Page 34 of Little Girls Sleeping
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Katie said.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m already right here and I can be working on other things until something needs to be updated.”
Katie hadn’t thought about that and realized that she needed to learn to delegate. “That would be so helpful. Then I can run down some information from interviews. Thank you.”
Denise laughed. “It’s my pleasure—it’s my job. Leave me the notes. Now go. I’ll text or call you with anything important.”
“Do we need to okay it with superiors?”
“No, I’m the supervisor for records. It’s part of my job.” She smiled.
Katie jumped up. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”
Katie sat in her unmarked police vehicle, trying to push away the memory of the conversation she’d had with Detective Templeton, and how unappreciated she felt. She opened her notebook and checked the names and addresses of people she wanted to speak with who Templeton hadn’t assigned any detectives to. She needed to clarify events and facts and to re-interview witnesses who might have more information than previously disclosed. Templeton and his crew were going directly to the Comptons’ residence and would most likely then wait around for any news from forensics.
She scanned the last known address for Terrance Price. There were some things about his statement that she wanted to elucidate. She also wanted to verify exactly when he had performed work for the Comptons. He had been staying on a local farm in a bunkhouse doing some odd jobs around the property. The homeowners were Leonard and Elsie Haven and the farm was located on the outskirts of town on Apple Road. She estimated it would take her about twenty-five minutes to reach it.
She turned over the engine and the car roared to life. She adjusted her seat and secured the seat belt before she put the car into drive.
A hard triple-knock on the passenger window caught her attention. Deputy McGaven was peering in. He gestured to her to unlock the door.
Katie hesitated. A part of her wanted to hit the accelerator, but she was a professional police detective now and didn’t want to fall victim to Templeton’s games or stoop to his level.
The deputy stared at her and frowned.
Katie disengaged the lock and he got in.
“I’m sorry that you’re stuck with this gig,” she said immediately, “but I don’t take orders from you.”
“Fine,” he said, without bothering to look at her. “I have a job to do and I’ll do it by the book.”
Katie sighed. If she was going to make any friends at the police department she needed to at least try. “I’m Katie,” she said, extending her right hand.
He hesitated, but finally shook her hand. “I’m Sean, but everyone calls me McGaven.”
“Nice to meet you. I know what most of the deputies think of me—at least at this point. All I ask is that you make up your own mind. Deal?”
Sean cracked a tiny smile. “I suppose.” He leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to be using the database?”
“The very capable Denise is running the required programs for me. It’s ridiculous to have me sitting at a computer watching it search when someone from records can do it,” Katie replied. “It’s called multi-tasking.”
She dropped the gear shift into drive and drove out of the police parking lot.
There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence during the ride, but Katie had her mind on the case. It was possible that Price had been the only one to see what happened to Chelsea, and it was well worth a try to get more information from him.
She remembered from one of her psychology classes that when dealing with people suffering from personality disorders, anxiety or depression, head traumas, or anything else that impaired judgment and logic, it was important to stay calm and let them rattle out what they needed to say. Never pressure them; it would only stress and inhibit them. She had some hope that the fact that she was a woman might make Price less defensive.
The rural landscape sped by the windows. It had been more than ten minutes since they had seen a house. Katie slowed to see if there were any signs, landmarks, or mailboxes directing them to the Haven farm. The name seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t remember why.
“Do you see an address for Haven?” she asked.
“No. It’s still a ways up here,” the deputy replied with a deadpan expression.
“How do you know?”
“We receive calls out here a couple of times a month.”
“For?” Katie asked.
