“And, I was supposed to tell you both that the sheriff wants daily updates—beginning at the end of today.”
Katie groaned.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“No, you’re not,” said Katie. “It’s just that this was supposed to be Hamilton’s case and we don’t even know the identity of the victim yet. Well, we do, I guess, but it’s not official.”
“And on that note,” said Denise. “I’ll let you two get back to work.”
“Bye, babe,” said McGaven. “I mean, Denise.”
“Bye,” she said and was gone.
“Oh brother,” Katie said.
“What?”
“You guys are too cute.”
“Give me a break…”
Flipping open Hamilton’s case file, Katie quickly perused the information. “There’s not much here beyond what we already know. Except he has the names of all the workers and the foreman. But…”
“But what?” McGaven asked looking at Katie.
“You said Magnum Development?”
“Yeah.”
“Here, it says that the demo company is Edison, Fullerton, and Taylor Demolition Company.”
McGaven scrolled through the computer. “I don’t see that name anywhere connected with Elm Hill Project.”
“Maybe it’s nothing, but…”
The internal office phone rang.
Katie picked up the receiver, “Scott.”
“Detective Scott, this is Dr. Dean.”
“Yes, Dr. Dean, what can we do for you?” Katie’s heart skipped a beat. For the medical examiner to call her this quickly, it meant something very important.
“Do you have time to come to the morgue?” he asked.
“Of course, we’ll be right there.”
“See you soon,” the medical examiner said. “Bye.” He hung up.
Katie returned the phone to its cradle on the desk.
“What?” McGaven impatiently asked, waiting for her response.
“We’ve been summoned to the morgue,” she said.
Six
Monday 1545 hours
At the morgue, Katie and McGaven rushed around the corner and down the hallway where they almost careened into a couple of morgue technicians heading in the opposite direction. Whether Dr. Dean had their first clue or their first dead end, Katie couldn’t wait to hear.
Once they entered through the main door, they automatically slowed their pace as Katie led the way down the hallway, through large double doors, and then on toward one of the examination rooms where she spotted Dr. Dean leaning over a desk writing notes, their victim’s body exposed on a stainless steel exam table beside him. Katie instinctively felt the urge to cover her, to keep her warm and give her back some dignity.
“Dr. Dean?” said Katie quietly, as though she might wake the sleeping girl beside her.
The middle-aged doctor looked up and smiled. Taking his gold-rimmed glasses off, he greeted them. “Ah, Detective Scott and Deputy McGaven. Please come in.”
Returning his glasses, he finished signing a few documents and then closed the file, looked up and removed his glasses once again. It had been a while since his last haircut, which left his curly dark hair too long and unruly. Underneath his white lab coat, his usual choice of work clothes were a Hawaiian shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and rubber sandals. “Thanks for meeting me here so quickly.”
“Have you been able to confirm her identity?” Katie asked. She wanted to get right to the point—the sooner the better.
The doctor took a deep breath and said, “Yes, and no.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, her enthusiasm dwindling.
He grabbed one of the folders labeled Candace Harlan and retrieved some dental x-rays labeled “Crossroads Plaza Dental” and placed them alongside a set of x-rays already attached to the light board.
Katie glanced at them. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be seeing but studied each dental map as if she did.
“Here are Candace Harlan’s dental records; she had some work done about ten months ago. And here are the dental images I took from the body brought in earlier.”
Katie tried to hide her excitement that Candace had been alive just ten months ago, not to mention her first lead – a visit to the dental office.
“But, here’s the problem. The victim isn’t Candace Harlan.”
Shocked, Katie responded, “What?” Everything in her calculating investigative mind said that the murder victim was Candace Harlan. The location. Her approximate age and size. It all made sense. It had to be her.
“I know, it threw me at first too. But…” He pointed at both sets of x-rays. “The victim’s incisors are different, with a slight imbalance here on the left side, and she still has her wisdom teeth, unlike Candace Harlan.”
McGaven studied them. “They don’t match.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me,” Katie said, still stunned.
Dr. Dean smiled. “The woman you see on the table isn’t Candace Harlan.” He shuffled through more paperwork. “Like Candace, your victim is a healthy female, between twenty and twenty-five, five foot seven inches tall, 120 pounds, hazel eyes, but she is not Candace Harlan.”
Katie nodded.
“Okay…” started Dr. Dean. He moved the table at an angle and began his dissertation on his findings. “This is my preliminary examination, but I think it will help you both get started on the investigation and give you a direction. I’ve already emailed you what I’m going to tell you now and I will update you when the autopsy and toxicology reports are finalized.”
“Of course,” she said, her voice sounding a bit hoarse and tinny in the room.
“Cause of death—asphyxiation by strangulation. It appears that a thin twine of some type was used. Similar to the twine tied around her wrist. I’ve forwarded this information to John to see if he can get a better clarification for you. And… of course, manner of death, I’m ruling a homicide.”
“Was there any other trauma to the body? Injuries? Sexual or otherwise?” she asked.
“No,” he said and politely waited for her to ask more questions.
