Page 36 of Last Girls Alive
“Yes,” she slowly said.
“Name.”
“Hugh Keller.”
McGaven tossed a business card on the table. “If you remember anything that might help in the homicide investigation, we might be able to help you sometime.” He turned to the door and knocked twice. “Guard.”
Katie and McGaven walked out into the parking lot. The sun had broken through the low-lying clouds and it had turned warmer.
“That was something back there,” Katie said. “You played her brilliantly.”
“I learned from you. Straightforward. Make them think that you already know the answers. And of course, keep them off balance.”
“Oh no, I’m not taking credit for that performance. That was all you.” She smiled and got into the car.
“I just figured that she wasn’t going to give us anything, but she gave up the cop’s name—Hugh Keller. He had a choice of either resigning from the force or going to jail.”
“Doesn’t sound good.” Katie backed up the vehicle and sped off down the narrow road leaving the correctional facility.
“He’s managing a bar on the east end of town. Hopefully he’s learned to take his job a bit more seriously.”
“Makes sense, with his previous behavior, that he got involved with McDonald. Pretty woman, loose attitude, and well…”
McGaven frowned and said, “I’ve heard stories about him from other officers and I had a few interactions with him personally. I wanted to punch him out, but didn’t.”
Katie glanced at McGaven. He seemed to manage to surprise her more with every investigation. How lucky she was to have a great partner, with such integrity. “Still waiting for the final autopsy and forensic reports to come in for Mary Rodriguez, but we have plenty to do.”
“I’m still trying to run down family, place of work, or residence for her. It seems like these girls are invisible. It’s probably why it’s so easy for them to move around undetected.”
“Yeah, well, not to the killer. He’s tracking them down somehow. And if he’s going after the final six that means there are four more potential victims.” That thought angered and even terrified Katie because she didn’t want to waste any time while another girl was murdered. She stepped on the gas pedal harder, wanting to get back to the office and coordinate their next move.
“Why do you think the killer murdered them after all these years?” he asked.
Her cell phone sounded. Katie quickly read the message:Victim positively ID’d as Carol Harlan.
Eighteen
The blue paint spilled across the kitchen counter and dripped onto the cracked linoleum floor. It was an accident, of course. I had a school project due and there wasn’t any more time to complete it. I didn’t have a friend’s house to go to. No one could know how I lived—with a vicious hoarder who hated everything about me. When I got older, I would leave and never come back. I waited desperately for that time.
There she was, standing there seething over the mess even though the entire kitchen and living room was filthy, cluttered with stuff occupying every available space—jam-packed. It didn’t matter. She didn’t see it. She only saw the paint that I had spilled.
“What have you done?” she hissed.
“It was an accident.”
“What have you done?” she spat again, taking a long gulp from a plastic glass filled with straight vodka. Her long dank hair, peppered with grey, hung loosely around her face.
“Please, it was an accident. I’ll clean it up.” I could smell the alcohol on her breath from where I stood.
“Why do you always do this to me?”
I began wiping up the counter with used paper towels as fast as I could—the only thing I could find within my reach.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but willed them not to roll down my cheeks. I couldn’t let her see me cry. Never. Never. Ever. Again.
“You know what this means,” she said with a hint of glee in her voice.
“See? I’m cleaning it up,” I begged.
