Katie stopped and listened. This was a routine approach for her when walking into any unknown area, knowing how important it was to listen and feel a situation and not just use your eyes. It was a tactic she had adopted in the military on so many occasions. She noticed that it was extremely quiet, even during the day—there wasn’t the sound of any traffic and the road wasn’t close to any freeway. She imagined the killer knew the area and used the quiet and seclusion to their advantage. The next-door neighbor was approximately a half-acre away and there were three large pine trees blocking the direct view of the house.
Leaning up against the fence were several bamboo poles that appeared to have been used for a sprinkler system instead of the usual PVC piping. A shovel and post-hole digger leaned up against a tree. There was a small narrow trench leading to the house, but that had long since been abandoned without any of the bamboo poles laid.
Katie focused on the cottage and walked up to meet McGaven, who was already looking at the door. He pried the metal away from the frame using the crowbar.
“The door is still intact and it looks like the key will work.”
“I wish there was an easier way to enter than prying off the plywood,” she said. Then she observed, “There’s no garage.” Thinking about it more, she said, “Let’s go around the back. According to the reports, there is a sliding door. We can check out the crime scene area too.”
McGaven followed Katie.
Normally they would split up when searching an unknown area and report back to one another, but this time they walked together through the open gate and headed to the backyard.
Katie recalled the photos she’d seen in the file of the backyard from the fence perspective and was surprised by how oversized it was in real life. It dwarfed the house. There was a small cement patio partially covered by a plastic corrugated roof attached to the house. Beyond this stretched a sizeable, rural backyard with apparently no landscape design—just untamed wilderness.
The weeds and dried bushes crunched underneath Katie’s boots. “This is…”
“Like a jungle,” replied McGaven.
“To say the least,” she said. “According to the photographs, the body was found at the back part of the property—eastside. There should be wrought-iron fencing.”
“Lead the way.”
Katie tried to image how the killer had gained access.
Did the killer lie in wait in the house?
Did Jeanine Trenton know her killer?
She remembered the condition of the body: Jeanine’s feet were cut and bloody as if she had tried to outrun her killer. Her shoes weren’t found. She had been getting ready for a party, but she never left. The report revealed everyone else invited to the party attended—except two people. One was sick and the other decided to go to another friend’s party instead. During Agent Campbell’s thorough investigation, every person in Jeanine’s life had been questioned and later dismissed as a potential suspect in the murder. Katie and McGaven had skimmed the information.
There was a group of large pine trees in a semicircle. Katie and McGaven squeezed around and immediately saw the black wrought-iron fence along the entire back part of the property. They turned east and stopped. A small piece of yellow crime scene tape was still tied around one of the posts.
“I think this is it,” said McGaven.
“Yeah, it seems right.” Looking from side to side, and then gazing out past the property lines, she saw a large farm acreage. In the distance, cows were grazing. “The killer probably wouldn’t enter this property from this area.”
McGaven was quiet.
“What are you thinking?”
“The other bodies were posed in public places. But… why here? It’s private.”
“That bothers me too. And it’s one of the reasons I wanted to see the crime scene area in person.” She looked at the place which she estimated was where Jeanine’s body had been impaled on the fence. “According to the autopsy report, she had more defensive wounds than the others, which means she fought her killer with everything she had.”
“Maybe the killer didn’t have enough time to take her body anywhere else?” he said.
Katie pondered that idea. “I don’t think there’s much out here that will help us.”
“Except.”
“Except?”
“We know that the killer might have been pushed to do something that they weren’t expecting.”
“And if this killer is indeed a serial killer, as Campbell’s investigation suggests, they would normally become more practiced and comfortable with each successive attack—more confident about creating such elaborate crime scenes,” she said.
“Something seems to have changed here.”
“Let’s take a look inside,” Katie said.
As they walked back to the house, Katie considered what might have happened after the initial attack: Jeanine had tried to get away. If she was being chased the only way she could escape would be to jump the fence and try to get to another neighbor’s house located behind the property. It was probably a few acres away. But why didn’t she go next door or up the street?
“This slider is completely boarded up. Let’s go in the front door.”
“Okay,” she said.
McGaven took a few moments to jimmy the metal bars loose and pry the plywood sheet from the front door.
Again, Katie was struck by how quiet the street and surrounding areas were. The screeching sound of the metal bars being pried loose overpowered the stillness.
She glanced to the car and could see the distinct outline of Cisco’s head and ears—motionless and watching every move they made.
“Got it,” said McGaven with a grin on his face. He had removed enough of the bars and boarding to create a narrow gap, through which he squeezed his tall body. The door was open and the key wasn’t necessary.
Katie easily slipped through behind him.
Darkness greeted them.
McGaven flipped on a flashlight and Katie followed his example. It was almost entirely dark because of the coverings over the windows. Only tiny cracks of light peeked through.
