Pretty Broken Dolls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (Detective Katie Scott Book 6)

by Jennifer Chase

  “What’s up?” asked McGaven.

  “The sheriff has asked for us to meet with him—now. Well, actually, he ordered.”

  McGaven stood up, his height making him tower over Katie. “Let’s go.” He put his suit jacket on.

  “Let’s see what’s so important.”

  Katie and McGaven reached the sheriff’s office. Katie hesitated at the door, taking a breath to steady her nerves before knocking twice. There was always that terrifying thought that the cold case unit could be cut due to budget costs.

  “Come in,” came her uncle’s voice.

  Katie glanced at McGaven, whose expression was stoic and difficult to read. She opened the door and they stepped inside.

  The sheriff wasn’t alone.

  “You!” said Katie, referring to the man sitting across from the sheriff. “Who are you?” She was shocked.

  McGaven quietly closed the door, confused and not understanding Katie’s reaction.

  “I saw you at the Stanton residence. Who are you?” she insisted.

  He was the man that had been watching the Stanton crime scene.

  “Just take it easy,” said the sheriff. “It will all be explained.”

  Katie stared at him and knew better than to say anything that she might regret.

  McGaven took a chair but Katie remained standing.

  “This is Special Agent Dane Campbell with the California High Crimes Task Force,” the sheriff began.

  Katie was surprised but still didn’t trust the man, based on the way he’d so quickly left the crime scene as she approached him.

  “He works high profile and serial murder cases, based out of Sacramento. Special Agent Campbell, this is Detective Katie Scott and Deputy Sean McGaven.”

  Campbell nodded. “Nice to meet you both.” He smiled broadly at Katie.

  McGaven gave his solemn nod in greeting.

  “Special Agent Campbell,” she said. “Can you please explain to me why you were at the crime scene on Friday?”

  The sheriff looked directly at Campbell, waiting for an answer.

  Campbell chuckled and calmly explained. “I was just briefing Sheriff Scott about everything.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Detective Scott, take a seat,” said the sheriff.

  Katie was about to say something, but dutifully, she took a chair and waited.

  “I will let Agent Campbell explain.”

  The room became quiet with an uneasy silence. Campbell waited a few extra seconds before he began—as if he wanted to build more tension.

  Katie kept her eyes directly on him, trying to get a read on him.

  “We’ve been working on three homicides that we suspect are linked,” he began, opening one of three files before him on the desk. The folder contained several photographs and reports. “Victim number one: Nancy Day, thirty-four years old, single, she taught Administration of Justice at a junior college in Placer County. She was found on a bench on the school grounds three years ago, throat cut, body posed, and her charm bracelet hanging in one of the trees like an ornament.” He passed Katie a few of the photos.

  She slowly thumbed through them, immediately noticing that the body position was indeed posed, reminding her of a doll or a character in a play. There was dramatic makeup in dark reds drawn around the victim’s lips and eyes. Her long dark hair appeared combed and styled. It was clear that the killer wanted to express a message. But what?

  “Who found her?” Katie asked.

  “The first person who drove into Littleton College, who was the security officer by the name of Maynard Brighton. Luckily, after he called the police they were able to stop the students and faculty from seeing the crime scene. He has since been cleared of any possible involvement.”

  “Administration of Justice. That would be mostly people wanting to become police officers or paralegals, lawyers…” she said.

  “Yes. Also county and state jobs as well.”

  Katie was intrigued by the crime scene and the potential motive of the killer. She looked at all the photos again—pausing on a close-up of the neck wound.

  “Victim number two, Gwen Sanderson, thirty-one years old, she owned a small restaurant/deli called Gwen’s Place, had a boyfriend in Sierra County, and was well liked by the community.” He handed Katie the photos.

  Katie passed McGaven the pictures of victim Nancy Day.

  “Gwen Sanderson’s body was found two years ago at a Western resort, Roy’s Bed and Breakfast Dude Ranch, which was being remodeled and was closed for the winter,” explained Campbell.

  Katie examined the photos of the body attached to a wooden fence at the entrance to the ranch. The body was also posed like a broken doll, with dramatic makeup drawn on her face. Bruises were prominent. Her body was bloodier than the first victim’s. Her throat was also cut, revealing a gaping hole.

  Katie finally looked at Campbell and said, “What piece of jewelry was found? A ring?” She had seen the significant damage to her fingers, as if there had been a struggle.

  “Very astute, Detective. Yes, it was an antique diamond ring her grandmother had given her on her twenty-first birthday. It was tied with a piece of red ribbon on the post next to her.” He handed her the photo of the ring.

  Katie saw that the ribbon was tied nicely and evenly.

  “I’m familiar with how you and McGaven operate, retracing the crime scenes from the beginning,” said Campbell.

  “What do these cases have to do with us?” Katie looked at the sheriff. “These counties aren’t our jurisdiction.” She continued to study the crime scene characteristics.

  “Do we have a cold case that is linked?” asked McGaven. He was clearly intrigued by the cases as he studied them.

