Page 11 of Little Girls Sleeping
Katie realized that he had either already heard she was the sheriff’s niece or guessed some relation due to their same last name. It wasn’t clear if that was a bonus or not—at least not yet.
“I have a few questions about an old case of yours. Would you have a moment?”
Templeton hesitated but then gestured to Katie to join him at his cubicle. “Of course.”
There was a large container of small chocolate candies at the corner of his desk; the lid was askew, meaning the detective had either just had a handful of sweets or someone else had helped themselves. Taking a chair across the desk from him, Katie noticed the same scribbly, all-capital-letter writing on the notepads and file folders as in the cold-case file.
She estimated the detective was in his mid-forties. He had a receding hairline and was about twenty pounds overweight, and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She also noted that he still hadn’t mastered a more effective organization process when working on cases.
The little sign on his desk read:Detective Rory Templeton, Robbery/Homicide. She wondered why he had been leading the investigation of a missing-persons case, unless the department knew, based on experience, that Chelsea was most likely dead before they began looking for her.
The detective appeared to be annoyed at Katie’s presence, but his curiosity seemed to override his initial emotion. “Ms. Scott, what would you like to know?”
“Please call me Katie,” she began. “As you may or may not know, I’m helping out in administration while they’re short-handed.”
“Yes,” he said. His eyes narrowed as if he was studying her behavior and judging whether she was telling the truth.
“There’s a cold case I came across. Chelsea Compton.”
“Yes,” he said again, his jaw clenched tightly as he leaned back in his chair. “What about it?” he inquired icily.
Katie had the sinking feeling that she might have overstepped her bounds, but the truth needed to be stated. The case deserved fresh eyes and it needed to be reopened. She pushed a little more. “I noticed that there were things missing from the case.”
“Like?”
“Well, the interview with the neighbors of the Comptons—I believe their name was Stanley—was never followed up. And Terrance Price said that he saw Chelsea in the park that day, and there was a truck he had never seen before a little while later… Wasn’t he known to do odd jobs in the community as a handyman? Did he ever work for the Comptons?”
“Let me stop you right there,” interrupted the detective.
Katie waited patiently, never taking her eyes from him, watching every slight gesture and movement he made. She knew that she had stepped on someone else’s turf, but cold cases were there for anyone within the department to revisit. At least her uncle had always said that, and it had been in his office to be re-evaluated. So here she was re-evaluating it.
“As much as we all appreciate what you did for this country, I think we can take care of our cases in the way we see fit,” Templeton said. “But I’ll humor you. We were able to check the neighbors’ statements, and found they were referring to a different day from the disappearance. They were mistaken. As for Terrance, he wouldn’t remember if he saw Chelsea today, tomorrow, or ten years ago. He’s a drunk, a drug addict, homeless most of the time, and has been diagnosed with a type of paranoid personality disorder.”
Katie nodded, keeping eye contact, never changing her poker face. It was something she’d learned in the army—never let them see your feelings. She still had more specific questions, but realized that she wasn’t going to get unprejudiced answers, because she was an outsider and only a patrol officer, not a detective.
“I just thought since it was a cold case and—”
Templeton interrupted her again, this time with more emotion, drawing the attention of surrounding detectives and administrative personnel. “Youthoughtwrong. It has been four years since the abduction of Chelsea Compton. She is dead. That’s the hard fact, Ms. Scott. The only way we are going to find any more information is when someone happens to stumble upon her bones—most likely in another state. Or if the killer walks in here and confesses.”
Everyone was staring at Katie.
“I see,” she stated calmly.
She stood up but continued to hold her ground. The detective didn’t scare her. She had encountered some real tyrants in the army, from sergeants to training officers, so Templeton was like a yapping little dog to her—fierce, but only annoying at best.
“Well, thank you, Detective. I appreciate your time. It’s nice to know that every case receives the same attention and investigative doggedness that it should—even the difficult ones.”
She left with her head held high in case anyone wanted to challenge her—but no one did. She had a plan, whether Detective Templeton liked it or not.
Six
Katie finished her first week at the sheriff’s department without any unforeseen hitches or confrontations; however, gossip persisted around the office and Detective Templeton made several snide accusations about her to anyone who cared to listen.
Most department employees worked four ten-hour days a week, which meant that Katie had a three-day weekend. She wanted to make every moment count.
Her childhood bedroom was the smallest room in the house. She decided to turn it into her personal library and study area. She had purchased a specialized paint to cover one of the walls, so that she would be able to use it like a giant chalkboard with magnetic capabilities. It would be the perfect way to lay out the investigative timeline for Chelsea Compton—everything that was known from the official file.
It was a covert investigation for now—she hadn’t told her uncle yet about having a copy of the file—and if her efforts resulted in nothing new, she would just shred the copies and be done with it. But if therewassomething substantial or important he needed to see, she would come clean and tell him what she’d done, showing him the new discoveries. She didn’t like keeping secrets from him, but there was something about the case that made her feel it was important to bring it back to life.
