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

by Jennifer Chase

  Persons of Interest:

  Mandy Davis, best friend, Jeanine hooked up with her boyfriend

  Sadie Caldwell, neighbor, mental dysfunction

  Co-worker, Virginia Rodriguez

  Ex-boyfriend

  Family member

  Stranger—someone following her fixated

  Unknown or K9 training facility

  Darla Winchell, 34, executive, First Community Bank, found at the fairgrounds on the Ferris wheel, chest impressions, throat cut.

  Crime scene characteristics in common:

  Bodies posed, drama, heavy makeup, like characters in a play or on a game board, throats cut, impacts on chests before death, jewelry hanging by a ribbon (trophy?), nautical-style knots?

  Crime scene differences:

  Level of ability, brunette versus blonde victim, knife incision neat versus ragged, one left in place where she would be discovered quickly, other on private land, crime scene getting bigger and more complex. Same killer? Possible copycat?

  “Was Darla Winchell reported as a missing person?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “What do we have for her? Place of residence, family?”

  He searched through their accessible police databases. “I have an address: 1616 12th Street, apartment 21.”

  “Is there a person listed as an emergency number or next of kin? I’m assuming it was her mother?”

  McGaven’s fingers pounded at the computer keyboard at an impressive speed. “Yep, looks like Dorothy Winchell, her mom.”

  “Any other family you can find?”

  “No. Wait—there’s a Cynthia Winchell, but it shows she died three years ago.”

  “And how’s that list coming for the fairgrounds?”

  “It’s going to take a while, searching my parameters. I have one list that’s more broad in particulars and another that’s very specific.”

  Katie grabbed her notebook and jacket. “While the computer is crunching that list, let’s go check out her apartment.”

  “Road trip.”

  “Are you going to say that every time?” She smiled.

  “When we get to go to places of interest and help to solve a murder. Then yeah, I’m going to say ‘road trip.’”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Wednesday 1310 hours

  Katie drove with purpose and hit the accelerator a little too much. She felt they finally had some new information that would lead them closer to the killer. They needed to find out who Darla Winchell was and why she would be targeted by the same person that had targeted Jeanine Trenton. She speculated that they were connected through the army, but there had to be more to it.

  “There’s something we’re missing,” she said.

  McGaven was texting on his phone. “You say that every time, but we seem to find out the next clue when we’re supposed to find out the next clue.”

  “Is that something from one of those TV shows?” She tried to keep her giggles to herself. “When it’s coming close to the end and everything wraps up nicely and even the killer confesses. Ta-da!”

  “You’ve been in an exceptionally good mood today.”

  “What do you mean?” She took the freeway heading downtown, accelerating and passing several cars.

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “Talk about anything but relationships. Just do me that one favor…”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Katie merged into traffic and the cars were slow-going. “Looks like we’ve hit rush hour.”

  “Car accident.”

  “No, it’s just too many cars causing congestion.”

  “Accident.”

  Katie maneuvered between vehicles, changing lanes as they headed up first and second streets. On the side of the road there was a four-door car broken down. A tow truck was finally making its move and was about to hook up the distressed vehicle.

  “See.”

  “That’s a breakdown, not an accident.”

  “Could’ve been an accident.”

  Ignoring his remark, Katie took a left and drove through several signals before finally reaching 12th Street. “Okay, what’s the address?”

  McGaven looked at his notes. “It’s 1616 12th Street, apartment 21.”

  “Okay, here’s the fourteen hundred block and the fifteen hundred block…” she said as they slowed and passed small houses and duplexes.

  McGaven watched for the address.

  There were sidewalks and well-manicured trees, tidy front yards and common areas. The street had been recently resurfaced, making the ride feel like gliding.

  Katie spotted a sign for 1616 out in front of an apartment complex consisting of several buildings with four apartments, two upstairs and two downstairs. Light brown structures with white trim, they were independent four-plexes and were situated around the property. It reminded Katie of vacation rentals because of the trees, walkways, and gates.

  She pulled up and parked along the street. Taking a moment to turn off the ignition, she scrutinized the property. “What do you think?”

  “These are nice apartments. I had a call here once, prowler.”

  She cut the engine. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

  Katie exited the vehicle, followed by McGaven.

  They walked around several of the apartment buildings until they found number 21.

  “It’s upstairs,” she said and climbed up the stairs. Someone was cooking something mouthwatering. It made her stomach growl because she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

  “Smells good,” said McGaven.

  Katie laughed. It was untimely, she thought, since they were going to the apartment of a murdered woman, but her stress had been elevated. And sometimes, police officers laugh at inappropriate times.

  They approached the apartment. It had a small potted plant on each side of the door in desperate need of water and a cute welcome mat that said “Wipe your paws.” It struck Katie for a moment because it made reference to dogs. Could Darla Winchell have been connected to a military K9 at one time? She needed to verify with Sergeant Serrano.

