Page 96 of The Fragile Ones
There were several photographs sitting on a shelf. One of the chief with a woman, who Katie assumed was his wife, near a fishing area on a nice boat. There was another photo taken some years ago with Mason as a young teen. They were hiking up a trail near the historical parts of the town—it stood out—an old general store brick building that was near one of the oldest cemeteries in the county. Katie wasn’t exactly sure where it was located, but knew it wouldn’t be too far from Rock Creek because that’s where the film crew was headed for one of their scouting locations.
“Anything?” asked McGaven.
“If I had to guess…People are creatures of habit—perps are no different. They tend to stay in areas where they feel comfortable. Rapists will stay within blocks of their very own home. Killers usually dump bodies in areas that they know well, residential, rural, state parks, anything like that.” Katie looked at the photos. “John said that the blue fabric was denser and could be from a high-weather jacket or some type of bag. Like what about a tarp? Or a cover for a boat?” she surmised. “That blue piece I found in the tree where you were attacked may have been from Mason or from someone else—we don’t know for sure. But a boat storage would be one place to look until we get more clues.”
“Like the storage places on the way to the motel?” he said.
“If it’s true what the chief said, that he abducted another girl, and if she’s still alive, these would be perfect places to hide them until…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Katie considered the new information about Mason as she looked around the destroyed house. Her mind reeled at the fact that the killer might not be Mayfield, but Officer Mason instead. His profile, as the killer, would indicate that he was also a person of habit. For whatever reason, and whatever defining moment in his life triggered such a horrendous urge to kill little girls, it didn’t matter that he had been adopted by caring parents into a loving home. The psychological damage had already been done and he was like a ticking bomb ready to go off.
Was he Mayfield?
Were Mason and Mayfield the same person?
And if so, why had he felt the urge to brand his young daughter? To brand her his property? A reminder of something good, or bad, from his past? To keep her safe from what he had experienced? It wasn’t clear. Most wouldn’t understand his actions, but it was important to him, and Katie and McGaven needed to look at his movements to find out where he would go next.
But what really bothered Katie was the fact that Chief Osborne knew his son was murdering innocent children. How could he have lived with himself?
“Who can we call about Chief Osborne’s body?” asked McGaven.
Katie had been so immersed in the killer that she had barely thought about the murder of the town police chief. “The chief and his officer are the center of the murder investigation. I can try Officer McKinney again, but I doubt he’d come back. The only other law enforcement that could lead this investigation would be the county sheriff.”
She paced back and forth. “We can call the morgue and see if we can get someone out here, but this is a crime scene and I want it to stay intact so that it can be documented.” She thought about it more until an idea sparked. “What about the photographer—Wendell?”
“I don’t think we have much choice.”
“Try to get everyone coordinated—and remember the entire house is a crime scene. I’m going to look around downstairs and take a few photos with my phone as a backup,” she said. “Gav, we need to hurry. We have a killer on the loose.”
“On it,” he said, searching his phone for the town morgue’s number as he walked into the living room. “Hope my cell signal holds.”
Katie took a moment before heading down into the basement room. “Cisco, stay,” she said and the dog immediately complied. She wanted to make sure he was in one area and not trampling anywhere he shouldn’t be.
She was not pleased that the crime scene had to be handled like this, leaving the chief’s body, but they had no choice. There was a killer on the loose and there was reason to believe that another girl had been taken.
Katie stood among the broken pieces of what was once the entertainment center. She moved in a complete circle to view everything, snapping photos as she did. She dropped her vision to Chief Osborne. With everything she’d done to try to revive him, he had still succumbed to his injuries. For some strange reason, he looked content. All the lies and demons were now quieted. His expression was soft, like he was quietly napping, and finally at peace.
On the floor, underneath part of the shelf of the entertainment center, she saw two framed photos. One was Chief Osborne standing on his boat, like the one upstairs. Katie couldn’t see the name of the vessel, but it looked like a nice fishing boat. The other photo showed a young man, who Katie assumed to be Mason, in a dug hole excavating artifacts. She looked closer and realized that it appeared to be a class of some sort—with students in the background. It made her pause a moment to take in the new information.
There was nothing more she could do, she thought solemnly, and was climbing the stairs to the living room when she heard McGaven.
“Let’s go,” said McGaven. “Thankfully, I got hold of Wendell and gave him explicit instructions, and he was more than happy to help out—he knows several people from the morgue. I left a message there, but Wendell will keep following up.”
“Sounds good,” said Katie quietly. The case was beginning to take a toll on her.
Katie and McGaven hurried from the chief’s house, with Cisco keeping in sync. As Katie drove away, she glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the house disappear from sight. How could anyone let someone they loved abduct and kill children—and cover it up? From everything Katie had studied, she had never encountered a person that would aid a serial killer in such a blatant fashion.
Katie followed the signs leading to a marina on the lake. The road was narrow, filled with chuckholes, debris from trees, and the water was beginning to rise. She maneuvered as best as she could, weaving around obstacles.
Lightning cracked across the sky in jagged strikes as if spelling out a message.
“I hope Pine Valley holds up to the flooding,” she said.
The road finally ended in a deserted parking lot. There was no gray truck. They drove slowly, checking out slips and the floating deck areas. Nothing. No activity. No illumination from any of the boats.
Katie saw that many vessels were battened down with heavy tarps—and many were blue. “Gav, look at the blue tarps. They’re made out of that heavy material.”
He surveyed the area. “You’re right.”
