Page 41 of Little Girls Sleeping
Katie jotted down their names. “And you’re sure they were here a couple of weeks before Chelsea went missing?”
“Yes, I’m sure. They’re cute boys too,” Mrs. Stanley added, and her eyes lit up again.
“So just to clarify, you never saw Chelsea the day she disappeared?”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
“Did you ever see a truck?”
“A truck?”
“Yes, any truck driving or stopping that day, or possibly a day or so before.”
“Everyone around here either has sedans or SUVs. No trucks. Well, except for the Darren boys.” The way she said “boys” lingered in the air.
Katie stood. “Just one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind. May I see the window in your kitchen?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Stanley said, and led the way.
Katie stood at the sink and looked out the window. It was the perfect vantage point to see the street in both directions and had an open view to the Comptons’ house. She turned around and moved toward the front door, taking the time to glance at the photographs again.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Stanley.”
“Good luck, Detective,” Mrs. Stanley said, and forced a smile.
Katie and McGaven left the house and went back to the car.
“Interesting, but nothing,” said the deputy.
“We learned a lot,” Katie said, still thinking about Mrs. Stanley’s affection for Mr. Compton and the Darren boys. Her subtle movements and the tone of her voice had given her away. Katie wondered if there was more to the day that Chelsea went missing than the woman was telling them.
Twenty-Four
The Pine Valley Elementary School let out at three p.m. every day during the week. Kids carrying loaded backpacks hustled to their assigned buses or their moms waiting in the pickup line, or walked home. The high-energy chatter and laughter from the students was unmistakable.
The man watched, studying the behavior and movements of various children. He began to catalogue each child according to their ability to fight or fend for themselves. There were certain traits that distinguished his chosen ones from the average.
Dena, where are you?
It didn’t take him long to spot the eleven-year-old girl whom he had watched almost every day for two months. She never wore dresses, but sported jeans and a bright shirt. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders now instead of her usual braids.
Every subtle move…
She tore off her blue-and-yellow backpack and swung it into the silver SUV before jumping in after it. She moved her hands to her neck and flipped her hair out of the way. It was obvious she was annoyed she hadn’t braided it to keep it off her face. It glistened in the sunshine. Soft. Silky.
She was waiting to be protected. To be saved from all the ugliness in the world. It was coming quickly.
She was perfect.
A smile crept across his face.
He watched as she spoke to her younger brother inside the car, resulting in arms flailing. It was unclear what was said, but her mother turned her head to speak to her, and the flailing stopped.
The man’s mind wandered to his picture-perfect gravesite, which he had diligently and doggedly created. He had studied the area with maps, he’d walked countless trails, and then he’d camped out and scoured more of the rural areas. He had done everything he could think of to ensure that the site fit every need—and more.
And now he had learned from the Internet news that an off-duty police officer, Katie Scott, had found the final resting places of his little girls sleeping.
Anger flooded into his body at high velocity, muscles tensed in his arms and legs, his fists clenched, and all happiness disappeared from him. He internally pleaded with himself to stop the hate and anger from festering.
