Page 73 of Little Girls Sleeping
John smiled. “I have a couple of cameras to install outside first.”
“No problem,” Katie said. “How’d you get roped in to work on my security system?”
“Why not?” he said as he went outside.
McGaven shrugged. “A man of few words.”
Cisco barked, wanting his share of the eggs. Katie tossed him a small morsel and then began to eat her breakfast.
After several cups of coffee, Katie changed into work clothes and systematically cleaned her office from top to bottom. To her surprise, the intruder hadn’t rummaged through her drawers, so all her office supplies, computer components, and personal items remained untouched, though pieces of paper and notes had been strewn over the floor.
She knew forensics had completely documented the scene, but she wanted to take a few photos herself to attach to the wall. She snapped several, creating a panoramic view ofYOU WILL NEVER FIND ME.
The words pummeled at her like projectiles. They made the investigation that much more urgent. It was a race for her life and the life of another innocent child.
She moved a ladder closer to the main investigative notes on the wall and climbed up. Studying the scrawled letters within the scattered black fingerprint dust, she fought back the creeping anxiety of hopelessness. It was like facing the devil, eye to eye, toe to toe, and knowing you didn’t have the power to overcome the madness.
Holding a bottle full of John’s unidentified cleaning potion, Katie squeezed the trigger with her right forefinger and sprayed a small portion onto the wall, watching the tiny bubbles roll over the black paint. As instructed, she dabbed the area with a clean rag. It actually began to work. The paint slowly lightened, leaving a dull, ghostly remnant behind. She continued to carefully pat the solution around her notes, spending more than a half-hour continuing the effective repetitive technique.
“How’s it going?” asked McGaven, followed closely by Cisco. The dog had been following him around since early morning—his canine shadow.
“Better than expected,” she replied.
McGaven stood in the doorway, his height making the opening appear smaller than it actually was. He studied the points that Katie had highlighted. “You still think Terrance Price had something to do with it?” he asked.
Katie stepped down from the ladder. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss her thoughts about the case until there was solid corroborating evidence to support her theory. “Too many things point to his involvement.”
“Such as?”
“He claimed to have seen Chelsea the day she disappeared—he described in detail what she wore that day. Changed his statement only when he was pressed. Conveniently killed himself less than twenty-four hours after Chelsea was found. There were pieces of lumber on the property that could’ve been used to make those coffins.”
“When you put it like that, I would say there’s a definite possibility that he could’ve been the killer.”
“I don’t think he was the killer—just the helper,” she said. “The third victim was killed and dumped after Price’s death, according to the autopsy report.”
“So now the killer is lost without his partner? Is that why he was so quick to leave another body?”
“As I said, there are many things that raise questions.” Katie folded the ladder and leaned it against the wall. “I believe Templeton closed the case on Price too early in the first investigation. He wrote him off as mentally ill, which may be true, but he seemed to be getting his life together out at the Haven farm.”
“And,” put in McGaven, “we can’t forget what happened when we went back to the barn.”
“Any potential evidence there is now gone forever.” Katie frowned and thought about all the things they could’ve searched for and sent to the lab to test and compare.
“Okay, what if we took Price completely out of the scenario? What would we have?” McGaven suggested.
Katie smiled. “I like the way you think.” She stepped back into the middle of the room to study her lists. It was a good question, so she deliberated carefully. “Okay, there are still some unanswered questions for the Darren boys.”
“I assume you’re talking about Malcolm.”
“Actually, there were some red flags over Rick,” she said. “He’s calculating. That calmness you see is a cover. His arms were tensed the entire time I spoke with him, and he kept making fists. A sign of deep agitation—maybe unresolved issues and possibly violence. My first impression is that he’s disciplined, highly intelligent, and knows how to manipulate.”
“But he’s the sane one.”
“I realize you know them from disturbance calls, but what do you really know about them? I would love to have a search warrant for their place, but to search for what is the question. Tools to make a coffin, some fabric, photos of young girls, anything.” She sighed. “There’s nothing solid to go on except theories. It’s so frustrating.”
McGaven seemed to be thinking back to interactions the police had had with the brothers.
Katie continued. “Neither one of them has a solid alibi for the day Chelsea disappeared, and they definitely know their way around construction activities, like building a coffin.”