Katie studied the body, noting the missing skin and decomposition. “How long do you think she has been dead?”
“About two to three months based on decomposition, the condition of the body, and soil type. I’m not familiar with the area she was recovered from, but I know we’ve had an unusual amount of rain these past few weeks so that could change that estimate, give or take two weeks.”
“These bare areas,” Katie said, pointing to patches of missing flesh. “Is that normal after being buried in the soil underground for that amount of time?”
“Generally speaking—yes.”
“What about…” began Katie. She paused and then said, “Can we see her back?”
“Of course.”
Dr. Dean rolled the girl to one side so Katie and McGaven could see her back. Katie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and took a quick photo of the writing.
“What do you think made those marks?” she said.
“Hard to say, but it was definitely done post mortem. The blood had already stopped pumping, which made it easier for the killer to make the letters with less bleeding and no movement.”
Katie leaned closer.
“If you look at it magnified it’s not a clean cut you would get from a precision instrument like a scalpel. It’s thick with a blunt or a curved side.” He read the words out loud. “My Italian is minimal, but it’s something about a tracker?”
“Close. It means hunter-gatherer.”
“Wasn’t there an old movie called Hunter-Gatherer?”
Katie looked at McGaven as the doctor let the body lie on its back again.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to check everywhere.”
“There you go,” the doctor said. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for an appointment. Do you need anything else right now?”
“No,
I think we can get started.”
“Nice to see you both,” he said, looking directly at Katie.
“Thank you for the speedy information, Doctor.”
“My pleasure. I wanted you to know that your victim isn’t Candace Harlan as soon as possible,” he said and left the room.
Katie took another look at the body before she headed for the door.
“So, Candace Harlan is still missing?” said McGaven following her.
“Afraid so,” she said.
“So is it still our homicide? I mean, it’s not one of our cold cases.”
Katie sighed. “Technically, you’re right. We need to talk to the sheriff.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Seven
Monday 1935 hours
Katie drove the unmarked police cruiser up her long driveway and cut the engine. She sat behind the wheel and didn’t move at first. It was only Monday and she was already exhausted. Glancing at her watch, it was later than she realized. A familiar sound interrupted her musings over the new homicide. The distinct bark could only belong to a German shepherd. Loud. Rapid. And at times incessant.
“I’m coming, Cisco,” she said, popping out of the car and trudging toward the front porch of her farmhouse carrying her thoughts about the case along with her physical things.
Opening the front door, the sleek black dog with wolfish amber eyes bounced with happiness around her, barely allowing her to enter the living room.
“Hey, big guy. You have a good day?” she said. Her voice only made him even more excited. She dropped everything she was carrying by the front door as the eighty-pound dog circled several times around her and then bounced up and off the couch before he began to settle down. A few high-pitched whines and a look as if to say “where have you been?” followed Katie into the kitchen where she set to work preparing his meal.
“Sorry I’m so late today. We have a new case. At least, I think it’s our case,” she said, watching him gobble down his food and remembering the times she had fed him when they were on tour in Afghanistan—outside, in tents, and various other makeshift camps. Not all those memories were traumatizing. She had been paired with Cisco and made friends there she would keep forever. They were all bonds that could never be broken. She was grateful that her uncle was able to call in some favors and coordinate Cisco’s release back to the US—as a hero dog after several tours and dozens, if not a hundred, of explosive finds. Katie had lost count.
Katie hurried to her bedroom and quickly changed into a comfy pair of pajamas. She was going to get to bed early tonight, because tomorrow was going to be a long day at work. There were so many things running through her mind that she just wanted to get sleep over and done with so she could get started.
A cold nose touched her hand; Cisco nuzzled her as if to tell her that he had missed her and wanted her to stay with him.
“Okay, let’s go outside.”
The dog padded along behind her to the sliding door leading to the backyard. She opened the door and Cisco dashed outside. The area had been specially fenced for him, to keep him safe and happy, but in a way that still allowed for the beauty of the rural setting to be enjoyed. Solid pine trees skirted the ten meandering acres, some even fifty feet tall. Mature lemon and orange trees grew along one side of the property along with two large walnut trees. In between were blooming bushes and flowers that had been planted originally by her parents—specifically her dad. He had loved the outdoors, and wanted to make his yard and surrounding property as bountiful with nature as possible. In her mind, he had succeeded. Once her childhood home, the house passed to her after her parents were killed in an accident when she was a teenager. Cisco and her uncle were her only family now.
Katie stood on the patio and took in the crisp air filling her lungs, allowing her to unwind—remembering fond times when she was young—playing and running around the acreage. She shivered slightly, but it helped her to focus on the moment instead of what had happened in the past. She watched as Cisco made his usual rounds of checking the fence and some interesting bushes, did his business, and finally returned to her inside the house.
Glancing at her watch, she had a few minutes before her 8 p.m. forty-five minute virtual session with Dr. Megan Carver. The psychologist had made special arrangements with Katie for online bi-monthly sessions. It was important to have the meetings on Mondays, per Dr. Carver’s instruction, due to the fact Katie’s anxiety was generally higher at the beginning of the week.
