Page 9 of Last Girls Alive
Ten minutes later, she was drying her hair when she noticed a folded piece of paper at the bottom of the locker. She was certain it hadn’t been there before. Could someone have dropped it there while she was in the shower? She looked around, suddenly self-conscious, her skin prickling. She walked around the rows of lockers but there wasn’t anyone around. There was a white sports sock on the floor that must’ve escaped someone’s gym bag; otherwise, it was completely empty.
“Hello?” she said, just to be sure, before walking slowly back to her locker.
Silence, only interrupted by the ventilation system turning on overhead. Comfortable that she was indeed alone in the locker room, Katie unfolded the small torn piece of paper. It wasn’t handwritten. In fact, it wasn’t a note at all. It was torn from a larger piece of paper, leaving three legible letters—“ETL”—and on the far corner it said “Express”. There was half of a ripped diamond shape on one side. She felt certain the note hadn’t accidentally fallen into her locker, that someone was trying to tell her something and she was supposed to figure it out. But she also knew that her inquisitive mind often worked overtime—and that it could be nothing. Not everything revolved around the murders that crossed her desk. There could be a million reasons why this piece of paper had found its way into her locker.
Katie didn’t want to break her momentum with the current case, so she pocketed the piece of paper, deciding to discuss it with McGaven later. Shutting her locker, she left the changing room, headed down the hallway and stopped at a familiar unmarked door. A small camera attached to the upper door frame was directed downward at anyone who stood at the entrance. She swiped her keycard and the lock disengaged with a buzz and a click.
The area was the forensic division of the police department, but it felt like another world. Cut off from the outside, with no windows, and the constant hum of the air being circulated, previously gave Katie a strange almost claustrophobic feeling, but now she felt safe and comfortable. She had been given the chance to occupy a couple of empty offices down here to set up the cold-case unit.
As she walked past one of the large forensic examination rooms, she spotted John hunched over a scanning electron microscope, completely unaware of her presence. She paused, wanting to say hello, thought better, and then moved on down a long hallway to her office.
McGaven sat at his desk deep in research on the computer. His short hair had already dried and he looked refreshed now dressed in his slacks and long-sleeved shirt. Katie could smell the lemony shampoo he often used.
“You beat me,” she said.
“Well, I don’t need to get all dolled up.”
“Funny.” She dropped her jacket on her desk. “What are you looking at here?”
“I’m trying to locate more about the Elm Hill Mansion, but I’m just finding rumors and ghost stories, nothing that is worthy of the investigation.”
Katie pulled the missing persons file for Candace Harlan and grabbed a notebook. “This is Candace’s file. It was in a stack with several others I had been considering for our next case. Wow, there’s not much to the report.”
Turning his chair towards her, he said, “So what do we have?”
“Five years ago, last June, Shelly McDonald, manager at the house, called the police to report that one of the foster girls in her care was missing. Candace Harlan, sixteen years old, five foot seven, 125 pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes, last seen wearing a white nightgown. There were a few clothing items missing, such as her favorite pink sweater,” Katie said, reading the basic information and pausing to look at her photograph. Reading down, she said, “It looks like the deputy that took the report was… Deputy Hugh Keller.”
“Oh,” said McGaven in a dull tone.
“What?”
“Keller was fired about a year and half ago.”
“For?”
“Not following orders, using excessive force. He wasn’t cut out to be a police officer.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“Oh, and he was a jerk.”
“Okay, that’s better,” she smiled. “According to McDonald, Candace was there at bed check around 11 p.m., but in the morning she was gone. She said that she thought she ran away with a boyfriend—but didn’t have a name.”
“How many other girls were there living at the house?”
“It refers to six, including Harlan: Mary Rodriguez, Tanis Jones, Heather Lawson, Terry Slaughter, and Karen Beck. The other girls were all accounted for.”
“And none of them knew what happened to her?” he said.
“They spoke to them all. Her roommate, Tanis Jones, stated that Candace was there when she went to sleep and was gone in the morning.” Katie frowned. “Wouldn’t you think that the roommate would have some idea what happened?”
“Maybe, but maybe she didn’t care, or maybe she was sworn to secrecy.”
“It says here that Candace didn’t have any family. She was given up for adoption—which never happened, so unfortunately she stayed in the foster care system for her entire childhood.”
“That’s really sad.”
Flipping through pages, she said, “There are notations here for other report numbers.”
