“What exactly are you looking for?” asked a deputy.
“Anything that might be related to the killer or victim. Anything. Something that is out of place or possibly planted, or dropped by the killer. But, specifically, there should be a piece of jewelry with a ribbon hanging somewhere, and some kind of knife. Please stay alert.” She turned to Deputy Pendleton. “Can you organize the teams and report back?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and smiled.
“Thank you.”
The deputy hurried to the group of officers to coordinate.
McGaven leaned close to Katie. “You just made his day.”
“What? Really?”
“You bet! If I was still on patrol and was asked to do that from a detective you might see a skip or two in my stride.”
Katie smiled. “That I’d pay to see.”
She turned back to the ride, taking a cleansing breath. Carefully moving around the compartments, she opened the ride car door so she could get closer to the body. Blood poured out like a light waterfall and spattered against the ground. Katie jumped back as quickly as she could but her boots and jeans took the brunt of it.
“You okay?” said McGaven.
“Yeah,” she said sourly. “We now know that she was killed here and not somewhere else—because she bled out here.”
With a feeble attempt, Katie tried to brush the blood away. It was no use. Her heart hammered and felt as if it would break. Remembering to breathe slowly, she tried to maintain her professional demeanor, but she couldn’t shake the familiar feelings. She would have to continue the investigation saturated with the victim’s blood until it dried or until she could make it home. Her immediate thought was that everyone was watching and assessing how she handled herself, so she forged on without hesitation. Her hands trembled slightly and she felt light-headed as she pushed away images of blown-up and bleeding soldiers from the battlefield. For some of them, she had been the last person they spoke to before death.
I can do this…
Katie carefully peered inside the car, not touching anything unnecessarily. The victim was wearing dark shorts and a sleeveless, light-colored top, which seemed odd, considering the temperature. It was too cold to wear such light clothing.
Was the victim dressed by the killer?
Before or after death? Planned or not?
Were the clothing pieces specific to what the killer wanted to convey? Summer? What was to come?
As if he’d read her mind, McGaven said, “She’s dressed for summer. Is that on purpose, or a way of the killer trying to send us a message?”
“I’m not sure, but it is unusual for clothes to be chosen by the killer.”
McGaven looked closer at the car and the body.
The victim was without shoes and her feet looked battered underneath all the blood. Two of her toes on her right foot appeared to be broken, judging by their odd position. They would know more when the victim was cleaned up and examined by Dr. Dean.
Katie took a pen and carefully moved the torn neckline of the top to see what appeared to be a heavily discolored area.
“Bruised?” he said.
“It looks like it.”
“Maybe that’s how the killer was able to get her into the car. Perhaps hitting her on the chest to either incapacitate or kill her. The killer could have partially drugged her… we’ll have to see what the medical examiner has to say.”
“We found something!” yelled a deputy.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday 0415 hours
The sheriff’s deputy ran up to Katie and McGaven.
“What do you have?” said Katie.
“Shoes,” he said breathlessly.
“Shoes?” she said.
“Yes, and blood.”
“Show us.”
Katie grabbed a walkie-talkie.
The deputy led them to an independent concession stand. It would have been easily missed on a general search. It was located between two buildings and in a darkened area. “Wait,” he said. He turned on his flashlight and trailed the beam along the walkway. There were bloody barefoot prints leading away from the stand. Sitting in the ordering window were black, two-inch-heeled shoes.
“Let’s get John over here to document this and collect evidence.”
“I’m on it,” said McGaven as he jogged back to the main area.
“Anything else?”
“No. As soon as I saw this I didn’t want to touch anything.”
“Okay.” Katie began to examine the area, waiting for John. There were some bloody fingerprints on the side of the food cart. She looked for any jewelry, but there was nothing.
“What have you found?” said John, as he approached with his gear and lights. One of the technicians, Rob, began taping off the area.
“Bloody footprints along the walkway, and fingerprints. Those shoes. I haven’t found anything else.”
John took his digital camera and began taking photographs for documentation.
“I’m going back to the main crime scene. I’ll let you know when we’re done with our initial assessment.”
“Ten-four,” he said with a smile.
As Katie made her way back to the victim’s location, she heard a radio communication coming from Deputy Pendleton’s radio.
“Found something at the livestock area,” said another deputy.
Katie turned around and followed Deputy Pendleton. They hurried down adjoining rows of pens where large animals were housed. She was surprised that the searching deputies could find anything, given how huge the area was.
Katie spotted a couple of deputies waiting for her.
In the first pen—which was near the judging and presentation area—was a ring tied to a yellow ribbon. It swung slightly in the cool breeze. The dark stone was something like jade or a garnet, she wasn’t sure.
It was like participating in a crime-themed scavenger hunt—never knowing quite where the evidence would be located. There was a playful quality about it.
