Page 53 of The Fragile Ones
“Katie, hi.”
“Are you swamped with work?”
“Just the usual. What do you need?” she said.
“I have a fun assignment for you.”
“Bring it on.”
Katie smiled. She really liked Denise and her spunky enthusiasm. “Yesterday, Gav and I went to Rock Creek, and we found numbers carved into a pine tree on the side of the road—372.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“We were about three miles from entering into the main part of town on Highway9 going northbound.”
“Okay.”
“Someone seemed to have carved those numbers early yesterday morning. The tree shavings weren’t wet from the overnight storm. And I have a sneaky suspicion that person drove a big black pick-up truck.”
“Let me guess…you want to know if anyone saw that truck within the vicinity.”
“You got it. And…” continued Katie, “I want to find out anything you can about Rock Creek, people who live there, strange things that have happened, or anything that doesn’t seem right. I know it’s a big ask, but it’s a small town and we need to get to know its secrets.”
“I can get on that Neighborhood program for the area and poke around. I’ll use names of local folk on there to search social media and see what else I can find. As for the tree, let me check the aerial maps online. They update every four to eight hours or so—maybe we’ll get lucky. I can also see if there are any CCTV traffic cameras in the vicinity.”
“Great, thanks, Denise. That would be great. Oh, beers Saturday with Gav and Chad at Third Watch Bistro?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!”
Denise hung up and Katie listened to the high-pitched buzz of the disconnected line. Slowly replacing the receiver to the cradle, Katie’s mind returned to the numbers tattooed on Tessa’s scalp. It was horrifying, yet she was convinced it was the key to the investigation.
Reading her lists on her notepads and glancing at her boards, Katie ran ideas. She decided to search the Internet to find out if there was any research into the psychology behind people who tattoo themselves and others excessively. Maybe there was some terminology for this, or a condition she wasn’t aware of—that would give her something to go on.
Several results came up, but nothing that pinpointed what she needed. Katie made a tighter search using the words: tattoo, compulsive, identification, people, trafficking, children. A couple of researchers came up, including a Dr. Simone Halverson, an adjunct professor at the local university, who was published on the topics of excessive tattooing and branding of others.
Katie made an appointment for the next morning, which was the only time Dr. Halverson had available. Immediately after, her cell phone buzzed.
Preliminary results on Mayfield cases are in.
Katie hurried to the forensic lab, leaving her notes spread out all over her desk and part of McGaven’s too. She hoped he would arrive soon to hear what John had to say firsthand.
She slowed her pace and took a breath before entering John’s exam lab. He was at the far corner, on one of the new computers with a screen as large as a TV.
“Have you been avoiding me lately?” said John, never averting his eyes from the computer.
That stopped Katie dead, rattled her a bit. “Not at all,” she said.
He looked at her and smiled, which was unusual for such a serious guy. “Sorry I had to leave your party early. I had quite a bit still to do here.”
“It was nice of you to come.”
“I love your place. It reminds me of my folks’ house growing up in Tennessee.”
Katie was taken aback—that was the most personal information that John had ever expressed about himself. She didn’t know how to respond.
“Looks like you’ve been busy. We received a lot of stuff for processing from Rock Creek PD last night. I was wondering if you would check this list to make sure,” he said.
“I know it’s a bit sketchy how they handle things.” Katie walked over to his workstation.
