Page 88 of Little Girls Sleeping
“Today? Nowhere yet. We were meeting back at the department to figure that out. And to find out the details of Mrs. Compton’s arrest.”
“Yesterday?” he pushed. “Where did you go?”
McGaven stuttered a bit and then recalled the previous day. “I met her at the forensic lab, then we went to talk with the Darren brothers, but they weren’t home, so we went to see the medical examiner again and then a couple of carpenters, and to Charles Rey’s house to talk about the coffins.”
The sheriff spoke in an authoritative tone. “I want to know the whereabouts right now of everyone she had contact with yesterday and the day before. I don’t care if it’s the waitress at lunch or deputies you passed in the hall. I want to know whereeveryoneis now and where they were two hours ago.”
He took a moment and then appeared to formulate a plan. “McGaven, pay a visit to both the medical examiner and the forensic lab. Check back in with me as soon as possible. Keep this quiet until there’s something to report. Got it?”
McGaven nodded and hurried to the police car.
“Let me help,” said Chad. “Please, Sheriff.”
The sheriff hesitated. “Okay. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” asked Chad.
“We’re going to pay the Darren brothers and Charles Rey a visit,” he said. “But you’re only here as an observer, and you do as you’re told. No argument.”
“Got it,” said Chad.
Forty-Six
A low baritone droning bombarded Katie’s eardrums. The sound matched the pain at the back of her head, a relentless, stabbing agony with a pulse. Her body bumped and bounced every once in a while without any sort of rhythm or warning, as if riding in an old-fashioned buckboard wagon. Her breath caught in her throat, pushing down hard on her chest. It was difficult to breathe, and when she tried to gasp for air, it smelled like a musty barn.
She opened her eyes and saw nothing. Turning her head slightly to the left and then to the right, there was just a dark abyss. Even that slight movement made her nauseous, and waves of unconsciousness flowed in and out.
With her eyelids heavy, she slowly raised her right hand and touched her moist face. Clammy and cold, she shivered, her teeth chattering. It made a hollow sound around her, eerie and haunting.
She couldn’t remember what had happened.
Where was she?
Why was it so dark?
She bounced again, harder than before, but this time she felt a solid surface next to her. She tried to turn her body to the right, but the obstruction wouldn’t let her move in that direction. She tried the same position on the left side, with the same result.
The searing pain at the back of her head pulsed with renewed energy, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut. When she finally opened them again, she could see a tiny ray of light coming from a faraway corner, like a beacon of hope.
She moved her hands down the sides of her body and realized that the obstruction was wood. Not smooth to the touch, but rough and uneven. Raising them to her face, neck, and upper chest, she felt a cold perspiration that misted her body and chilled her fingertips. She was suddenly aware that she was dressed only in her bra and panties.
Her arms and legs flailed in terror, causing a loud banging all around her as she pounded the wooden walls.
Her fuzzy mind began to clear and her thoughts turned to her predicament. She was lying flat on her back. It was hard and uncomfortable against her spine and the back of her cranium.
The bumping and bouncing resumed.
Her rapid heavy breathing echoed in her ears as the air thinned, making it more difficult to take in oxygen. Her pulse rate accelerated and a panic attack took hold of her, gripping her mind and throwing off any semblance of balance and sanity with a massive dose of adrenalin.
Tears streamed down her face as she realized that she was lying in a sealed wooden coffin. She immediately pictured the dead eyes and perfectly posed bodies of Chelsea Compton and Tammie Myers. The sweet, innocent girls had looked as if they were merely sleeping. The sight was seared into her mind.
Fierce as any warrior, she began to scream with every last ounce of energy, while punching and kicking with her bare hands and feet.
Forty-Seven
Deputy McGaven sprinted through the department, knocking into a couple of deputies in the process, but kept moving until he rang the buzzer at the forensic lab.
“Open up,” he called, waving his hands at the video camera just above his head. His face was pale as he tried to steady his heavy breathing. “Open up,” he repeated, knowing he must look crazy.