Katie made sure she was on the correct radio channel before she requested the crime scene unit to cover this location. As she walked back to the primary location, several theories ran through her mind. It felt as if the killer was trying to make each scene bigger than the last. The fairgrounds were usually frequented by hundreds, if not thousands, of people during the season.
Maybe there’s something important to the killer about this choice of location.
It connects with fun, family, and children.
But why a year apart?
Anniversary of something?
Katie knew that every passing year meant something to the killer. And as the victims were becoming more beaten-up and the throat-slashing neater and more experienced, it left her with a ton of evidence. Unfortunately, that’s what the killer wanted.
She glanced around and observed everyone working—all except Agents Campbell and Haley.
“What’s up?” asked McGaven.
“More evidence. Bloody fingerprints and bare footprints. John is working it.”
Turning to her, he said: “Hey, what’s up with you tonight?”
“Well, it’s actually morning and soon the sun will come up.”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s a bit overwhelming and I’m still thinking about the gas incident,” she said softly. “Now, it feels like all eyes are on us. Let’s get back to work.”
McGaven was going to say something, but held off.
Katie looked around for the agents and the sheriff, but they seemed to have disappeared and left the fairgrounds.
Katie and McGaven moved to a quieter and darker area as to not be overheard.
“We’re not going to know any more until the vic is on the exam table and John has tested the evidence,” she said.
“Who do you think did this?”
“You want me to rattle off a preliminary profile?”
“You bet.”
“I don’t like to do that, but there are some
things that stand out to me.”
“I’m not going to hold you to it,” he said. “Just between you and me.”
“I think the killer is someone who has endured abuse. The vic’s body has some severe wounds. I think the killer has maybe gone through some horrific ordeal, or maybe someone close to them has—maybe someone they care about was murdered. The force is excessive, suggesting anger or rage—look at the severe damage to her arms, and what I assume to be broken fingers, as she defended herself.” She paused to think about the entire area. “And they are creating these crime scenes in a way that makes sense to them—it’s a way of working out their demons for everyone to see. Quite literally in our faces. Every year is telling—like an anniversary. Maybe it’s during a time period where the inciting event or events happened.”
“What else? I know you have more suspicions.”
“Not really.”
“C’mon, Katie, I can read you fairly well now—I know that you have more insights.”
Katie glanced around to make sure that their conversation was still private. She looked at the dead woman as John documented the scene and the medical examiner’s office waited to extract the body. She watched as the flash of the camera bounced around the area in a hypnotic display.
“And…”
“It all seems almost juvenile in execution. The over-exaggerated makeup and the long list of clues that don’t really go anywhere—yet. We have more about motive, signature, and posed crime scenes. It takes time and energy to do this.”
“So what’s his motive?”
“The killer is playing with us.”
“I would have to agree, but from previous crime scenes that we know of, there won’t be another killing for a year.”
“There’s something different about this one. It seems more personal, more exaggerated with the sad clown face and the jewelry found further away from the body… as if the killer is working towards something. I can’t pinpoint it." Katie watched as John dusted the Ferris wheel car for fingerprints and the technician dusted the area around the controls.
“Interesting. I like it when you describe your first impressions—it’s telling and I can see where your intuition comes from.”
“There’s still a ton of evidence we need to sift through in all the cases to see what will fit the puzzle this killer has left for us,” she said. “We need a lead to push us to the next level.”
“But…”
Katie remained quiet.
“Something is weighing heavy on you…”
“My gut. It’s just a gut instinct related to why and how Agent Campbell is here.” She couldn’t dismiss the way he kept checking up on her, or that he seemed to be watching her every move right now. “But the theater of the crime scenes is telling me that everything isn’t what it seems. I think this crime scene indicates that the killer is escalating and that means it’s possible that the next murder—and there will be another, if we don’t catch them—could be sooner.” She paused. "And there will be another victim soon.”
Chapter Ten
Tuesday 1145 hours
Katie had been calling to talk to Agent Campbell, but he didn’t answer, so she placed a call to the administrative assistant at his headquarters in Sacramento who said he was still in Pine Valley.
“I have his cell number, but there has been no answer. Can you give me the address where he’s staying?” She eyed McGaven with a look of uncertainty. “Oh, you can. Please. Yes. I know it. Room number? Thank you.” She ended the call.
McGaven drove toward the downtown area of Pine Valley.
“I’m a bit confused,” Katie said.
“Confused? That’s not a part of Katie Scott’s genetic makeup.”
She smiled. “No. It seems that Agent Campbell is staying at the Hobson Inn & Suites in Pine Valley.”
Cisco barked suddenly from the back seat as they passed a cluster of pine trees with birds flying around.
“Isn’t that a weekly place?”
