Page 36 of Her Last Whisper
Would it be worthwhile to have John dust for prints?She didn’t think so: it had been too long. Fingerprints were the most fragile piece of forensic evidence and it was highly likely that if there had been any, they would have been contaminated from time, the weather, and any squatters.
Katie walked around the kitchen near the pantry area and her eye caught something on the floor. She bent down and picked up three small white adhesive pieces, each about an inch long. Rubbing them against her thumb and forefinger, they felt springy and elastic, most likely the remains of a waterproof sealant. It was possible that the type of caulking might have been transferred from someone’s shoes or fallen away from something removed, but it was relatively new.
Cisco’s distinct deep bark interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up just as the front door slammed shut with such a force she heard the remains of broken windows rattle and portions drop to the ground. On a still day like this, it couldn’t have been a gust of wind. Someone must have slammed it.
Cisco’s rapid bark echoed throughout the empty neighborhood.
She raced out of the kitchen through the living room to face the closed front door. Her imagination spiraling. She grabbed the handle, expecting to find it locked, leaving her trapped inside, but surprisingly, it turned easily in her hand.
Pulling her weapon, she flung open the door to—nothing. There was no one waiting or running down the street. She ran to the road and scanned every direction—looking for anything to indicate someone had been there.
Nothing moved.
No one was around.
She looked at Cisco breathing heavy at the slightly opened window—he began barking again. Katie knew he had seen who had slammed the front door and he had smelled their scent as they ran by.
Without hesitating any longer, Katie opened the back door and Cisco leaped out. She grabbed the long twelve-foot lead from inside the car and quickly snapped it onto him.
“Suk,” she said—the command meaning trail. Knowing that there wasn’t much time, they took off with Cisco in the lead; his nose pressed against the ground as he gained momentum. Katie trailed behind him holding the leash and eyeing the houses, side alleys, and anywhere someone might be hiding.
Cisco slowed down after an intense ten minutes of darting this way and that. They were back at the main road again and the trail had gone cold. Katie looked around and saw no sign of a car or anyone running. She never heard the sound of a car speed away, or even a motorcycle. If the person was on foot then they would have seen them. The only thing she could think of was the person must’ve ridden away on a bike. What other explanation could it have been?
Walking slowly back to the car still catching her breath, Katie found a folded piece of paper lying on the ground next to her driver’s door. She carefully picked it up and unfolded it. Written with the same cursive writing in blue ink as the other note, it read:
You’re closer, red hot now.
Twenty-Two
Monday 1045 hours
Tess was late for work. Really late. She’d overslept. After calling in and giving an excuse that she had to make an emergency visit to the dentist and wouldn’t be in until after lunch, all she could think about was going back to bed once more. Her brain was foggy and felt like she was in an endless loop of despair with no way to get out. She sat down on her couch with her head in her hands, trying desperately to forget that morning barely three months ago where it all began.
She had been getting ready for work when the phone rang. It was a police sergeant calling from the hospital. Tess’s sister, Laurie, had been found unresponsive in her apartment after a neighbor couldn’t get an answer at the door. They’d found Laurie in the bathtub, unconscious, having cut her own wrists.
Tess had rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. Her little sister had been successful in taking her own life. She remembered standing in the emergency area where Laurie’s body still lay on the gurney—lifeless, frail and so alone. The hospital staff, seemingly uncaring, left Tess to run around trying to get answers herself until a janitor came in to begin cleaning up after the doctors failed to revive her. Blood was spattered everywhere and a hot rage welled up inside her—she wanted someone to pay for what had happened to her sister, so she lunged at the unsuspecting cleaner, beating on him and knocking him down. It took at least a minute or more before a couple of people arrived to pull her away.
Tess was still grieving, but someone had to be blamed for what had happened to her beautiful younger sister. Tears streamed down her face at the memory, but after a few deep breaths she managed to stop and pull herself together a little. She took a moment to stare at a photograph on her coffee table, of her and her sister on holiday two years ago, before going to the kitchen.
Tess rinsed her coffee cup and placed it in the sink. She realized that she didn’t want to end up like her sister—she wanted to try to make her life work and have a chance to be happy. She had up and down days, but soon they would get better. Her sister’s life mattered, and the thought of other people going through what she had with the loss made her equally unhappy.
She quickly filled two small plastic dishes with a vegetable salad and makings for a sandwich.
Not having the time to take a shower, she combed her hair and twisted it in an up-do, and searched for something to wear. She opted for a simple beige suit with a pink camisole to wear underneath. The days were becoming warmer and she could get some sun in the park if it was warm enough.
Making sure that she turned off all the lights, Tess gathered her purse, food, and jacket, deciding to leave the house through the garage. Opening the door, the garage was dark and smelled like motor oil. The doorknob was loose and appeared to have been vandalized at some point. She took a quick photo with her phone to send to the landlord later.
Tess turned around to head back inside the house and was instantly overpowered from behind, causing her to drop her purse, cell phone, and jacket. Her food hit the ground and scattered all around. She tried to scream, but her mouth was pressed hard with duct tape. Strong hands and arms kept her immobile. Terrified and panicked, she tried to fight back but her face was pushed down onto the cold cement floor and held hard there to keep her immobile while her attacker expertly tied her wrists and ankles. She tried to twist her body and head to see who was behind her, but she only saw dark pants and heavy hiking boots.
The more she wriggled and tried to move, the more pressure her assailant placed against her spine. The cold cement against her right cheek numbed her face and sent tingling pains through her teeth and gums. There was a prick on the back of her right arm. Before she could move again and try to fight back, an overwhelming tiredness floated throughout her body.
She tried to fight it, but eventually succumbed to sleep and blacked out.
Twenty-Three
Monday 1145 hours