Katie thought she heard Cisco bark once and then a strange hollow knock at the front. Straining to listen for a moment, she heard nothing except for her own shallow breathing and felt only her slightly accelerated heartbeat. Claustrophobia was starting to set in, one of her symptoms when PTSD surfaced. This wasn’t an unusual reaction under unknown circumstances—which she worked hard to keep under control by regulated breathing and positive visualizations.
Katie moved in one direction and McGaven the other. The sweeping motions of their flashlight beams danced across the walls. They didn’t reveal anything unusual.
Since the house was small, it was easy to see most of the interior by standing in the middle of the living room. There was still furniture, covered with white sheets. It looked like two small couches, a coffee table, two end tables, and a small dining table.
There was a faintly musty smell, mixed with something Katie couldn’t immediately identify.
“I wonder what they are going to do with the house?” asked McGaven.
“It’s a nice piece of property. Maybe someone will want to buy it and knock down the house, build a new one.”
McGaven had a new thought. “Hey, where do you think her personal belongings are?”
“There’s probably an attorney involved.”
“I’ll find out and see if we can have a look at her things,” he said.
Katie and McGaven met back in the kitchen. Strangely, all the appliances had been removed, leaving weird gaps. The cupboards were still full of dishes, pots and pans.
“That’s odd,” she said and felt light-headed as she spoke. She wavered a bit, causing her to lower the flashlight.
“Katie?”
“I don’t know. I’m not feeling well.”
“Let’s get outside and grab some fresh air,” he said.
“Okay,” she said weakly. She saw Mc
Gaven go to the front door but after a moment, he began pounding on it.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s stuck.”
Katie walked toward McGaven but her feet felt oddly heavy and the room began to spin. She fell to her knees. Trying to focus, she caught the distinct odor. “Gav, it’s gas.”
McGaven was swinging the crowbar, but the remaining metal coverings wouldn’t move. He turned and saw Katie struggling. “Hey, I can smell it too.” He took hold of Katie and steered her to the back sliding door. He stumbled too, obviously becoming overwhelmed by the escaping gas filling the house.
Holding her flashlight as tight as she could, she saw what McGaven was going to do. The slider was jammed and wouldn’t budge. The only option was to smash the sliding glass door and then break the external plywood boarding. Katie leaned against the wall, trying to concentrate and keeping her mind conscious—fighting the unsettling disorientation. That’s when she heard Cisco barking in rapid succession.
Someone was outside.
McGaven pulled his gun.
Katie realized what he was going to do and yelled, “No! The flash could ignite the gas.” Her words seemed foreign and faraway.
Cisco continued to bark.
He swayed as he re-holstered the weapon. It was obvious that he too was fighting unsteadiness and confusion.
Katie used the opposite end of her flashlight and began pounding on the glass, spider cracks spreading rapidly.
McGaven swung the tire iron and with the third whack the glass shattered, pieces flying everywhere.
Kicking and smashing at the plywood almost seemed useless, but they kept trying.
Katie couldn’t exert any more energy; her body was weakening and she fell to her knees, trying to catch any fresh air coming from outside. There was a tiny crack on the left side of the plywood where she could feel a slight breeze on her face. She desperately tried to bring oxygen into her lungs.
She turned to McGaven who had also dropped to his knees, but was still hammering at the wood—splintering it a little bit at a time. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed 911 and was just able to say: “Officers need help… 167 Fox Hunt Road…” Katie looked down and saw her untucked blouse. Tearing a large section from the bottom into two pieces, she tied one around her nose and mouth, and then crawled to McGaven, helping him with his.
“Stay low,” she said, remembering an army training exercise on poisonous gas.
He nodded. His eyes looked glassy as he struggled to stay conscious.
Katie rolled onto her back. She began kicking the plywood and was soon joined by McGaven. The large sheet of plywood began to break.
Cisco’s barking became louder in between the kicking.
Katie saw Cisco’s body through a small opening and his paws digging at the wood.
“Stay back, Cisco!”
Finally, the wood covering broke away. The fresh air rushing inside was the best thing Katie had experienced in a while.
Cisco leaped inside and began pulling Katie out. She turned and saw McGaven crawling on his hands and knees behind her.
They inched and crawled their way into the backyard to a safe distance with Cisco in the lead.
“Easy, Cisco. We’re okay,” she said, flopping onto her back, trying to take in as much air as possible.
The dog circled the two, licking one, then the other, until he seemed satisfied that they were okay.
Katie rolled onto her side next to McGaven. “You okay?” she said, coughing.
“I’ll live.”
Sirens sounded in the distance, approaching fast.
“Good,” she said, relieved, as she stayed close to her partner and watched the natural color return to his face.
“You hear it too?”
“Yeah.”
“Good to know,” he said and flopped back on the ground.
