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

by Jennifer Chase

  “Don’t worry about it,” said McGaven.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” She smiled as she ate a large forkful of salad.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything new we need to know?” Katie gently pushed.

  “No…” The junior agent shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, if something new comes in, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

  “Of course, Detective Scott,” she said.

  Driving back to the office, McGaven’s cell phone chimed. It was a text message from Dr. Dean: We have an ID on the vic.

  Chapter Thirty

  Tuesday 1600 hours

  Katie and McGaven were directed to wait inside the exam room for a few minutes while Dr. Dean finished up some other business first. There were no chairs in the room except the round rolling stool that sometimes was used by the examiner when making notes as it allowed them to navigate around the table easily. As they waited, they felt the suspense build.

  It was difficult to look away from the body lying on the metal table—but there was nothing else to keep your interest as you waited. Usually, bodies were covered with a sheet, but this time the nude, battered body of Jane Doe was not protected from view. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. She had been washed, the blood cleaned off in preparation. The purple-grayish body lay motionless, almost resembling a rubber doll.

  Katie noticed that her right hand was darkened and the fingers were black from the inking for print identification. The room was colder than normal—at least that was how it felt to her. She struggled with the urge to cover up the young woman.

  Katie glanced to McGaven who had a stern and stoic expression, his eyes studying everything in the room except the body.

  Dr. Dean dashed in, his white smock covered in bright blood. “Sorry I’m late. Still a bit behind with bodies—busy weekend, I’m afraid.” It was a new look for him since it covered his usual cheery Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. Now he looked like a spunky hero who had run the gauntlet of the zombie apocalypse.

  “No problem,” said Katie, trying to keep her eyes on the medical examiner’s face.

  “Nice to see you both, as always, but it’s always under such stressful circumstances.” He grabbed a file folder from the table. “Ah yes, your Jane Doe now has an identity. This is Darla Winchell, thirty-four, who worked for First Community Bank of Pine Valley. The next of kin is Dorothy Winchell, her mother. She’s been contacted and will be here later to make an official identification.”

  “How did you find out her identity so quickly?” she said, making a few notes.

  “Luckily she had been fingerprinted when she applied for the First Community Bank. It’s common for anyone who works for banks. An FBI background check is always done.” He effortlessly zoomed around the body. “And for professional purposes, I deem this to be a homicide—primary cause of death is blunt force to the chest causing sudden cardiac arrest and secondary would be extreme loss of blood, or hypovolemic shock.”

  “Now we can begin our investigation,” said Katie. It was stating the obvious but she was relieved that they had something to work with to chase down clues.

  Dr. Dean adjusted his glasses and stood next to the body. He pointed out the markings on her chest. “I knew that you would be interested in this right away. See those two markings—circular in shape and darker than the other bruising?”

  “Yes,” she said. They were round like something had pressed up against her or hit her. “Is that similar to the blow that hit Jeanine Trenton?”

  “Yes and no,” he said.

  Here we go again…

  Katie knew that the medical examiner loved to give both the positive and negative about injuries. It kept her on her toes and made the examination that much more accurate, but still, Katie became anxious, wanting the information.

  “In my opinion,” he began, “those are test impacts.”

  “As if the killer was trying to see the minimum level of pressure they needed for whatever they wanted to accomplish—like stunning before killing the victim? Testing and improving his technique?”

  “That’s the way I interpret it. This time, the killer appeared to do a test—actually two tests—first, incapacitated the victim but it wasn’t enough to cause a full cardiac arrest. And then the final strike of the cutting of the throat allowing the bleed-out was what completed their procedure.”

  Katie thought about that for a moment and realized that this was a brutal signature. “There isn’t a way to tell if the same person committed both murders by the way they incapacitated the victims and then sliced their throats?”

  “I see what you’re getting at, Detective, but I can only give you the cause and manner of death. There were quite a few defensive wounds, as well.” He adjusted his glasses, turning his focus on her. “But I can tell you that the same technique was used—whether it was the same person who used it against Jeanine Trenton or someone who was taught the same method, you’ll have to figure that out.”

  “I see.”

  “Otherwise, I would be stepping into your territory.”

  “What else can you tell us?”

  “She was in good health, appropriate weight, didn’t appear to have any diseases or disorders.”

  “Toxicology?”

  “Still waiting on that, but I don’t foresee anything. I’ll be sending you the official report after the autopsy is complete.” He smiled.

  “I noticed at the scene she had some broken fingers and toes.”

  “Yes, her left hand had breakages on the pinky and ring fingers of the middle phalanges and the middle metacarpal bone.” He picked up Darla Winchell’s hand, moving the fingers for documentation. Turning to the X-ray light box, he showed the broken hand and foot bones. “Also the left proximal phalanges on the outside toes.”

  Katie studied the X-rays. “Thank you, Dr. Dean.”

  McGaven gave a nod.

  “She also had a faint tattoo on her left arm right here,” he said and brought their attention to the inside of her left wrist.

