Katie reached the check-in desk staffed by three military men. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?” One of the men eyed her visitor’s badge as well as her detective badge.
“I’m looking for Sergeant Serrano.”
“And you are?”
“Detective Scott.”
He nodded and went into a back office where he picked up a phone. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he glanced back at her and McGaven several times.
He returned. “He’ll be here shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said. Looking out the window she saw several training areas where agility courses were set up with jumps, box tunnels, and ladders, both vertical and horizontal. There was another larger training section behind a chain-link fence in the distance.
Within five minutes, a tall, slender, dark-haired man approached. He had the usual crew-cut hair and serious pace. He sported dark sunglasses.
“Detective Scott?” he asked.
“Yes. And this is my partner Deputy McGaven.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said and shook their hands.
“I appreciate your time,” she said.
“Not a problem. Today is a slower day. Besides, I’m happy that I can possibly help with your homicide investigations.” He opened a gate and gestured. “Please, this way. You’ll be able to see the layout of the outside training facility.”
“Well…” Katie stammered. “I’ve actually been here and was a part of the training program.”
Sergeant Serrano smiled. “I’m quite aware of who you are.”
Katie turned to him, surprised.
“I’ve been briefed by Special Agent Campbell and Sheriff Scott. Campbell sent over the names of the recruits.”
“I see,” she said, trying to compose herself, before she dove right into the questions she really wanted to ask. “I noticed that there are fewer training teams than in my time. Is that true?”
Katie and the sergeant watched four separate K9 teams run through obedience drills one at a time.
“Your assessment is correct. Our intake has become smaller. Partly due to budget.”
“Really? I remember that there were quite a few people wanting to be in the training program. It’s difficult to get chosen.”
They continued walking past the training areas.
“The truth is, the government has pulled resources and the competition is fierce for the few positions.” Serrano opened another gate and waited for them to walk through."
“From everything I’ve read, aren’t these K9 teams extremely effective in maneuvers, bomb recovery, and even terrorist retrieval?” said McGaven.
“Absolutely.”
“But it’s political,” said Katie.
"Also, many military branches are now overloaded with older and retired canines that the handlers can’t or won’t take. It poses a whole host of other problems—even though there are civilian rescues and independents that take retired military dogs. Just not enough. So as you probably know, it puts this type of training in the political arena.”
“I see. I was very lucky to bring Cisco home. Actually, Sheriff Scott was instrumental in his homecoming.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said and took a moment to observe Katie.
“We wanted to know anything that you could tell us about our victims. We know that one connection between the women is that they were all involved with the K9 military unit. Two were handlers and the most recent was a trainer and kennel manager.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m only aware of two of them. The first, Nancy Day, was before my time here, which has been a little over three years now.”
“What can you tell me about Gwen Sanderson and Jeanine Trenton?”
The sergeant paused a moment as they watched a decoy and attack procedure in progress with a sable German shepherd.
Katie sensed that he was hesitant about giving personal information. She gently pushed some specific questions, hoping to get some insight. “Sergeant, were they at the top of the class? Did they pose any problems? Any disciplinary actions? Or did anyone have any problems with them?”
“Gwen Sanderson was good. She had all the right skills, but she lacked the discipline. My biggest concern was that she would not be able to handle the extreme conditions once out in combat.”
“Did she work well with a group or team?”
“Most of the time. Let’s just say she had to be reminded.” He watched another dog team as the handler released a tan Malinois.
“Sergeant, I know you are limited in what you can tell us—that there’s a fine line between military inquiries and local law enforcement investigations—but rest assured that we are trying to learn as much about these women—these victims—as we can, so that we can begin to understand why they were butchered and left like a prop in a sadistic play.” She tried to appeal to his sense of duty.
The sergeant turned to face Katie and McGaven. It was clear he was struggling with military ethics, or something more personal, but he seemed to relax. “I was told that I couldn’t give you any official paperwork, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you an opinion or names. So ask.”
Katie decided to keep her questions short and to the point. “Did Gwen Sanderson ever have any discipline problems?”
“No.”
“Was she here at the same time as Jeanine Trenton?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever complain that someone was bothering or harassing her?”
“No.”
“Did she graduate from the training?”
“Yes.”
“Jeanine Trenton.” As she began, she noticed the sergeant light up. “You knew Jeanine Trenton?”
“Yes.”
“I understand she was a dog trainer.”
“Yes. She was very competent and had some experience before applying for the position. She put in her tour here at the kennels as a trainer. She had the opportunity to be a handler abroad, but she turned it down.”
“Was she ever written up for any disciplinary issue?”
“No.”
“Did she confide in you or someone else that anyone was harassing or bothering her?”
The sergeant hesitated.
“Please, Sergeant, anything might be helpful to us.” Katie had the distinct feeling that the sergeant knew Jeanine Trenton more than just as a fellow army officer.