Chapter Six
Monday 1455 hours
Katie sat in one of the ambulances with an oxygen mask on, breathing easier and steadying her nerves. She was not only struggling with her anxious energy due to the stressful circumstances, she was also fighting back the anger. In her mind, she still saw Agent Campbell’s aloof demeanor mixed with some well-placed compliments in the sheriff’s office. And now she and McGaven had been sent into a precarious situation. Did he know it would potentially be dangerous?
Cisco had been returned to the police sedan—he sat stoically, watching the events unfold. Somehow, Katie surmised, in his urgent need to get to her aid, the dog had pressed the door remote control she had left behind, which had released the back door. She generally had it hooked to her waist when she was going somewhere alone, but since she had McGaven she felt it wasn’t needed.
She watched as firefighters checked the entire house and found that the gas had been turned back on—it had originally been shut off when the house was boarded up.
Several deputies walked down the street and knocked on doors to see if anyone had noticed anything suspicious at the Trenton house.
“You feeling better?” the attendant asked.
“Much better,” she said. Her focus had sharpened and her balance became normal again. Taking the mask off, she said, “I’m going to check on my partner.”
The attendant nodded.
As soon as Katie’s feet hit the ground, she felt like herself. In fact, she had a renewed energy. She saw McGaven still sporting his oxygen mask and quickly climbed into the ambulance and sat next to him.
“I’m feeling a bit of déjà vu,” she said.
McGaven pulled the mask away. “I hate that expression.”
“You okay?” she asked, ignoring his last comment.
“I’ll live. Is Cisco okay?”
“He’s fine. I don’t know how he pressed the remote to release the back door, but he’s special.”
“That’s true.”
“They haven’t said anything official yet, but I think someone tampered with the gas and helped to seal us inside.”
“It speaks volumes,” he said.
“Meaning?”
“There was something that they didn’t want us to see.”
“The killer?”
“Yeah, something.”
“Something? Investigators have been all over this property and it’s been sitting vacant for a while. So why now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t want any more investigators here. Maybe they don’t want us to investigate.”
“Us?”
“Katie, you do understand that there have been news stories about us, especially you, and how we solve and close cold cases. It’s intimidating to killers out there.”
Katie smiled. “I love your viewpoint.”
“I’m glad.”
“I—”
“Agent Campbell.” McGaven took a few breaths from the oxygen mask.
Katie looked directly at him, her eyes wide.
“Something feels off about these cases… or maybe ‘contrived’ would be a better word.”
“I feel the same way.”
McGaven coughed a few times.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.”
Katie turned her attention to the house.
What was so imperative that the killer, or someone else, didn’t want them to see?
“What?”
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
Katie went to the deputies and requested that they have forensics dust for any prints around the front door area. One deputy nodded and put in the call.
“Detective Scott?” said Fire Captain Anderson.
“Yes?”
“Glad you’re feeling better. Any longer, and you and your partner would be in the hospital right now—or worse. Someone had jammed the front door with a stone.”
“What about the gas line?”
“It had been tampered with recently and turned back on, but there wasn’t anything in the kitchen to hook it up to. The gas caps had been removed, so it just flowed in.”
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“How can you tell?” she said.
“This house had the electricity and gas turned off more than six months ago, according the utility company.”
Katie frowned. “What does it take to turn it back on?”
“The gas is on and available. It just depends if it’s turned on for each residence. Someone would need just a wrench to reconnect it to the line.”
“I see.”
“So you’re taking over the homicide case?” he asked with curiosity.
“Yes, we’re looking into it.”
“Good to know,” he said. “Poor girl, she deserves some justice.”
“Were you on the original call?”
He looked down. “Unfortunately. Not something you easily forget.”
“No, it isn’t. Thank you, Captain, for the update.”
“If you need anything else…”
“No, we’re good for now.”
Katie took another look at the house. The windows were now open for ventilation and a couple of firefighters were still checking everything. Suddenly, she saw something underneath the eaves. At first, she thought it was some type of connection for cable or the internet. Then she realized it was a small security camera. Not wanting to bring attention to it, at least for now, she kept walking and returned to McGaven, making a mental note that she wanted to see footage from the camera and find out where was it streaming.
“What’s up?” he said. He looked back to his usual self.
“Someone intentionally tried to gas us to death.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“You’re right. Someone really didn’t want us here—they wanted to kill us, or at least take us out of the game.”
“Game?”
Turning to him, in a serious tone, “You sure you’re up for it? For this? No matter what it brings?”
“You bet. I always have your back. I want to catch this killer even more now.”
“Me too.” She smiled, thinking about some of the close calls they had experienced together. Their partnership was solid.
“What do you want to do?” He put the oxygen mask down.
“I think we need some solid, straightforward answers.”
“From?”
Pretty Broken Dolls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (Detective Katie Scott Book 6) Page 4