  “What is that?” she said.

  “It looks almost as if it’s a… K and a 9.”

  It stopped Katie cold. Could it be another K9 handler?

  “Detective?” said the medical examiner.

  “Yes?”

  “If anything unusual comes up, I’ll be sure to contact you right away.”

  Katie smiled before she exited the room, followed by McGaven. Now their work really began. Who was Darla Winchell? Was she a military K9 handler? Why did she end up at the fairgrounds?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Wednesday 1015 hours

  Katie was relieved and excited to receive a text from John saying that he had some things to update her on relating to the Darla Winchell investigation. McGaven was still researching names and doggedly cross-checking them. It was something that he did well, so he wasn’t going to be with her at the forensics reveal.

  She stood at the forensic exam room door, which was, unusually, closed. She knocked twice softly.

  “Come in,” said John.

  Katie opened the door and walked into the darkened room. The overhead light was off and there was just a dim light in the corner where John hovered over a large microscope. She wasn’t sure what type it was—usually he used a scanning electron microscope for the evidence comparisons, but this one looked different and more specialized.

  “Uh, you seem busy. Should I come back later?” she said, feeling a bit awkward, not knowing what she should be doing. “What do you want me to do? You want me to come back?”

  “Hang on a minute. Have patience.”

  Katie looked around and noticed that everything had been choreographed a bit differently. The larger computers and screen were in the corner area and the exam tables were in the middle, which made it easier to move around each side.

  “I like how you rearranged everything.”

  “Makes more sense. We’ve been busy, so the more we can organiz
e and automate, the better.” He was still studying something, making notes on a piece of paper.

  Katie tapped her small notebook on the exam table.

  “Okay,” said John as he straightened up and closed a binder. He was wearing a white lab coat, which was also unusual, and he stripped it off, revealing his typical black T-shirt. “Are we waiting for McGaven?”

  “No, he’s buried in paperwork.”

  “Okay. Here’s what we have so far.”

  That didn’t sound hopeful to Katie, but she waited to see if John found anything she and McGaven could run with.

  “Let’s start with the fairgrounds first. Specifically the Ferris wheel. Okay, the blood was over the top, meaning that it actually contaminated the entire car. If there was anything that could have told us about the killer—hair, fluids, anything—it was covered by the bleed-out of the victim. There was also some type of mechanical oil and what appears to be remnants of old food.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, that being said, there were indications that the killer wore gloves, but this particular type of glove wasn’t just the pharmacy-store type. The smudges were found on the controls of the ride, the car door, the overhead metal bar, and the black ladies’ shoe—size seven and a half.”

  “Anything fingerprint-related?”

  “No, but the gloves were what I was interested in. They were nitrile exam gloves…”

  “And you know this because…”

  “They are made from nitrile butadiene rubber, another synthetic type of material, making them an alternative for people with latex allergies and they have a longer shelf-life than the typical latex gloves.” He moved to another computer. “Nitrile is three times more resistant to punctures, but if they do puncture they create a noticeable tear, it’s easily visible. You have to order them through specialty places and not a hardware store or pharmacy.”

  “Aren’t they the most expensive type of exam gloves? More than latex and vinyl?” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “This could mean that the killer is in some kind of industry that requires them, like agricultural, chemical, laboratories, medical, and even our industry.” Katie’s mind began to reel events quickly, like a movie screen. “So you said if there’s a tear, you can see it. Does that translate into impression evidence? Can you actually see the tear?”

  “Great observation. On the left side of the Ferris wheel car, there’s a bloody impression of a hand—no visible prints, but you could clearly see a tear area where the index finger is located. It would be my guess that the killer injured their right index finger—most likely nothing entailing any medical care, but worse than a paper cut.”

  “Okay,” said Katie. The evidence was interesting, but didn’t really help unless they had a suspect to look at.

  “I know it isn’t much but it might give a better understanding of the kind of person who would use those types of gloves.” He smiled. “So, I know that you’re wondering about the similarities of the injuries between Darla Winchell and Jeanine Trenton.” He moved aside so that Katie could see the computer screen. “Here are the victims’ chest injuries. See the round indentations, like something cylindrical? Now look when I change the lighting source: ultraviolet, and then, infrared. You can really see how many times each victim was struck. At first, it looks like twice or maybe three times, but it appears that there are many blows, some in the same places. Darla was clearly struck more times than Jeanine.”

  Katie watched, intrigued by how the impressions on each victim’s chest could be clearly seen with a different light source. It meant that the killer was slowly bruising the heart, knowing just how much would incapacitate them, or even eventually be the death blow.

  “What about the knife that cut their throats?”

  “That’s actually tricky.”

  Katie waited. She knew John’s style and she wasn’t going to push him. He would explain everything in his way, and in his own time.

  “The cuts were different. Jeanine’s was more precise and Darla’s was more ragged. It could be that there were two different knives, one sharper than the other.”

  “So you still think it was a butcher’s knife?”