“Since she was a trainer, she encountered all types coming through this training facility. Both men and women.”
Katie noticed the tension in his words. “What are the average numbers of recruits dropping from the program?”
McGaven kept quiet, allowing his partner to take the lead in interviewing the sergeant. He decided to venture away from Katie, watching the training.
“Average?”
She nodded.
“About twenty percent—give or take. It’s for a variety of reasons, as you probably know, from recruits not liking what training is really like to personality clashes with both personnel and canines.”
“Sergeant, I’m getting the impression that you knew Jeanine Trenton on a more personal level. Can you tell me what your relationship with her was?” She watched him closely.
His jaw clenched and he averted Katie’s gaze. “I admit. I liked Jeanine. She was a hard worker and had an exceptional way with the dogs—something that you can’t teach.”
Katie listened.
“We went out a few times socially, but she became distant. I tried to get her to confide in me, but she wouldn’t.”
“Your thoughts about what would make her distant?”
“I got the impression that it was something with the training—someone who was bothering her—or worse. She began to hold back and not be as committed as she was before. She still did her job, but it was like her heart wasn’t in it anymore.”
“Anything else?” Katie pushed.
He shook his head and wouldn’t open up.
She reach
ed into her pocket and retrieved a business card. “Here’s my card and my direct cell number. Please call me anytime if you remember anything.”
He took it and popped it into his pocket. “Thank you. I’m sorry that you are burdened with these murders, but I’m glad that you’re the one working them.”
Katie blinked, not quite knowing what to say in response. She still felt that he knew more than he was letting on, but perhaps a little more time would be what the sergeant needed to confide in her.
“Do you have a moment? I would like to show you something,” he said.
“Sure.”
Katie made a gesture to McGaven who had been chatting with one of the trainers. He caught up to Katie and the sergeant and they walked into one of the buildings, housing several classrooms and storage areas.
As they reached a long hallway lined with bulletins, training lists, and photos, the sergeant stopped and turned to them. “I thought you’d like to see some of the best alumni K9 teams that we felt deserved special attention.” He smiled and indicated some of the photos.
“Wow,” said McGaven studying each one. “Private First Class Katherine Scott and K9 Cisco. Great photos. I think I like you in army fatigues.” He smiled.
Katie stepped up and saw photos of her training with Cisco. More memories flooded back. She remembered those days like they were yesterday. Cisco had been difficult at first, but then they managed to get over his initial hard-headedness and became a great team. Then there was the photo of her and Cisco when they had graduated and were headed to Afghanistan. It was like stepping into a time machine.
“Look, she’s speechless,” said McGaven.
“It brings back so many memories.” She turned to the sergeant. “Thank you for showing me these photos.”
“Of course. I just wish I’d been here during your training, but I was working at the K9 facility in San Diego.”
“We won’t take up any more of your time, Sergeant,” she said. “I meant it: if you think of anything about Gwen Sanderson or Jeanine Trenton, please call me.”
“I will, Detective.”
Sergeant Serrano watched Katie and McGaven leave.
Once back at the police sedan, Katie and McGaven retrieved their weapons before exiting the military training facility. They had more than a two-hour drive back to Pine Valley.
As Katie drove through the security area, McGaven said, “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh, I think you have an idea.”
“Maybe.”
“C’mon, tell me.”
“I don’t have solid proof, but I think it’s fairly obvious that Sergeant Serrano was having a more serious relationship with Jeanine Trenton that he let on—based on the way he spoke about her.”
“And?”
“And, did you notice that they video some of the training?”
“I didn’t see them doing that today.”
“They usually video when the training is coming to an end—and you’re either going to graduate or wash out.”
“I see where you’re going with this.”
“We need to see any video with Gwen Sanderson and Jeanine Trenton,” she said. “I’ll contact Agent Campbell.”
“Don’t forget about the first vic—Nancy Day.”
“On it,” she said. Inserting her cell phone in the car holder, she ordered from her hands free device, “Dial Agent Dane Campbell.”
You’re either going to graduate or wash out…
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday 2045 hours
Katie arranged herself on her sofa with her laptop and a clean notebook. After eating takeout from her favorite local Chinese restaurant, she was ready to dive into the two first cases to see for herself what happened to these two women—since she didn’t have enough time at the office. She wanted to fully understand the revelation of what Agent Campbell had dropped into her lap, still astonished by the chain of events.
Her mind wandered to Chad. His face. His laugh. Their time together. She wondered what he was doing and she missed him dearly. They had been through so much together, to be separated now was almost unbearable. They hadn’t said their official goodbyes yet.
She decided to send him a text: Miss you. Hope everything is going well xx
She leaned back against the couch pillows to let everything simmer in her mind. A fire was slowly burning in her fireplace, the flames lightly flickering, making the room feel cozy and safe. She didn’t feel sleepy, quite the contrary: she wanted some answers, especially after speaking with Sergeant Serrano. She didn’t know if it was the visit to the K9 training area or the fact that Chad was gone—but she felt melancholy.