  Agent Campbell opened another file. “Third victim, Jeanine Trenton, twenty-seven years old, health care specialist, found impaled in her backyard in Raven Woods, in your Sequoia County, by her best friend, about a year ago.”

  Katie looked at the agent.

  “Why wasn’t she in the cold case files? I don’t recall the name or case.”

  “Her case was tagged a couple of weeks after her murder investigation by the California Task Force as possibly linked to the other cases,” said the sheriff. “The case had been put on hold after we had exhausted every avenue available. The case was transferred to the California Task Force.”

  Katie looked surprised.

  “This case was before you came home,” the sheriff said.

  “I see,” she said, handing back the crime scene photos. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me and Gav. I’m sure that Special Agent Campbell has an entire team of investigators to work on these cases.”

  Sheriff Scott glanced at Campbell and said, “They’ve exhausted every avenue and have come to us for assistance. He has been impressed by our cold case closure rate and success—”

  Campbell interrupted, “I’ve been authorized to recruit who I see fit and you, Detective Scott and Deputy McGaven, are who I’ve chosen to work these cases.”

  Katie’s initial anger about how Campbell had presented himself had slowly dissipated, but she was still skeptical about his motives. Something seemed amiss about the entire situation, but she couldn’t pinpoint what bothered her. Glancing at McGaven, he gave her a positive look, meaning that he was game.

  “Wait a minute. Please forgive me for a moment. I assume I can speak candidly,” she said.

  “Of course,” said the sheriff.

  “What are the dates of the murders again? They are a year apart?”

  Campbell nodded, watching her closely.

  “I see. So you’ve reached the point where you’ve exhausted every avenue, have no new leads and now they are cold cases—but you’re hypothesizing that the killer is going to kill again,” she said. “By my quick calculation it could be anytime now. Is that about right?”

  “Yes.”

  Katie looked to her uncle and it was difficult to read him. She sighed, making sure her pulse r
emained steady and calm. “My first loyalty is to the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department working our cold cases. It’s Sheriff Scott’s decision, not mine.”

  The sheriff smiled for the first time since the start of the meeting. “I agree with Agent Campbell and I will not stand in the way of these cases. The third victim is in our jurisdiction and is our cold case. That would be where you would start.”

  “Who will we be working for?” she asked.

  “You will still report to me as usual,” said the sheriff. “And Agent Campbell will be kept up to speed every step of the way. He will give you anything you need.”

  “Are we allowed to investigate our way? We will need everything you have on the cases—every note, photo, interview, speculation—everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “As with any investigation, we cannot guarantee the—”

  “Of course, Detective, I’m well aware of that,” he interrupted. “I wouldn’t be here if I had another choice. But I have every confidence in you.”

  “Okay, this is settled, then, right?” said Sheriff Scott, looking directly at Katie.

  “Can I use Cisco?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who’s Cisco?” the agent asked.

  “My army K9.”

  Campbell smiled.

  Katie looked to McGaven who subtly nodded. Looking at the photos now scattered across the sheriff’s desk, she captured Campbell’s gaze. “It’s settled.”

  Chapter Four

  Monday 1045 hours

  Katie and McGaven waited while a courier wheeled three loads of boxes on a hand truck into the forensic lab, unloading them along the hallway next to their office.

  “Wow,” said McGaven, eyeing the boxes as they were stacked high.

  “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Katie was amped to get started and began to dig through the files.

  “How do you want to do this?” he said. “The boxes are marked by victim, date, and location.”

  “Let’s start with Jeanine Trenton, as the sheriff suggested. She’s in our jurisdiction and then we can move backwards.”

  “Sounds good,” he said and grabbed two boxes, moving them into their office.

  Katie did the same.

  “Let’s move the rest of the boxes into the storage across the hall,” she said, hoisting more loads.

  Within ten minutes, everything had vanished from the hallway and the boxes were put in order.

  The cold case office was small but it sufficed, with two desks fitted in a T-shape. Two of the walls were filled with cupboards. A long counter with a sink occupied another wall, with several storage compartments underneath. Since they were in the forensic division, the offices were retrofitted with an area for forensic technicians to perform their specific duties, not for administrative assignments. A rolling whiteboard was pushed into one corner of the room and at the moment was wiped clean—ready for new information.

  She and McGaven each had a box, marked “Trenton, Homicide, Raven Woods, Sequoia County.” Katie opened hers and began sorting everything from the interviews—autopsy report, police reports, forensics, and photographs.

  “You haven’t really said how you feel about this,” McGaven said, breaking the silence.

  “It’s another cold case.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It’s a cold case,” she repeated.

  “Katie.”

  “Alright, yeah, this Campbell is a little sneaky and he strikes me as someone who follows his own rules and not the rules the rest of us have to abide by.”

  “You needed to get that out,” he said and smiled.

  “There’s a ton of stuff here, but from what I can see, lots of duplicates.” She sighed.

  “Have you seen this?” he said and tossed over three photos of a house with boarded-up windows.

  “Is that the Jeanine Trenton home?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why are the windows boarded up?” Her interest had been piqued.

