Page 112 of Pretty Broken Dolls
If you don’t play, Lizzy dies.
Katie had no doubt that the text message was real—everything in her gut told her so. She had no other choice but to get into her Jeep and drive as fast as she could to Jeanine Trenton’s house—or what was left of it after the fire. Katie knew that whoever had cloned or spoofed her phone could use the GPS to see where she was going. Her every move was being closely scrutinized and she wondered if her new Jeep with all the latest technologies was being monitored as well.
As she sped as fast as she dared to Raven Woods, she thought about who was behind this façade. It was definitely someone connected to law enforcement or military—maybe both. Everything teetered on the fact that the women who had been targeted were in the military as K9 handlers. Everything came back to this one thread connecting them all to each other—and it led to her.
If you call anyone, Lizzy dies.
Katie took the turn into Raven Woods too fast and the Jeep fishtailed, but she fought to keep it on the road, gripping the steering wheel harder. Tires squealed. Her body slammed into the door. An oncoming car blasted its high beams at her and honked the horn, speeding past.
“Think, Katie! Think!” The thought of Lizzy being in the snare of this killer made Katie want to break down.
The victims were all connected by military K9, and by the fact that they were all women. Each one was a pawn, presented in an outlandish crime scene. The crime scene characteristics were amateurish and planned, with planted evidence that didn’t mean anything—or did it? The jewelry. The makeup. The presentation of the victims was designed to humiliate them, mock them…making them pay. But pay for what? What was the horrible defining moment in the killer’s life? Why the production?
You have ten minutes to get to the Trenton crime scene.
Katie finally turned onto Fox Hunt Road, barely reducing her speed. She looked at the clock on the dashboard. Two minutes left and counting…
Screeching to a stop, flinging open the car door, Katie jumped out. Realizing she was still wearing high heels, she pulled them off and tossed them into the car. Grabbing her cell phone, she slipped it into her bra. Taking her gun and a flashlight, she was on the move.
Katie ran as fast as she could in her snug-fitting dress between the burned-out Trenton house and Sadie’s darkened home. The weeds, sticks, and rocks pressed hard against her bare feet, but it didn’t slow her down.
“Lizzy!” she yelled.
The area was dark and eerily quiet.
Katie stopped. She tried to calm her heavy breathing so she could listen. Her senses strained to hear…A snap of twig. Movement through the trees. The unsettling silence enveloped her.
She ran toward the backyard, flashing the light beam from end to end. Nothing. There was no sign of anyone on the property.
“No,” she lamented.
Not knowing what to do next, she walked around the land, frantically searching—for her friend, for clues, foranything.
Her phone chimed with a text message from Lizzy’s phone.
Find the key in the rubble. If you don’t play, Lizzy dies. Tick Tock.
Chapter Forty-Six
Friday 2010 hours
McGaven was about to leave after a long evening reading through more names and backgrounds. He’d reread Katie’s theories, suspect list, and killer profile. He would have left earlier, but he had an early dinner break with Denise. Full now and getting sleepy, he still wanted to skim through the articles she’d brought them.
McGaven picked up the pieces about the fairs and circuses. He shuffled through them and also the articles about new exhibits. There was one in particular showing realistic mannequins with an uncanny resemblance to the crime scene victims—the broken pose of the body, slumped torsos with the arms and legs bent in difficult positions resembling a broken doll. It was an advertisement for a fun house which had been advertised and proved to be one of the biggest attractions that year until there was a tragedy. Something piqued his interest. He continued to read more articles about the mannequins with renewed energy.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Friday 2145 hours
Katie tore the remains of the house apart looking for the key, not sure if it was a regular house key or something more substantial. She kept looking. She looked under everything, moving the burned-out two-by-fours. Soot covered her dress and the lingering smoky smell got into her lungs, making her cough.
“Where’s the damn key?” she said aloud out of frustration and fear.
Katie kept looking desperately, lifting every piece of lumber. She looked along the outside of the foundations. Inside. Up high. Underneath. Nothing.
She stopped, knowing that her phone would soon chime with another incoming text. She couldn’t call or text the police, McGaven, or her uncle. The killer would know it and she couldn’t risk Lizzy’s life.
Think…