Even though she had Cisco, she still had her firearm to hand. It was the police and military training that made her extra cautious. Her security was engaged and running properly; it was just an added precaution, making her feel safer.
Cisco sensed her emotions were downcast and was, as always, at her side in case she needed anything. He circled a couple of times before finding the right spot to snuggle down into on the couch.
Katie tried to push away her feelings about being alone now that Chad had all but left for Los Angeles. Her heart felt broken. Nothing was permanent, but it still felt like her world was falling apart, one aspect of her life at a time. She was also saddened by the Jared Stanton case, wishing that she could have done something to change the outcome.
Cisco’s light doggie snores interrupted her downhearted thoughts. She smiled as she watched him twitching his paws and legs, wondering what kind of dream he was having—happy or sad.
Taking a few more bites of her chicken and vegetables, she turned her attention to the cases.
Katie had transferred files from the backup flash drive into her laptop yesterday and now she waited as the files popped up on her screen.
Each victim’s report was in a file and from there it was divided into seven subcategory files: background, autopsy, police reports, victimology, forensics and crime scene, interviews, and miscellaneous notes. It appeared that everything was the same as the physical boxes they had received.
Katie pressed “Victim #1, Nancy Day,” and her overall investigation loaded up. She clicked on background information and began to reread through the lists and notes, putting asterisks alongside anything of interest.
Nancy Day, 34 years old, single, taught Administration of Justice for Littleton College* in Placer County. Brunette, average build, green eyes, no surgeries, no medical issues or prescriptions, no mental health issues, no close family relationships, slightly reclusive, had $67,000 in savings*, rented home, conservative spending patterns, paid bills on time, vacation once a year, had worked a total of four jobs in her life: fast food restaurant, went into army as K9 handler*, worked as admin to a law firm, and then got her teaching degree to work at the college.
Went into army to pay for her college. Well-liked by staff and students at Littleton College. No write-ups or bad behavior. Parents still living, not close*. Mom is restaurant/bar owner. Dad is an architect. Unhappy with daughter about army enlistment*. Sister married with two children—not close—no contact* in four years. Single. Dated two men, not at same time, over a three-year period, Darren Straight and Paul Wheeler. Both cleared of any involvement in her murder.
Katie sighed and sat back. “Not much to go on. Ordinary. Quiet,” she said quietly. “Why were you targeted? How could someone get to you? Motive?”
Cisco grumbled.
Nothing stood out in the police reports and interviews. Katie made a few notes as she read through everything so that she could refer back to them later. Nancy Day’s body was found in front of Littleton College, murdered and posed dramatically before anyone arrived. She was found by the security guard, who was later cleared of any involvement.
The victimology report did an analysis of a typical day and week for Nancy Day. The criminologist pinpointed the likely times and places where she could have been most vulnerable—especia
lly if someone was paying attention or following her. These were at her home during the nighttime and working late at the college after students and most teachers had already gone home. Her death ended up being at the latter.
Who would have access to Nancy Day and want her dead?
Students? Teachers? Ex-boyfriend? Family member? Stranger fixation?
The theatrical staging of the crime scene would indicate that the killer wanted to embarrass her or show her to be a certain type of person—perhaps they wanted her to be exposed at her place of work. Revenge. Hate. But they didn’t completely go all the way. They could have had her nude in a compromising position—but they stopped short.
The forensic reports didn’t show anything tangible, such as fingerprints or fluids. The crime scene photos were presented well and showed Katie everything she needed to know at this point.
Katie quickly made notes and added more questions so she could get McGaven up to speed. From everything she had read, Nancy Day was average and had led a very quiet life.
Gwen Sanderson, 31 years old, petite, brunette, brown eyes, suffered from diabetes, owner of a small restaurant/deli called Gwen’s Place, had significant debt $110,000, known to harass people in public places, went to anger management classes, boyfriend (Joseph Alda), on-again/off-again relationship, no drug usage, non-smoker, liked by customers, liked by community, adoptive parents died in auto accident, no siblings or family noted, worked many jobs before owning restaurant: restaurant, maid, clerk, babysitting, dog walker, etc. Left home at 18 to join army to get away from parents. Was military K9 police—discharged early (military file sealed). Washed out?
“Hmmm, problem child,” said Katie.
She read through all the reports and one thing stood out to her: Gwen was murdered and her crime scene posed in a place that she had never visited. Her body was found secured to the front entrance on a fence at Roy’s Bed and Breakfast Dude Ranch, which had been under construction during the winter months. No one was working on the ranch at the time of her death. The second aspect that stood out to Katie was that the staged scene was much more heavy-handed with the makeup and the level of violence. As if the murder could have been committed by someone else trying to make it appear like the Nancy Day crime scene.
Pretty Broken Dolls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (Detective Katie Scott Book 6) Page 9
