a luxury we have on this case. I know it has been four years, but I wanted to ask you a few things about that day.”
“Of course, though I don’t know what I can do to help that I haven’t already told the other detective,” Mrs. Stanley said.
“Well,” Katie began, “I wanted to clarify a few things that were in the original missing-persons case. To begin with, did you see Chelsea the day she disappeared?”
Mrs. Stanley seemed slightly agitated and stood up, picking up one of her knickknacks distractedly. “Chelsea was always going to friends’ houses and I would often see her walking down the street.”
“Which way would she go?” Katie asked.
“Most days she would head out to the main street,” Mrs. Stanley replied.
“Not toward Highland Center Park?” Katie pushed.
“No, I don’t think so. Not that I remember.”
“How well do you know the Comptons?”
“Oh, Beth and… Chuck.” Mrs Stanley’s eyes lit up. “Fairly well. They’ve been our neighbors for more than eight years. Such nice people. Sad that they divorced after… well, you know.”
“Did you ever know them to have problems before Chelsea went missing, anything you might think we should know about?”
“Oh no, nothing. They were a wonderful family.”
Katie leaned back in more of a relaxed manner; she sensed some deception but wanted to continue in a friendly way. She looked to her right and saw that McGaven was watching Mrs. Stanley closely—her movements, hesitations, and body language when she spoke.
“Did you ever notice anyone in the neighborhood you’d never seen before, perhaps someone watching Chelsea or other children?”
“What do you mean, like a pedophile?”
“It’s possible. There are a couple of registered sex offenders in this area.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Stanley said with some alarm; obviously the thought had never occurred to her. “No, I’ve never noticed anyone like that.”
Katie watched her mannerisms and hand movements when she talked. Certain words—“pedophile”, “divorced”, and “Chuck”—made her gestures increase in intensity.
“Was there anyone working for the Comptons, or any of your other neighbors, around that time—service workers, gardeners, contractors?”
“No… Oh, wait, the Crandalls on the other side of the Comptons had some new kitchen cabinets installed.”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks before Chelsea went missing.”
“Are you sure it was before she disappeared?”
“Yes. When something of that magnitude happens to one of your neighbors, you don’t forget anything that happened around that time.”
“What type of workers? Local? From one of the superstores or an online company?”
“Oh, from town. The Darren boys, Malcolm and Frederick. They do large remodels as well as small projects. They took over their dad’s business after he died. It seems everyone has used them at one time or another.”
Katie jotted down their names. “And you’re sure they were here a couple of weeks before Chelsea went missing?”
“Yes, I’m sure. They’re cute boys too,” Mrs. Stanley added, and her eyes lit up again.
“So just to clarify, you never saw Chelsea the day she disappeared?”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
“Did you ever see a truck?”
“A truck?”
“Yes, any truck driving or stopping that day, or possibly a day or so before.”
“Everyone around here either has sedans or SUVs. No trucks. Well, except for the Darren boys.” The way she said “boys” lingered in the air.
Katie stood. “Just one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind. May I see the window in your kitchen?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Stanley said, and led the way.
Katie stood at the sink and looked out the window. It was the perfect vantage point to see the street in both directions and had an open view to the Comptons’ house. She turned around and moved toward the front door, taking the time to glance at the photographs again.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Stanley.”
“Good luck, Detective,” Mrs. Stanley said, and forced a smile.
Katie and McGaven left the house and went back to the car.
“Interesting, but nothing,” said the deputy.
“We learned a lot,” Katie said, still thinking about Mrs. Stanley’s affection for Mr. Compton and the Darren boys. Her subtle movements and the tone of her voice had given her away. Katie wondered if there was more to the day that Chelsea went missing than the woman was telling them.
Twenty-Four
The Pine Valley Elementary School let out at three p.m. every day during the week. Kids carrying loaded backpacks hustled to their assigned buses or their moms waiting in the pickup line, or walked home. The high-energy chatter and laughter from the students was unmistakable.
The man watched, studying the behavior and movements of various children. He began to catalogue each child according to their ability to fight or fend for themselves. There were certain traits that distinguished his chosen ones from the average.
Dena, where are you?
It didn’t take him long to spot the eleven-year-old girl whom he had watched almost every day for two months. She never wore dresses, but sported jeans and a bright shirt. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders now instead of her usual braids.
Every subtle move…
She tore off her blue-and-yellow backpack and swung it into the silver SUV before jumping in after it. She moved her hands to her neck and flipped her hair out of the way. It was obvious she was annoyed she hadn’t braided it to keep it off her face. It glistened in the sunshine. Soft. Silky.
She was waiting to be protected. To be saved from all the ugliness in the world. It was coming quickly.
She was perfect.
A smile crept across his face.
He watched as she spoke to her younger brother inside the car, resulting in arms flailing. It was unclear what was said, but her mother
turned her head to speak to her, and the flailing stopped.
The man’s mind wandered to his picture-perfect gravesite, which he had diligently and doggedly created. He had studied the area with maps, he’d walked countless trails, and then he’d camped out and scoured more of the rural areas. He had done everything he could think of to ensure that the site fit every need—and more.
And now he had learned from the Internet news that an off-duty police officer, Katie Scott, had found the final resting places of his little girls sleeping.
Anger flooded into his body at high velocity, muscles tensed in his arms and legs, his fists clenched, and all happiness disappeared from him. He internally pleaded with himself to stop the hate and anger from festering.
Katie Scott had spoiled everything.
His new search had moved along with great expectation. Nothing else mattered to him. It had to have been a fluke, a lucky stumble, for the woman to have found his most sacred location.
Someone will pay.
In an effort to block out bad thoughts and bad memories, the man blinked his eyes several times. To his surprise, the thoughts perished as quickly as they had consumed him.
He watched the silver SUV merge into traffic and drive away.
It was almost time.
Twenty-Five
“What are you doing?” asked Katie as she watched McGaven double-check his weapon. They were driving to the Darren residence to interview the two brothers.
“There have been a number of visits there in the past,” he replied. “It helps to be prepared for the… unexpected.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“You didn’t ask,” he stated flatly.
“I would appreciate the courtesy of a heads-up if you know something of importance—like the fact that we could be walking into an ambush or a sketchy situation.”
She made a detour and sped down one of the main streets.
“Where are you going?” the deputy asked.
Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 12