  “It’s consistent.”

  Katie jotted a few notes down for her own reference. “I wish we could find the murder weapons,” she said, more to herself than to John.

  “The heavy makeup is basically a cheap brand that is available everywhere, as before. There’s no way to trace it. I also had it tested and there are no foreign chemicals, either natural or otherwise.”

  “I know you’ve probably not had enough time to test the blood…”

  “We did a preliminary test from several places to confirm that it is human, and the ABO type, which is AB negative. The DNA process will take a couple of weeks, I’m afraid.”

  Katie was exhausted thinking about all the possibilities.

  “Okay, stop,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You look frustrated. Sorry, but evidence doesn’t lie. It can be sneaky and hide sometimes, but it can’t be untruthful.”

  “It’s just difficult when there are several cases. It’s a juggling act.”

  John stood up and faced Katie. He studied her for a moment. “I’ve never seen anyone so committed.”

  “It’s my job,” she said, taking a step back.

  “That was impressive watching Cisco tracking the killer and victim’s steps at the fairgrounds.”

  Katie smiled, still feeling a bit uncomfortable.

  “I’m still working on the knots on Darla’s hair and the ribbon holding the size six garnet ring.”

  “Anything about the ring?” she asked.

  “It’s a high-quality garnet, older facet but there was some trace residue that I’m trying to track down. It’s a type of grease, but I’m not sure yet what its origin is.”

  “Could it be from the makeup?”

  John went to another computer station and took a moment to pull up the files and clicked on the garnet ring. “It appears to be a type of soap grease with the properties of a simple soap—rather than the anti-bacterial kind. The reason I say grease is because the main thickener used in grease is a metallic soap substance. These metals include lithium, aluminum, sodium and calcium.”

  “Did someone try to clean the ring?”

  “You know how a ring could get stuck on your finger? Maybe the killer, or someone, could have soaped the finger to get the ring off?”

  “More than likely; maybe the killer used a particular soap to clean the cut on their finger.”

  “I also found traces of these chemicals on the body, forearms, and her hair.”

  “Why would the killer clean the victim?”

  “That, Katie, is your job,” he said and smiled. “I’ll have final reports to you tomorrow or the next day, but I wanted you to have the preliminaries.”

  “I appreciate that. Thanks, John. Can you email the photos?”

  “Of course. You’ll get them later today.” He turned around. “Oh, by the way…”

  She walked back toward him.

  “I was able to compare the impression evidence at the fairgrounds to the oversized screwdriver. That’s how someone gained access, but there weren’t any fingerprints or anything identifiable on the tool or the lock. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. At least we know how someone, most likely the killer, got into the fairgrounds.”

  He nodded.

  Katie left and quietly shut the door behind her. She was standing in the hallway when her phone alerted her to a text.

  She quickly glanced at the cell phone screen from McGaven.

  You’re the bait.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Wednesday 1045 hours

  Laughing to herself at McGaven’s bad sense of humor, Katie hurried to the office, eager to get to work. The text from McGaven angered her at first because she felt he was making light of the investigation, but then she realized he was most likely trying to lighten t
hings a bit. She pushed it from her mind. There was so much to do that she didn’t want to stop and think about how overwhelmingly complex this investigative puzzle was—they had so many pieces and now they had to figure out how to put it all together, to lead them to the killer. After she updated McGaven on her chat with John and the forensics findings, they moved forward and tracked down Darla Winchell’s background.

  Katie’s cell phone rang.

  “Detective Scott,” she answered. “Yes, hello, Dr. Dean.” She listened intently for a minute. “Thank you so much.” She ended the call.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Dean said, having looked at the files for the first two victims’ autopsies—Nancy Day and Gwen Sanderson—he is confident that while Gwen’s chest injuries are consistent with those sustained by Jeanine Trenton and Darla Winchell, Nancy’s seemed to have been caused more by a fall, perhaps.”

  “That’s a signature for the last three murders. And it backs up the theory that Gwen killed Nancy.”

  “Yep. I think we’re closing in,” she said. “Slowly, but we’re getting somewhere.”

  “So what’s your take on Agent Campbell now?” McGaven asked.

  “I don’t know… sometimes I think he’s just desperate to get a lead to close his cases after having so many investigators work on them. But…”

  “But you still have that gut feeling that something’s not right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m with you. What do we have?”

  Katie picked up the marker and began to make a list. “Okay, we have the Jeanine Trenton and Darla Winchell cases. And here’s what we know.”

  Jeanine Trenton, 27, brunette, blue eyes, born in Wisconsin, single, lived alone, no boyfriend, worked as a health care specialist at Community Health Alliance, gifted her home in Raven Woods, no debts, no health issues, no family, harassed by next-door neighbor Sadie Caldwell who has mental health issues, had get-togethers, people coming and going from her house, harassed by co-workers, found murdered with chest impression and throat cut, found by best friend Mandy Davis because missed party. *joined army—K9 trainer