  Flipping through some reports, McGaven said, “It seems that the house was vandalized not long after the murder, so they boarded the place up.” He opened an envelope with a single house key. “How convenient.”

  “It hasn’t been sold or rented? It’s been a year.”

  “No. It had been willed to Jeanine Trenton by her grandmother, Ida Davies, two years previously. Completely paid for. Unfortunately, no one wants to buy it due to…”

  “Someone being brutally murdered there.” Katie finished his sentence.

  “Exactly,” he said, skimming through information. “I say—”

  “We take a ride over to Raven Woods,” she finished.

  “Stop doing that,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Finishing my—”

  “Sentences. Isn’t that what partners do?” For the first time since receiving the case, Katie smiled. “And it’s your turn to buy lunch—and something better than a gas station burrito.”

  Dropping the files on his desk, he said, “Let’s begin at the house as a starting point like we usually do—the crime scene,” he said. “And what’s wrong with those burritos?”

  “I have to make a stop first.”

  “For?”

  “Cisco.”

  Chapter Five

  Monday 1350 hours

  McGaven drove to Raven Woods, which was about half an hour from the department. He accelerated whenever he could, just out of habit as an ex-patrol officer.

  Riding shotgun gave Katie some time to read through the investigation files in more detail. She tapped her finger on the photo of Jeanine Trenton’s necklace hanging on the fence, hoping to decipher what the killer was trying to convey.

  “Nice ring,” he said.

  “What? Oh,” she said, looking at her own engagement ring.

  “How’s the wedding planning going?”

  “It’s going.”

  “You two still haven’t picked a date yet? Where are you going for your honeymoon?”

  “We’re working on it. Still trying to figure out if we want a small, intimate wedding or something more festive. So many decisions.”

  McGaven glanced at his partner. His face clouded as he seemed to be trying to figure out what was bothering her.

  A low whine came from the back seat, shortly followed by a dog face squeezing itself in between McGaven and Katie.

  “Hey, buddy,” said McGaven, scratching the dog behind his ears. To Katie, he said, “I’m glad you wanted to bring him today.”

  “I feel guilty leaving him home, but it can’t be helped. And it’s great that Sergeant Hardy from K9 allows me to kennel him whenever I bring him to work.”

  “Yeah well, he’s a lucky dog. Right, Cisco?”

  The jet-black dog let out a couple of barks in agreement.

  They headed south through open mountains with slight rolling hills. It wasn’t until they reached more heavily wooded areas that the sign “Raven Woods” appeared. They were about ten minutes from arriving downtown.

  “What’s the road we need to take?” asked McGaven.

  Looking through the paperwork, Katie said, “One sixty-seven Fox Hunt Road.”

  “Did you leave a message for Agent Campbell?”

  “Yep. I told him we were going to the house to have a look around.”

  “Think he’s still in town?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “That guy high-tailed it out of here after dropping off all the information.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “He strikes me as a micro-manager.”

  “Maybe. But my money is on him being back at his nice big office in Sacramento by now.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  Katie laughed. “Okay. That’s such a weird term every time I hear it.”

  McGaven reduced his speed and turned off the main road, driving until he reached a faded sign indicating Fox Hunt Road. It was an old
er part of town with houses more than thirty years old, more acreage, and most properties seemed well maintained.

  They crept along, the overhanging tree limbs making it feel dark. Looking for number 167, McGaven searched the mailboxes… 163… 165… finally coming to the end of the road.

  Craning her neck, Katie said, “Is this it?”

  “Matches the photos and address.”

  “Yeah, but it looks worse than when the photos were taken.”

  McGaven parked on the street across from the driveway.

  Cisco whined, wanting to get out and work.

  Still looking at the small house with boarded-up windows, Katie got out and stood on the road, taking everything in. “Stay, Cisco.”

  McGaven cracked the windows for the dog and exited the vehicle. He stood beside Katie as they scrutinized the house and property.

  Katie studied the short single-car driveway leading up to the small, blue, one-story house. Heavy plywood and some metal reinforcement secured the home tightly. Katie noted the overgrown bushes and peeling paint. The drainpipes and gutters were disconnected from the corners and hung precariously. The fence was leaning and the gate stood open. The entire property appeared oddly out of place compared to the rest of the homes in the neighborhood—almost as if it belonged in a war-torn country. It was clear that it would be a hard sale if the house were put on the market.

  “What do you think?” she said. “Can we learn anything new?” She began to think that they had wasted a trip.

  “You can always learn something new,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Of course. You told me that at our first crime scene.”

  Katie chuckled. “Gav, you always keep me on my toes.”

  McGaven opened the trunk and retrieved a few tools: two screwdrivers, a crowbar, and two flashlights.

  “Good idea.” Katie took one of the flashlights. She adjusted her holster and gun, slipped her cell into her pocket, and shed her jacket. “From the looks of the yard, we may need a machete,” she said, with some humor.

  “I’ll have to remember that next time I pack my gear.”

  They walked across the street and headed to the front door.