  Katie decided to knock, expecting that no one was home, but thinking there may be a roommate or boyfriend. She rapped three times.

  No movement.

  McGaven walked around to the side of the apartment and casually peered inside.

  “Anything?” she said.

  “It’s difficult to see through the curtains, but it looks like a light is on. And something dark. I can’t tell what it is.”

  Katie glanced down at the doorknob, noticing something dark next to it. She gently touched it with her index finger. It appeared to be dried blood. Scrutinizing it more closely, she saw more dark smudges that seemed to have been wiped with something.

  “What’s there?”

  “Looks like dried blood. I’m not sure. And here, it looks like someone wiped something clean recently.”

  McGaven inspected it. “It does look like dried blood.”

  Katie walked to the railing and looked around at the apartments all over the property. She saw one with an “Office” sign. “Let’s try the office,” she said and hurried down the staircase.

  They dashed across the property to apartment number eight, which displayed the “Office” sign. Katie knocked.

  They didn’t have to wait long before the door was opened by a nice-looking, middle-aged woman, and a smell of something delicious wafted out. The woman poked her head out and said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Is this the office for the complex?” asked Katie.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m Detective Scott and this is my partner, Deputy McGaven.”

  “Oh,” she said, eying their badges and guns. “Is something wrong?”

  “We’re here about one of your tenants—Darla Winchell.”

  “Oh really? Is she okay?”

  Katie looked around to see if anyone was nearby and within eavesdropping distance. “May we come inside?”


  “Oh dear. Yes, of course,” she said and opened the door wide for them to enter.

  After shutting the door, she turned to them and said, “I’m Rene Cross.”

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I’m afraid that Ms. Winchell has been found murdered.”

  It was clear that the news shook her. The color drained from her face and she wobbled a bit in unsteadiness.

  “Ms. Cross, are you okay? Why don’t you sit down and catch your breath,” said Katie as she guided the woman to the couch.

  The living room was open and spacious with two big windows that looked out at the trees. A white fluffy cat with bright blue eyes jumped up on the couch and immediately went to the woman’s lap. “Oh, you silly boy,” she said.

  Katie knelt down beside her. “Beautiful cat. What’s his name?”

  “Simon,” she said as the color flooded her cheeks again.

  Katie petted the silky cat. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “No, dear, I’m fine now.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you about Ms. Winchell’s death so abruptly.”

  “How? When?”

  “I’m sorry, again, but we’re in the middle of the investigation and we can’t divulge anything right now.” Katie stood up. “Would it be possible to get a key to her apartment?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She got up and went into the kitchen and came right back. “Here you go.” She gave the keys to Katie.

  “When was the last time you saw Ms. Winchell?”

  “It must’ve been… last Monday. She was on her way to work, so it was around 8:30 a.m.”

  “Did she happen to confide in you about anyone bothering her? Did she have any problems that you knew of?”

  “Oh no. She was a wonderful woman. So kind. Friendly. Always paid her rent on time. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  Katie handed her a business card. “If you think of anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll get the key back to you soon,” said McGaven.

  “Okay,” she said and walked Katie and McGaven to the door.

  After the door shut, Katie and McGaven hurried back up the stairs to the apartment.

  Katie stood at the front door staring at the number 21. Her nerves were twitchy and an annoying prickle ran up the back of her neck. Her instincts and experience told her to push forward. Inserting the key, twisting and pushing the door open, she stepped over the threshold.

  Inside was dark except for a table lamp which emitted minimal light. The curtains were partially closed, allowing very little daylight in. Katie waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the dim lighting.

  Katie and McGaven stayed at the entrance, surveying what they could see. There was a distinct stench of urine and feces that was a bit overwhelming.

  There was a large sectional couch in the middle of the living room, but that was the only thing that looked undisturbed. The coffee table had broken glass scattered across the surface. Magazines were strewn across the floor. Two chairs from the dining-room table were overturned, one was broken. There were more bloody handprints around the wall entering the hallway.

  “Wait,” Katie said. “We need gloves and booties before we go any further. Maybe something for that smell too?” She pushed the front door as wide as it could go hoping that the sealed-up stink would mostly escape.

  McGaven instinctively retraced his steps and backed out of the apartment. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m putting a call in to John,” she said, dialing her cell phone.

  After Katie hung up, she created a game plan for searching the apartment.

  A meow and purr sounded as a cat rubbed up against her left leg.

  Startled for an instant, Katie looked down to see a thin yellow tabby with a few black marks circling her. “Oh, you’re the cutest. She bent down and picked up the cat. “You’re friendly,” she said, eyeing the round ID tag that said “Tigger.”

  She heard McGaven storm up the stairwell, taking two stairs at a time. He appeared in the doorway. “Making friends, I see.”

  “Maybe I should take him to Ms. Cross for now?” she suggested, looking down at the cat who was purring madly in her arms. “I bet you’re hungry too.”

