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

by Jennifer Chase

  “I’m just digesting all of this—and no, I’m not talking about my food. Everything that we’ve seen and investigated. It’s like a dizzying maze.”

  “And?”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that Campbell brings us in to investigate and then he goes to his suite, following everything we’ve done?”

  McGaven stuffed another bite in his mouth. “I’m worried more about your safety at this point. He’s got some kind of agenda. There are too many coincidences and strange occurrences.

  Katie didn’t say anything. She let her thoughts run.

  “Because two of the cases are ours—in our jurisdiction—and they all connect to cold cases.” He finished off his iced tea. “Let’s do our job and forget about him—for now. And pray that the killer doesn’t decide to kill again tomorrow.” He tried to keep everything upbeat, but Katie could tell he was really worried.

  Katie had downed most of her smoothie, giving her an ice headache. “You know, Gav, I never have to worry why you ended up with me. It was meant to be—and no force was going to stop it. Thanks for being my rock.”

  “Anytime.” He high-fived her.

  Katie pulled out her small notebook and flipped through the pages, searching for a phone number.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m looking for a number in Sacramento… here it is.” She dialed. Waited. “Yes, I would like to speak with Special Agent Campbell, please. Oh? Yes, Campbell.” Pause. “Could you put me through to his manager, please? Hello? Yes, I was looking for Special Agent Dane Campbell. Could you repeat that? And you’re sure. Thank you.” She ended the call.

  “What did they say?” McGaven asked.

  “I knew something was off. Now I know why.” She stared at McGaven. “The California High Crimes Task Force in Sacramento said that Special Agent Dane Campbell is on an extended leave and is not in charge of the serial cases anymore.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Friday 1345 hours

  Katie found herself standing in front of Special Agent Campbell’s suite at the local inn—once again. The sun was out, warming her back, and there were very few clouds in the sky. She stood for several seconds enjoying the warmth and formulating her thoughts, determined to prioritize her reason and not her emotions. She wanted to talk to the agent before she reported the situation to her uncle, but she wanted to get some answers first.

  McGaven stood next to her, not quite knowing what to expect, but he was her partner through good and bad situations—this was no different.

  Katie knocked on the door loudly three times.

  The door opened and Agent Campbell stood there. “Detectives. To what do I owe this honor?” he said and smiled.

  Katie pushed her way inside. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay,” he said, looking confused.

  McGaven followed Katie inside.

  Rookie Agent Haley was sitting at one of the computers. “Hello, Detective Scott,” she said cheerfully. “Nice to see you and McGaven.” She took a moment to make eye contact with him.

  “Would you mind giving us a few minutes?” Katie asked the younger agent.

  “Uh, of course. I have an errand to run anyway.” Turning to her superior, she said, “It might take a bit longer.”

  He nodded to her.

  Katie waited until the agent had left and she’d heard her walk away.

  “Do I look stupid to you?” she demanded.

  “Of course not. What’s this all about?”

  “Let’s just start with… how long have you been on suspension from these cases?”

  “Now, it’s technically not a suspension—”

  “You’re working cases on your own terms,” she said, gesturing to the command center he had created. “Without anyone to report to. You’ve scammed Sheriff Scott. You’ve been tracking me like I’m some type of prey for your serial cases. Are you really who you say you are?”

  Campbell waved his hands in “calm down” motion. “Take it easy. There are simple explanations.”

  “I would have every right to report to Sheriff Scott right at this moment. Tell me why I shouldn’t. Tell me.” In the heat of the moment, Katie wanted to rip all the photos off the wall and shred the file folders. She stopped herself from letting her emotions run wild—taking two deep breaths.

  “First, let me explain. I was in charge of these cases and when my team reached a dead end, everything started to go sideways. Due to politics and pressure from people in high places, I was given an ultimatum: either I bring in a viable suspect or I take a leave of absence. Simple as that.”

  “Why would they do that?” she said.

  “You don’t understand. This case was high profile and our overall case closure rate was down—even lower than the state’s average.” He sat down.

  Katie’s anger lessened, but she still didn’t trust him.

  “There were internal problems. Supervisors that were taking advantage of cases and more interested in climbing the ladder than finding killers.”

  “Why didn’t you come clean right away?” asked McGaven.

  “I know how this must look to you both. But my career was on the line. I had no more leads, no more help except for Dawn and she’s more of an administrative assistant than another agent. She took her own personal time to help me—she knows the cases backwards and forwards. I had nowhere to turn. I ran out of options.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Katie. She understood wanting to solve a case and bring closure for the friends and family of the victim. She understood that better than most, but still, she didn’t know what to do about Campbell.

  “I thought it was all over for me, my career, until Dawn showed me some articles on how you’d solved some of the toughest cold cases in Sequoia County. So I started to shadow you—to find out for myself if you would be what these cases needed. And I was right—I still think you’re the right person—both of you—to solve these cases.”

