Page 76 of The Fragile Ones
A thought occurred to her. There were increasing numbers of cameras installed, not only in the cities, but in the rural areas as well, especially well-travelled areas like this one.
It was clear that Rock Creek wasn’t at the forefront of up-to-date technology, but she wondered if there were cameras scattered around town, the streets, and especially anywhere the children played—like the video camera they had discovered at the swing by the creek, which they hadn’t heard on back yet. They would have all been checked when the girls went missing, but something told her that Whitney Mayfield might be the kind of killer who would return to the scene of the crime. He certainly seemed to circle Rock Creek like a vulture. If he often changed his appearance, as Rodriguez had said, he could be around Rock Creek even now.
The run had done her good. Her head was clear. Her muscles relaxed. Most importantly, Cisco was happy and exercised. Cooling down with a brisk walk for the last few miles, she headed back to the Jeep. About five car lengths away, the gray truck was idling. It was parked with the front facing her direction. Katie’s skin pricked. Something wasn’t right, whoever was in the truck was waiting for her and she was going to have to tackle this problem head on— even if it was just as innocent as kids making out, or someone looking for directions.
“Hey!” she said, walking toward the truck.
Cisco started barking incessantly.
Katie ordered the dog to stay down next to the Jeep. “Cisco,platzand thenbleib.”
She turned back to the truck. “Who are you?”
The truck revved its engine, readying to lurch at her.
Moving closer, she repeated, “Who are you? Why are you following me?”
The truck pitched forward about a foot. Then again, the engine revving even higher.
Katie kept her wits and was ready to dive to the side. She glanced behind her, making sure Cisco was in a safe place.
It was a matter of seconds…
The truck lurched forward and Katie sidestepped with ease as the gray vehicle continued to drive a circle around her.
“Who are you? You coward!” she yelled.
Finally, the truck exited the parking area leaving a huge cloud of dust behind it.
Katie ran to her Jeep and Cisco, and they jumped in ready to give chase. But the truck was nowhere in sight. It had vanished. There were two ways to leave the area and she didn’t see which direction it had raced away.
Back at home, Katie changed into something comfortable and warm, glancing at the diamond on her finger—taking a deep breath and realizing everything was going to change for the better. Her life with Chad felt worlds away on days like these. The incident with the truck at the park had rattled her, but she needed to let it go and focus on the case.
When Cisco was sleeping peacefully, Katie took the opportunity to clear her coffee table and pull up another small table beside it. Then she covered both surfaces with pages of notes and pictures that made up her investigation.
Dr. Dean had sent over a preliminary autopsy report for Robin Mayfield, which indicated that cause of death, as Katie already knew, was from a gunshot wound to the head. The burning question was, was it self-inflicted? But Darren Rodriguez’s fingerprints were on the gun—and when forensics tested Mrs. Mayfield’s hands for gunshot residue, they got a negative result.
Katie grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself while she drank her second cup of hot tea. Looking at all the evidence, she whispered, “Speak to me.”
Why would the killer leave the gun at the scene? It seemed too contrived—convenient.
Who put the photo album into the gathered evidence? Why?
Katie looked at a copy of the suicide note again—still waiting for the official handwriting results.
I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. But I couldn’t save the fragile ones. The ones that needed protection and saving. I cannot live with myself for not keeping the girls out of harm’s way. I cannot live a lie. The truth will come out. Please don’t feel sorry for me, and don’t be sad.
All my love, Robin.
To Katie, on the surface, it seemed like something that Mrs. Mayfield would say. But the more she looked at the note, several words jumped out at her.
Sorry
Fragile ones
Cannot live
Don’t be sad
