Page 56 of Little Girls Sleeping
She noticed the neatest yards and others that were in need of a gardener. Some houses were blue, some light gray, and others yellow. She couldn’t make up her mind which ones were the prettiest.
An older woman with a red scarf walking a small shaggy white dog made her way around the corner. Dena followed on her bike, gently pressing the brakes, and said loudly, “Cute dog.” She rode on until she made a sharp left turn into the park next to a large community building. From there, she dismounted and pushed her bicycle along the walking trail. It was fairly deserted; quieter than she had ever seen it, in fact. It didn’t matter, though. She would wait patiently for her friends.
She looked at her watch. It read 7.35 a.m.; her friends had said they would be there by 7.45. She rolled her bicycle to the side of the path and flipped down the kickstand. The pond had fish and the gentle waterfall was working. It was beautiful.
She heard a car pull into the parking lot but didn’t turn her head. She expected her friends to arrive any moment. She leaned over a bit further, closer to the water. Several koi fish swam back and forth. They were beautiful and she couldn’t take her eyes off them. She wanted a fish tank, but her mom said it was too much trouble. Maybe when she got older, she’d told her.
Dena smiled and leaned against the rocky outline of the pond. She didn’t have a care in the world; she was always happy, except when her little brother annoyed her. But that wasn’t too often. She dipped her hand into the water, dangling her fingers with glee. Immediately the fish were alerted and came up trying to feed off the tips. She laughed. It tickled. The fish opened their mouths wide. She continued to run her fingers through the cool water.
In a brief instant, like the turning of a page, a man had rapidly approached Dena with a rag in his left hand. His weathered work boots were silent against the path. In four long strides he was standing over her. She was unaware of his presence as she concentrated on the fish in the pond.
In a perfected move, he grabbed her with his right arm, pressing the fabric against her face.
She uttered no sound.
He swung her up, holding her close to him as if he was hugging his own child after a long day in the park. He spoke quietly into her ear in case someone happened to glance at him.
No one saw the man approach Dena.
No one saw the man put Dena into his truck.
And no one saw the truck drive away and blend into traffic.
The light-blue bicycle remained behind.
Dena was gone.
Thirty-One
Katie arrived early at the forensics division. It was cold and she had dressed in her dark gray suit, still sporting the boots that had clicked loudly at the morgue. She had organized her questions in an official-looking notebook, and made sure her detective’s badge was securely clipped to her waistband next to her gun. She wanted to speak with the forensic supervisor, John Blackburn, about the emails she had received early that morning clarifying some interesting details.
She didn’t know what to expect from John; she’d received both positive and negative reactions from those involved in the investigation, and it felt like she was riding a roller coaster. McGaven was going to be late that morning and said he would meet up with her later.
Walking down the long windowless hallway, Katie reached the door to the forensics area. A small camera was fixed above the doorway, aimed at a forty-five-degree angle toward anyone standing in her exact position. She wondered if she appeared distorted due to the tiny size of the camera, and the fact that she was looking awkwardly up at it.
She pressed the button and waited. She expected to hear it ring like a doorbell or alarm buzzer, but no sound emanated that she could hear. She pressed it again with the same response. Nothing. She stepped backward two paces and continued to wait.
The lock disengaged and the door popped open—a faint sound of air discharged.
Katie pushed open the door and stepped inside. She didn’t see anyone; just another long hallway.
Click.
The door shut automatically behind her. She expected to see one of the technicians: Jamie or Don, whom she knew from her run-in with the truck. She walked down the hallway, past several closed doors, and eventually ended up in a large open space—the central forensic hub.
No one was around.
She felt the air recirculating and blowing gently above her, and there was an extremely faint hum that she figured was the air-conditioning system at work.
She decided to say something, “Hello?”
Again there was no answer. Someone had to have buzzed her inside and know she was there. She wondered if it was a kind of initiation to test her reactions, and smiled in spite of herself.
“Hello?” she called out again.
There were two open doors. One room was obviously an examination area, where there were many computers humming away. The other had several desks and resembled a doctor’s office. She leaned in to see if anyone was inside, but it was empty.
She was going to grab a seat in the main area and wait when she heard footsteps approaching. Around the corner came a muscular man with colorful tattoos on both arms, dressed casually in jeans, a loose black T-shirt, and work boots. His dark hair was cropped and he was clean-shaven. She immediately recognized him as the man she had run into in the file room.