  Katie couldn’t keep her focus away from the cases plastered all over the walls and around the room—the connections, subtle differences, and the lives these women could have had. She perused the photos of victims, headshots, crime scenes, and thought about the fact that they were all connected by one common thread—military K9 handlers. Then she saw the photo of herself at the Jared Stanton crime scene near the pond—it tugged at her heart and her soul how important it was to close cold cases—now, more than ever.

  “I have one important question,” she said, not bothering to turn around to look at Agent Campbell. “No more games. Tell me the truth. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  The room went quiet. The tension built and both men waited, their focus on Katie, for her to defuse it.

  “Did you clone my phone, or spoof it, and have you been sending me text messages purporting to be from people I know?” She turned around. “I want the truth, Agent Campbell. Professional to professional.”

  He shook his head. “No, I did not do anything of the sort.” His look was solemn but it was difficult to tell if he was speaking the truth or not. “I did not clone your phone. Why would I?”

  “I guess we have to take you at your word.” She still didn’t completely believe him.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’m going back to work and then I’m going to dinner tonight with my friend. I’m not making any decisions on this right now.”

  Katie didn’t say another word or look at the agent as she walked out the door.

  Once the door was shut and Katie had descended the stairs, McGaven spoke. “You made a good decision.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good.”

  Katie opened the door of the police sedan. “Let’s get back to work. We need to figure out what’s going on with my phone. I wanted to ask Agent Campbell, but I’ll wait.” Glancing up, she saw Agent Campbell standing on the balcony watching them. He gave a subtle nod. To Katie, it was either a nod of respe
ct and a thank you—or it was a warning.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Friday 1555 hours

  Katie and McGaven drove back to the sheriff’s department and were mostly silent. There were some strange anomalies that had embedded themselves into the investigations—and it weighed heavy on them: the way the homicide cases were brought to her and McGaven; another police agency tailing Katie’s investigations and crime scenes; the unusual signature of the killer; the differing styles of makeup application; the spoofed text messages taunting Katie; the possibility of a copycat. All these things meant something specific to the killer, they were trying to communicate something in their own way, and each piece had to be deciphered. Katie struggled with telling her uncle about what was going on—her gut instinct told her to wait, and that it would play itself out, and soon.

  As they reached the forensic department, Katie felt relieved that she was entering her sheltered haven. It was her private, quiet place to be the most productive. Nothing would ever happen that would endanger anyone. She looked at the forensic area as her safe cocoon. That was the only way she could describe it—as silly as it was: it was her safe place.

  Walking past the main forensic examination area, Katie glanced inside to see if John was working but it was empty. All the computers were running. One of them looked to be running through AFIS, searching for an identity.

  Katie followed McGaven into their office. He didn’t say anything until he was in front of his computer, then he finally spoke.

  “The more I think about this, the more I think that you need to talk to the sheriff about what’s going on.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it too… but,” she said as she cleared part of her desktop, cluttered with papers, files, and notepads, “I think we need to wait. Something weird is going on, but we don’t know what it is—yet,” she stressed.

  McGaven rubbed his forehead with his middle and forefinger. She knew it was a sign of agitation for him, which was rare. “This time, Katie, I’m not in agreement with you. There’s something not right about this case. I don’t think we should wait. You can see where I’m coming from.”

  “Give it until tomorrow. Let’s move forward on these cases and come back on Monday, then decide. It’ll be clearer with time to think over the weekend.”

  He thought about it. Reluctantly, he said, “Okay. We’ll discuss it then.”

  “Good.” She stood and walked up to the whiteboard. “It’s not as impressive as Agent Campbell’s command center, but I have some things he doesn’t.”

  McGaven straightened his pile of lists of the fairgrounds’ employees and miscellaneous workers. He had already worked through half of the names, checking them off apart from a couple of questionable ones. He leaned back in his chair as it squeaked under the stress. “Bring it on.”

  Katie smiled. She loved the fact that even though McGaven disagreed with her, he still held their friendship and working relationship in a higher regard. “Okay… When I’m having a bit of trouble with a case, or in this instance, cases plural, I go back to the beginning.”

  “The crime scenes?”

  “Even further than that. The killer’s motivation.” She paused in her usual stance with her hands on her hips. “There’s a big clue with the crime scenes. Why such flashy in-your-face displays? What is the killer trying to convey to us?”

  “A life-changing event? Something they can’t get over?”

  “Think about the thread that ties them together?” she said.

  “Besides the makeup and poses? It would be the military K9 aspect.”

  “Was it someone that had a bad experience with a K9 team? Washed out of the program and now wants revenge? We saw some indication of that.”

  “That would make sense of the threatening message: ‘You know what you did. You can’t take it back. The finale is coming.’ It was signed DH.”

  “That brings us to Daniel Harper who was Darla Winchell’s friend. But it doesn’t fit with his background—and why kill the other victims?”

  “To throw law enforcement off the trail?” he said. “I don’t follow the whole copycat angle.”