Katie opened the refrigerator and took out some cold chicken leftovers from the night before and quickly ate a piece. She would make something proper to eat after her session.
She moved to the living room, sat down on the couch, and opened her laptop. Feeling more relaxed with the comfort of being at home, she took a couple of deep breaths and keyed up the app to wait for Dr. Carver’s call. She tried to push the images of the victim out of her head, but the ominous carved letters glared back at her.
Cisco edged his way closer to Katie on the couch and tucked his body in tight next to her.
A high-pitch ringing sound emitted from the computer. On the screen, it read: Megan Carver, LCSW MFT. It was exactly 8 p.m.
Katie accepted the call and a window popped up showing a woman with dark brown hair loosely pulled back away from her face. She put her glasses on and smiled. “Hi, Katie,” she said.
Katie smiled. “Hi, Dr. Carver.”
“Are you ready?” the doctor said.
Katie nodded. “Yep.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me about your day today?”
Katie tensed. “Well, it was rather eventful.”
“What was the first thing that you did today after leaving the house?”
“Well, I went for a run with my partner McGaven.” She smiled. “He’s trying to lose a few pounds and asked me to run with him.”
Dr. Carver wrote down some notes that Katie couldn’t see. Looking back at the computer, she asked, “How were you feeling on your run?”
“Fine.”
“Did you experience any out of place feeling or strong emotions?”
“I don’t think so. I love running—it’s my way of creating time and space from everything else.”
“But you shared it with your partner?”
“Yes, but…”
Dr. Carver waited patiently for Katie to explain.
“It’s different,” Katie finally said.
“How?”
“It’s… just different. It was more friend time instead of alone time.” Katie began to feel a pressure build in her chest. She took a deeper breath, trying to relax.
“So, you chose to run with your friend, your partner. He’s important to you?”
“Of course.”
“I know that you told me that he had recently been involved in a shooting and that he spent time in the hospital.”
“Yes.” Katie readjusted herself on the couch. She wanted to run, unsure of where, but just run away. The feeling haunted her. The room seemed to shrink around her, making it difficult to breathe.
“How did it make you feel?” the doctor gently pushed.
Katie wasn’t sure how to answer. She had all kinds of feelings: discomfort, dread, fear, anxiety. What did the doctor really want to know? Feeling uncontrollable emotions were a part of everyday life for Katie. Anxious energy shuddered through her body.
Dr. Carver kept her eyes on Katie. She pushed again, “How did it make you feel when Deputy McGaven was shot and ended up in the hospital?”
“How do you think it made me feel?” Katie’s voice cracked slightly under the pressure. “I felt responsible. What if he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Died?”
“Yes. What if he had died?”
“You would feel responsible?”
“Of course.”
“Did you push McGaven to make the decision he did?” Her voice was calm and therapeutic.
The doctor’
s calmness made Katie angry. She had no right to question how she had felt during the shooting incident. McGaven chose to follow Katie into a trap she had set up to draw out a killer. It had been his choice, but he had helped to save her life too.
“Katie, you know that you’re only responsible for yourself and not for the decisions that McGaven or others make.”
“Yes…” Katie pinched back tears. “But I’m involved. It’s what partners do. They have your back. I made an impulsive decision because I didn’t want anyone else to suffer the consequences…”
“You can’t carry the burden for everyone else… otherwise, there’s a breaking point. You can’t carry that. You have to give yourself permission to take care of yourself. To grieve when necessary. To give yourself a break.”
“You don’t understand. If the roles and situation were switched, I would have done the same thing for McGaven—without hesitation. And that’s… and that’s why it hurts so much. I’ve lost too many friends and family.” She leaned back and let tears roll down her cheeks. Grabbing a Kleenex from the table, she dabbed her eyes.
Cisco, feeling her change in energy, sat up and pushed even closer to her. He nuzzled the side of her face.
“Take a deep breath, Katie,” Dr. Carver said, never breaking from her calm and even tone.
“I’m sorry.” Katie was fighting to keep her emotions in check. “So, yes to your question. I feel responsible for McGaven being shot. I feel responsible for him being in that situation in the first place. I knew that he would be fine, but it dredged up so many situations. Such vivid recollections from the battlefield—like I’m still there. I saw death. I saw suffering. Too many times I was the last person a dying soldier saw before they passed. I cannot stop this endless loop of people I care for… dying…”
“You know that McGaven is fine. He’s alive. He’s well and he’s still your partner?”
It amazed Katie how unfazed Dr. Carver was by her outburst. The muscles in her face didn’t twitch. “Of course.”
“You must take one thing at a time—right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not about your partner—that’s not why you came to see me—but it’s a good place to start. You work together. He’s your friend. Enjoy that. Let the heaviness of “what if” or “what might” because of previous experiences go. It will take time. Write down every uncomfortable thought you have—it will be helpful for you to read and look back on.”
Last Girls Alive: A totally addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Katie Scott Book 4) Page 4