“That’s why I’m surprised. Why would he give us all of these cold case files and then stay here? Seems a bit off.”
“Time off?”
“Maybe.” Katie watched the landscape whizz by her window. “No… there’s something else.”
“You’re still angry?”
“I don’t like being played. And that’s what this feels like. You aren’t forgetting about the gas, are you?”
“That’s what I mean. You’re still pissed off.”
“Aren’t you?”
McGaven didn’t say anything, but it was clear to her that he too was definitely angry about what had happened.
McGaven eased the sedan into a parking place at the Hobson Inn & Suites. They both sat for a moment staring at the inn. It comprised two large, dark-brown buildings, each with two stories, nestled in the trees. Even though the sun was shining, the motel crouched in the shade with lights illuminating the path towards it. It was a clean and tidy-looking building with only a half dozen cars parked.
“Ready?” said McGaven.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Room?”
“Two-one-two.”
“Let’s go,” he said and opened the car door.
“Wait,” Katie said. “I can’t let Cisco stay in the car any longer.”
“Bring him.”
“Cisco, hier,” she commanded.
The dog jumped out, padded up next to her and waited. His ears perked up as he took in the surroundings.
“Hope Agent Campbell likes dogs…” said McGaven, more to himself than Katie, as he followed her and Cisco to the second level, quickly reading the room numbers.
They stood in front of room 212, pausing a moment.
Katie strained to hear any sound coming from the room but there was nothing, not even the television or a phone conversation.
She knocked twice.
Nothing.
She knocked twice again—this time louder. She was beginning to think that he wasn’t there and they were going to have to come back later.
The door opened. Special Agent Dane Campbell stood in the doorway dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt—his perfectly combed blond hair was now messy. He looked more like someone who hung out at the beach than a special agent.
Campbell didn’t seem surprised to see the three of them staring back. “What took you so long?” he said with an even tone and opened the door wider. He never blinked twice as Cisco entered with them.
Katie had thought about all the things she wanted to say to him, but when she walked into his one-bedroom suite she was stunned.
“Whoa,” said McGaven as he looked around.
There were photographs of each of the three crime scenes organized in sections attached to the wall, along with detailed file notes including locations, maps, and every devisable means of escape imaginable. Reports were notated in specific colors, and certain details were highlighted. There were names and photos of people who were of interest in the case. There was different handwriting from all the investigators and police officers who had worked the cases.
“What is this?” she said.
Cisco took his cue from Katie’s hand gesture to take up a comfortable position and jumped up into an upholstered chair.
“Detective, you don’t recognize an investigation?” he said with some sarcasm.
“That’s not what I mean. What. Is. All. This?” She gestured to the three computers, running what looked to her like surveillance equipment—it was clear that this case was part of something much more complex than he had led them to believe. One of the cameras was monitoring the Raven Woods house. “This is too much. We need some answers.”
The special agent watched her with interest.
“Is that us?” asked McGaven who had been reviewing all the photos on the walls. “That’s at the Stanton property.” There were several photos of Katie close up.
“And why was there a video camera at the Raven Woods house? Why are you spying on us? You just asked for ou
r help, but this has all been a…” She couldn’t think of the right description. “Scam.”
“Detective, this isn’t a scam or a set-up or whatever you think. Let me explain.”
“No. I’m calling the sheriff to get off this case. This is total BS.”
“Please, let me explain.”
Katie slowly lowered her cell phone against her better judgment. “Go ahead.”
McGaven joined her and waited for the agent to clarify.
“Yes, we’ve been watching you for a while, but it’s not what you think. You need to understand that these cases have been through a thorough investigation by many seasoned detectives, including myself—and I haven’t been able to find any leads for months.” He paused. “I needed to find the right people to work these cases. Someone who had a proven record, who understood more about these killers than most. You have been in several articles and on the news for solving several cold cases. You know how to work a crime scene, but some of your methods are a bit unconventional.”
“What about the FBI? Profilers? I don’t have the experience you need. I’ve only worked a handful of cold homicide cases so far,” she said. “You could have just asked, instead of this shadow operation.”
“This is more information than we’re used to working with,” said McGaven.
“The FBI and most homicide detectives have all been trained the same way—to put serial killers in certain categories. A white male between the ages of thirty-five and fifty-five—it makes us jaded, for the most part.”
“Look, I don’t feel comfortable with all of this and how it has transpired. And I haven’t heard how these cases are even linked—with the exception of the way the victims are posed, the heavy makeup and the jewelry left behind.”
“I know. If I were in your shoes, I would probably feel the same way.”
“And, I don’t have to work these cases.”
“Yes, you do,” the agent said. “You know you do because it’s in your spirit—and it’s your job.”
McGaven turned his attention to the special agent.
Pretty Broken Dolls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (Detective Katie Scott Book 6) Page 6
