Page 17 of Little Girls Sleeping
“Ballpark.”
“It’s about sixty-seven percent. A little higher than the state average.”
“Sixty-seven percent. Do you think that’s satisfactory?”
“Well…” the detective stammered.
The sheriff leaned forward, pressing his forearms on his desk. “Let me tell you something: sixty-seven percent is unacceptable. I don’t care what the state’s average is; that percentage shows we aren’t doing everything we can to close cases.”
Detective Templeton was about to object, but decided to stay silent.
“This isn’t about politics; it’s about solving cases, giving closure to families, making sure the community has trust in us. That’s why every three months I go through a stack of cold cases. Ms. Scott probably saw the missing girl’s file on my desk.”
“Why would you pull that case?” asked the detective.
“Why not? It’s what we do, Detective. I read over these cold cases, and I reassign them to whoever I want for a fresh perspective and a chance to find new evidence, question witnesses again, and do whatever it takes to close them.”
“And Chelsea Compton?”
“Unfortunately there’s no reason at this point to reopen the case. It would take a major new development to convince me otherwise.”
Templeton nodded his head in agreement.
“Is there anything else, Detective?”
“No, you’ve answered my questions.” Templeton hesitated, as though he was going to say something else, then opened the door and walked out, shutting it quietly behind him.
Sheriff Scott shook his head and glanced at the photo of Katie, then picked up his pen to continue his work.
Ten
Katie’s second week was mostly similar to the first, but now she had the confidence not to ask as many questions. The department ran smoothly, the work was fairly straightforward, and there seemed to be an enjoyable mundane quality to it. The ten-hour day moved at a brisk pace.
Her heaviest workload seemed to come at the beginning of the shift and then again after lunch. She finished her first half-shift duties quickly, so she decided to use the free time to follow up on her own investigations.
The truck that Terrance Price had allegedly seen Chelsea get into wasn’t known to her family or friends, which meant it might have belonged to someone she knew but her family didn’t. Katie decided to look up the middle school Chelsea had attended and search for teachers, counselors, coaches, and community-services officers who were employed there four years ago.
Using the government database had become easier for her; she knew how to use shortcuts and move around with ease. Sometimes she went off the database and onto the Internet. She managed to access the Pine Valley Middle School website and looked at the teachers and other employees. She mainly searched for men, based on the fact that most big pickup trucks were driven by men, and statistically the abductor was more likely to be male.
She’d never thought much about it before, but most of the teachers were women. Scrolling through, she studied each male teacher and ran a preliminary background check on them if they were employed at the school at the time Chelsea disappeared. Only one came up with a record: for possessing a controlled substance fifteen years ago. The community police officer assigned to the school four years ago was Deputy Scott Schneider. His file didn’t reveal anything unusual or indicate a red flag. There were three teachers who no longer worked there and two substitute teachers who were employed on a semi-regular basis. She made quick notes for her files.
Almost as an afterthought, she decided to run a search for news articles about the previous missing girls. Several local papers had the same brief stories, as if they cut and pasted the articles from one newspaper to the next. There was nothing new to add to her notes. The girls didn’t resemble one another. Nothing stood out. There was no information about family, friends, hobbies, medical ailments, problems in school or at home, or anything unusual leading up to the disappearances. It seemed that the abductions were not family-related, but rather carried out by strangers—a strong piece of evidence in itself.
She let out a sigh. None of her quiet investigative work meant anything if there was nothing to compare it with. It would only prove useful once new clues or suspects became available, and especially if Chelsea was found.
She looked at a stack of well-worn file folders waiting to be returned to the vault. It was as good a time as any, so she grabbed them up and headed down the hallway leading to the room where the stored files were housed.
She realized how dark the hallways were and wondered why. Was it to save on rising energy costs? Was the maintenance department overwhelmed and they hadn’t had a chance to change the bulbs? As she contemplated the reasons, she picked up her pace until she reached her destination.
The door of the archived file room was closed. When she opened it, the light was on, but the room appeared to be vacant. The musty smell of an old basement accosted her senses instantly.
She headed to the area where the “R” files were located to return a folder. The cheap metal filing cabinet squeaked as it opened. As she thumbed through to find the right place, she heard someone move behind her. A swish and a light bang followed.
Thoughts of someone hiding to scare her plagued her mind, triggered by her experiences of waiting for long periods of time on patrol in the army. A creeping sensation of anxiety assailed her.
“Hello?” she said tentatively, bracing her back against the cabinet.
A man with cropped hair, wearing casual khakis and a long-sleeved shirt, came around the corner, barely looking in her direction. He clearly knew she was there, but didn’t have the inclination to engage in pleasantries or idle chit-chat. Katie glanced at his identification badge but couldn’t read the name; she assumed he was one of the detectives.
