Page 13 of Little Girls Sleeping
Katie read through several other kidnapping and murder cases and found a number of similarities. She decided to jot down the obvious ones.
At least eighty-five percent of cases involving a child abduction and murder were committed by a family member, friend, or acquaintance.
Most involved the perpetrator making the child feel at ease in order to easily whisk them away to another location. The child didn’t initially feel threatened by the perpetrator.
Many perpetrators had a premeditated location as well as means of sexual assault, murder, and disposal.
Most of the crimes were committed by a male between the ages of twenty-five and fifty-five.
There was a distinct modus operandi in a number of the cases.
Investigators were usually led initially on a wild-goose chase.
Cases were closed when an unrelated person or persons found the remains of the child.
She decided to pinpoint the county boundaries and work out what areas had been searched for Chelsea. She used her laptop to mark out the search areas, based on news articles and the investigative notes from the file. Some of them were the usual places: home, school, friends’ houses, backyards, and parks. Other areas were more rural, including campgrounds, hiking trails, vista points, and historical areas.
She spent an hour blocking out a map grid she took from the Internet with the areas searched, and was stunned at the regions that were left over. There were several places kids frequented to drink beer and hang out, and some more remote areas that according to her notes on similar cases would be more comfortable for the perpetrator.
Why weren’t they searched too? she wondered. Shortage of time? Lack of volunteers? Everyone in town knew about these areas, but no one deemed it necessary to search them for the missing girl. Why not?
In addition to these locations, there were two extremely remote regions that would need an avid outdoorsman or survivalist to investigate properly.
Possible.
She jotted a few notes on the chalkboard, then wrote down the names of people who’d been interviewed, using only their initials. Then she transferred the list to her cell phone so that she had something to work from out in the field.
“Well, Cisco,” she finally said.
The dog sat up, ears pointed in her direction as he waited patiently for a familiar command.
“We’re going on a little trip.”
Seven
The man used slow, even strokes and a steady hand with the walnut-colored furniture stain. He ran the pristine animal-hair paintbrush across the bare wood carefully, making sure that every pore was saturated as he darkened the custom-cut lumber to his liking. Every movement was done with a gentle touch, and the hand-crafted detail made each piece close to perfection. He strived for extreme fastidiousness; there was nothing that was too good for them. It was the least he could do. If he could have included his actual love in the construction, he would.
An open laptop sat on a sawhorse. It was tuned to a national news station spewing everything ugly going on in the world. The volume was set to high; it was difficult not to hear all the gruesome stories. There were murders, gang shootings, police executions, home invasions, and crooked politicians, each story uglier than the last. The sensationalism and community outrage made for a dangerous cocktail, addictive for some, so that they could not stop listening to the news.
A pretty blonde reporter wearing a bright-blue dress read from her teleprompter with a smug matter-of-fact manner.
“It is not known at this time…”
The man stepped back to stare at his latest project, searching for any imperfections or inconsistencies. He loved every part of the process. It took him more time to build the coffin than it did to find the perfect occupant.
“… whether the father is a person of interest or a suspect.”
The four major stages of building the wooden boxes were: finding the right wood, patiently applying numerous layers of stain, stitching each section of fabric perfectly, and finalizing every finishing nail.
“What we do know is that seven-year-old Candy Carter went missing after she got off the school bus.”
The rectangular box was more than a work of art to him—it was his communication to the afterlife through his own labors.
“Police have been tight-lipped about other potential suspects and have not responded to allegations of ongoing physical abuse from a family member.”
It was the closest thing to hearing the other side, the right side, championing his efforts for his chosen recipients. He loved his little girls and only wanted to protect them from the harm that would eventually circumnavigate their lives, leading to destruction, torment, and grave sadness. That was something he couldn’t bear.
“As the hours and days tick by, police are becoming more concerned. If anyone has any information about the whereabouts of this little girl, please contact them immediately.”
