Page 84 of Little Girls Sleeping
She theorized that the killer had wanted to save the little girls from something. But what? He’d tended them carefully, kept them in the best condition he could, like a garden. Had he planned to dig them up? He’d changed his MO after the first bodies were found. He was angry, no doubt, which was why he’d come after Katie. She was interrupting his carefully laid plans.
“Everything okay?” interrupted Chad. He stood at the entrance to the tunnel, watching her with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. His concerned expression clearly showed his deep sorrow for such a heinous crime.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Searching for inspiration.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” he said.
“The killer’s inspiration, not mine,” she explained. “What must he have felt here? Why did he choose this location?”
Chad stiffened as he glanced around the area. “Isn’t that what psychopaths do? They become what they want you to see. At least that’s the way I understand it.”
Katie turned and faced him, suddenly seeing him differently. Not just the boy she’d grown up with, but someone who perceived life a certain way. “You’re right. He wants us to see only what he wants us to see.” She gazed out at the vast view. It had always been beautiful to her, but now it appeared endless, repetitive, isolating, and a bit hopeless.
After a few minutes, she turned to leave. It was clear that Chad was happy to go; he’d been fidgeting with his hands and trying to find something—anything—to focus on. For some, seeing the reality of what a killer did to his victims wasn’t something they wanted to acknowledge, much less visit.
He’d become a bit aloof, different from before. Something had changed between the two of them. Maybe it was Katie and her signals. She didn’t know what she wanted in a relationship, and everything seemed to indicate that she needed to keep things platonic between her and Chad—at least for now.
She led the way out of the tree tunnel and walked briskly back to the waiting truck. The wind was ratcheting up its speed. Her cell phone rang. She retrieved it from her jacket pocket and answered. Deputy McGaven’s voice was rapid and excited.
“There’s been a change in the investigation from Detective Templeton’s camp,” he began.
“What’s up?” Katie suspected that the detective had decided to make some bold move.
“I don’t know how, but Templeton managed to get a search warrant for the Compton residence and the Haven farm. He wants to close the cases.”
“How? Who was the judge?” She felt her pulse rate increase and her chest squeeze like a vice.
“Jeffries.”
“Oh,” was the only word Katie could muster.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Well, things are going to be different now. I’ll meet you at the department in about an hour, an hour and a half. I have to go home first and change.”
“Where are you?”
“Just had an errand to do. I’ll see you soon.” She ended the call.
“Everything okay?” asked Chad.
“I have to get back. Everything has changed.”
Forty-Three
Police cars arrived at the Haven farm. Detective Templeton exited his vehicle first and headed to the shed where Terrance Price had stayed while he’d worked there. Two other detectives went to the main working area to check out various storage buildings.
Templeton began swiftly tearing the shed apart. He flipped the mattress, dumped out boxes, and kicked around various personal items. In a box filled with basic banking information, he finally found a small piece of paper with the names and addresses of various places Price had worked.
“Got it!” he shouted.
The piece of paper proved that Terrance Price had had contact with the Comptons.
“Let’s go,” he ordered, and hurried back to the car.
Detective Templeton sped up to the Comptons’ residence and parked his dark police sedan half in the street and half in the driveway. Two patrol cars parked in a more respectful manner. A few neighbors came out of their homes to see what the commotion was about.
The detective flung open his car door and immediately barked orders to the neighbors. “Nothing to see, go back inside your homes.”