  Katie made a few notes. “There’s something about the word ‘copycat’ that makes me cringe. How common is it, really? Five percent of serial murders? Ten? One percent? It’s more likely one tenth of one percent.” She pulled out some of her papers. “But it does seem as if Gwen Sanderson killed Nancy Day, for whatever reason. And someone has been copying her MO, possibly for fame and attention.” She thought about it. “Fame and attention,” she repeated. “And that brings me to a theory. Bear with me, it’s a theory. It was something that Sadie Caldwell said, about when she saw a person sneaking over to Jeanine Trenton’s house, they reminded her of someone in law enforcement.”

  “Or military. But we would have to assume that Sadie really saw something that night—it could’ve been in her mind.”

  Katie tapped her pen. “I think she really saw someone.”

  “Maybe,” said McGaven. “But maybe she was mistaken on the day or the time even though she did see someone.”

  “One thing we can agree on: Sadie was in law enforcement as a correctional officer, so she would know all the common mannerisms of a cop.” She thought more about it. “What if it was someone from a law enforcement background? And many police officers have been in the military.”

  “Like you.”

  “Like me. But this person has an axe to grind—for whatever their personal perspective or experience.”

  “I see where you’re going with this. Someone who would have access to military information—specifically military K9 members.” He studied the investigation board. “I don’t know, Katie. Isn’t that a reach?”

  “Hang in there… Could it be something so far out that it’s actually right in front of us? The military dog training is central to all of these investigations.”

  “Yes…”

  “The message said, ‘the finale is coming’ and now I’m getting cryptic messages that pertain to this case. C’mon, Gav, you know what I’m thinking.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Let me run this by you: who has access to law enforcement information, military files, and would have the software to clone my cell phone? And moves like a cop?”

  “Short answer: a cop, and the long version…”

  “The long version would be the same person that’s watching us investigate these cases. The same person who is pulling the strings… making the scenarios work their way.”

  “But what for? What’s his motivation for all of this?”

  “A killer is a killer for their own reasons—even if it’s to make themselves look like a hero. To right a wrong. They generally feel as if someone has wronged them. Who would know how to keep suspicion away from himself? And watch us so closely?”

  “But Sadie said the figure she saw was slight—nothing like Campbell. I think we need to talk to the sheriff tomorrow and bring him up to speed on what has happened… everything.” McGaven was adamant. “We need to talk to him and let him know our concerns. He’ll know what we need to do—if anything.”

  “Yes, okay, you’re right.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to get out of here so I can get ready to meet Lizzy tonight.”

  “Go home. Take your mind off this… it’s all theory, remember?”

  “It’s profiling in order to make the pool of suspects smaller so we can pinpoint a few.”

  McGaven began sifting through his lists, intending to keep plugging through them.

  Katie tidied up her desk and put everything in a pile with her yellow steno pad on top with Special Agent Campbell’s reports. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

  “Blow off some steam and have some fun tonight.”

  “I just want a quiet nice dinner with a friend,” she said and smiled, leaving the office.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Friday 1945 hours

  Katie sat at a table in the bistro waiting for her frie
nd Lizzy to arrive. She was looking forward to having some one-on-one time with her, so they could chat about the army days. Although Lizzy had relocated to the coast, she had visited Pine Valley a few days every month or so. Katie needed to relax and chat with someone close to her and push the investigation aside, even for just an hour or two.

  The server brought Katie a glass of white wine as she waited. It felt great to be out and not wearing her typical work pant-suits; instead, she had opted for a navy dress and heels. One thing she never skipped was carrying a small Beretta pistol that she stashed in her purse. It was something that she had become accustomed to doing even though she was officially off duty. She chalked it up to being a police officer—basically you were always a cop, whether on or off duty.

  Katie glanced at her watch and saw that Lizzy was fifteen minutes late. It was unusual for her; she was a stickler for being on time. She checked her cell, but there was no message from her either.

  Katie dialed her phone and waited. No answer. The phone kept ringing. No outgoing message. She wondered if Lizzy could be in an area that didn’t have a signal, but then realized that the recorded message should cut in if that were the case. Odd.

  The server approached the table. “Would you like to order?”

  “I’m still waiting for my friend, but yes, I would like to order a chicken Caesar salad, please.”

  “Of course,” he said and left to put in her order.

  Time kept ticking by and Lizzy was a no-show.

  Katie knew that her friend wasn’t a flaky person so she must’ve had a good reason for not showing up, calling, or even sending a message. It was a nice, quiet evening so Katie decided to enjoy her salad and wine. It was good to push the investigation from her mind—even if it was only for a little while.

  As Katie was leaving, she tried to call Lizzy again and the same thing happened. No answer. She decided to go to Lizzy’s motel.

  She slowly drove into the motel parking lot, which was more than half filled. Lizzy’s gold Camaro was there. Katie parked and walked to Lizzy’s motel room, which was around the back in a quieter location. The air was much cooler than it had been an hour ago. When she got to the door she found it was slightly open and light peeked out around the frame.