  “Good idea. Don’t think Cisco is going to like that you smell of cat.”

  Katie carefully retraced her steps to outside the doorway. She quickly descended the stairs and brought the cat to the office and into Ms. Cross’s care. She was happy to take care of Tigger.

  Upon returning to the apartment, she donned the booties and slipped on the gloves. McGaven patiently waited.

  “You want to lead the search?” she said.

  “Ladies first.”

  “John should be here anytime, probably an hour given the traffic.”

  Katie looked outside at the horizon and estimated that they had two hours of daylight left. “It would be a good idea to see if Darla Winchell’s car is in her allocated parking slot.”

  “On it,” he said and ran back down to the parking lot.

  Katie turned back to the apartment and took a moment to focus her entire energy on the examination. She made her entry slowly and decided to search in a clockwise motion. Again, she saw the beige sectional couch with three pieces. It was big enough to fill most of the living room area with the shattered coffee table in the center. Two small tables, each with a western-themed lamp, were positioned one at each corner of the room. One lamp was on, but the bulb flickered, as if it were getting ready to burn out. The effect was unnerving and even disturbing—as if Darla Winchell was trying to communicate from the great beyond.

  Katie focused her attention on details and pushed silly thoughts from her mind. She surveyed the room from the bottom, to the walls, and up toward the ceiling as she walked.

  There were signs of a struggle in the living room, and when Katie stood at the doorway to the hall there were three handprints on the wall, two of which were overlapping, making an abstract of blood. One print was clear enough for a good comparison, she thought.

  Before going down the hallway, Katie walked toward the small open kitchen. There was a coffee cup, glass, a small plate, and bowl in the sink. A fork and spoon lay on the counter. Everything seemed normal, but Darla Winchell hadn’t cleaned up yet. One of the cabinets was open a few inches. It seemed to contain dry goods—cereal, rice, coffee, and some canned goods. She theorized that the victim had a bowl of cereal, piece of toast, and coffee. It told Katie that she was here during the morning.

  Could the killer have been so brazen as to confront her during the day?

  Looking for any of the weapons, such as a knife, she didn’t see anything that might have been used.

  Katie then moved to the hallway, detecting the bloody handprints once again. The apartment was a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom. The hallway was narrow with a bedroom at each end. The small bathroom was in the middle. There were dark smudges along the walls, but Katie couldn’t tell if it was blood or some other substance. The first bedroom she approached had sections of long blonde hair stuck to more blood along the baseboard.

  She paused, looking closer at the strands of hair. It was difficult to see with the naked eye but it appeared that there were pieces of scalp still attached to the roots, suggesting it had been pulled out by force. Piecing together what happened at the apartment, Katie worked backwards.

  She took a couple of cleansing breaths before entering the bedroom. The door was half closed with several holes indicating someone or something had tried to force it open. The room was about ten-foot square and contained a double bed, small dresser, a nightstand and an antique wooden chair in the corner. The sliding closet door was open and revealed an overcrowded rail with clothes squeezing outward.

  But Katie couldn’t take her eyes away from the bed. The sheets and comforter were white, but now soaked with blood. The crimson stain was nothing short of horrifying. The bedding was twisted and pu
lled from the four corners. It looked as if the items from the nightstand were on the floor between the bed and the table.

  It was clear to Katie the attack had begun in the bedroom. She surmised that the killer caught Darla Winchell off guard and a fight ensued. It was where the defense wounds on her forearms had originated, and from the bloody handprints, the killer must’ve dragged her out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room.

  But the most disturbing aspect of the bedroom was the three-foot-long bamboo cane, spattered with blood. It was similar to the bamboo at Mrs. Sadie Caldwell’s front porch. There was no doubt in Katie’s mind it was the weapon that led to Darla Winchell’s death.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Wednesday 1835 hours

  Darla Winchell’s apartment was now the official primary crime scene—the fairgrounds were the secondary crime and murder location—and an investigation was in progress. Two patrol deputies roped off the apartment building and the parking area where the victim’s car was located.

  McGaven was searching the car and assisting the forensic technician Rob, as Katie was inside the apartment with John. The two deputies were keeping residents away from the area and not allowing anyone into the building.

  Katie watched as John documented the apartment, recovered fingerprints, and other forensic evidence including blood samples. He carefully retrieved and boxed the bamboo tube, the potential murder weapon. Its size and diameter were consistent with the wounds found on Darla Winchell’s body.

  “Thanks, John,” said Katie as she exited the apartment. She was confident that John would do his job with exceptional ability. She wanted to double check the files on the other victims to find out if there was a bamboo pole or something similar found at the crime scenes. She didn’t recall, but it was due diligence. Flashing back in her mind to the three-foot bamboo pole on Sadie’s porch, she suspected it had to do more with gardening than murder, but she wasn’t going to rule it out.