Page 129 of Last Girls Alive
“Yes, he trapped me at the house with Shane. And… and…”
McGaven grabbed a deputy. “We need officers at Jerry Weaver’s house, he’s a county social worker. Do it now. He’s considered armed and dangerous.” He thought about the options and said, “There could be a victim with him. Use caution.”
The deputy began radioing the information and took off to his patrol car.
“NO… no, you don’t understand,” she said.
Chad and the sheriff approached.
“Take it easy,” said McGaven.
“No, we don’t have time. We have to get there.”
“What do you mean, Katie?”
“I think…” she said, her mind spinning fast. His build, his access to the reports, his meetings at the house, and his contact and personal information with the girls. “It makes sense…”
“What are you talking about?”
Katie realized, of course, it had been Jerry Weaver at the prison, covering his face but readjusting the clipboard to sign in using his left hand, and he must’ve said something so threatening to McDonald that she killed herself.
And Candace’s reluctance to say “Ray” was the social worker. She probably thought she’d get him in trouble or he might harm her. His wording about how he couldn’t make unannounced visits, the bipolar assessment that was completely wrong, yet in reality he could have intervened if there was any indication of abuse.
Jerry Weaver used the abuse as a way to the girls—a twisted way that he was going to save them because he figured out how to survive his past through the Hunter-Gatherer book.
“It’s him!” she said desperately.
“Who?” said McGaven.
“Jerry Weaver is Ray… Ray is Jerry Weaver.”
Fifty-Four
McGaven drove at excessive speeds—taking the corners with haste and expertise. Katie rode shotgun against all orders from paramedics, Chad, and the sheriff. She was fine, in her opinion, and promised that she would get checked out once Jerry Weaver was in custody. Once the killer had been caught and wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
After hearing back from Spreckles PD, the fingerprints on a tea mug at Tanis Jones’s apartment came back as Jerry Weaver’s and everything became a blur from there. Weaver’s house was found vacant. There was no clue to where he had gone.
Katie hung on to the arm rest and pushed away the pain that was now, ultimately, flooding her body. Her legs felt numbed to everything, but that didn’t stop her. She gritted her teeth every time they drove over a bump as it jarred her neck, causing excruciating pain to explode down her back.
After Jerry Weaver’s house was found empty, Katie knew exactly where he would be hiding and hopefully Tanis would be there too. Once she realized Jerry was Ray, it was easy to read his motives for doing things and how he manipulated his victims to fit his fantasy. When his victims saw right through him, he killed them. There was no other choice. Once they didn’t fit his version of his fantasy—they were gone.
Katie recalled several of the clues that they had uncovered and ran them over and over in her mind. Shelly McDonald committing suicide after receiving a visit from a man that signed in as Ray Roland, which just happened to be the name of the author of the “Hunter-Gatherer” series. Candace Harlan seemed genuine, but there were a few things bothering Katie about her statements. Her flippancy about Ray Conner, who didn’t exist. Her being at the Elm Hill property during the time where Katie and McGaven were trapped in the metal storage container and almost killed. Candace’s Ray was described as average, business type, quiet, older, and had helped her escape the conditions at the mansion. And Mary’s Ray made her believe that he was the one—the perfect man for her.
Katie speculated that Weaver had had a horrible childhood and spent time immersing himself in a book series that most never heard of—but why would he want to kill the girls at Elm Hill and carve the title of his favorite books? It obviously satisfied an internal need, a fantasy, a way that he could be in control. By basing his life on a fictional character, it made him feel like he was finally in control, that he was important.
“You okay?” asked McGaven, who had been staring at her as they stopped at a traffic light.
“Of course. I’m fine.” She forced a smile even though she wasn’t.
McGaven kept driving, passing through downtown, and heading northeast to the outskirts of the area. Not much to see except for some industrial business and the railroad which drove right through it. They were heading to the Sunny Motel—the one where Candace Harland and Ray stayed for three months some five years ago. Patrol was on standby, ready for backup less than a mile away from the location when McGaven gave the word.
McGaven eased up on his speed when they saw the big motel sign with a red dot described by Candace Harlan. The sign was the only thing that looked decent and relatively new. The old two-story motel was an L-shape structure and bordered the property next to the railroad where there were dozens of old train cars stored. Most were heavily tagged with graffiti. Tall weeds had taken over all around them, contained only by a drooping barbwire fence.
McGaven pulled off the road next to an abandoned gas station. The car was blocked from view at the motel. He had called the motel and spoken with the manager, and after some finessing, he found out the largest room with two sleeping areas and a kitchen was rented by a Ray Roland.
“I want you to stay here,” said McGaven with a serious expression. No smiles. No jokes. He was dead serious.
“You know I can’t do that. We’re partners. We have each other’s back.”
