“Two things. This is where it gets a little interesting. Here’s the list of owners since the Slovnicks.” He pulled out a piece of paper from a file showing a dozen names and gave it to Katie. “Nothing unusual, except the fact that most only owned the home for short periods of time, a year, three years, and most never lived in it until Sara and Jonathan McKinzie who lived there for almost twenty years. They then sold to MDI, Magnum Development, Incorporated.”
“Do you have any contact information for the McKinzies?”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m taking you on a wild goose chase. I couldn’t find anything else about them. It’s almost as if…”
“They’re ghosts,” said Katie. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It most likely means that they were bogus names. But why?”
“Keeping identities hidden usually means that they have something to hide…”
“Something criminal,” she said. “Well, thank you, Shane, it’s been interesting as usual. I’m not sure how this fits into the two homicides yet—if at all.”
“Detective, I told you I had two things.”
“Oh yes, what else do you have?” Her thoughts were already a couple steps ahead, wanting to hear what Dr. Dean had to say about the Rodriguez body.
Shane got up from the desk and pulled out two sets of architectural drawings. Katie joined him, peering over his shoulder as he unrolled the plans.
“Here are the original plans for the mansion,” he said, showing Katie the dates and the different pages depicting the plumbing, electrical, and the different stories of the house. “Now, here are the plans that were submitted for permits.”
Katie looked at both and they seemed the same—the dimensions, floors, and general layout. She didn’t immediately see any difference. But her eye caught the staircase, something was different. “The staircase,” she said.
“Good eye, Detective. You’re correct. The staircase area was actually made smaller.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know. To make more storage space, perhaps, or to make the stairs more aesthetically pleasing? I don’t know, but I thought it was worth bringing to your attention.”
Katie scrutinized the drawings for a moment.
“Have you been inside the mansion?” he asked.
“I took a brief walk around the mansion and property, and looked at the basement.”
“You might want to check out the staircase next time you are there. You know, sometimes in houses of this age they would build extra storage, a narrow staircase for servants, or a small servant’s quarters. The Slovnicks seemed to have enough money to pay for a servant or nanny.”
She nodded, taking it all in as he pulled out a large legal-sized envelope filled with a stack of paperwork. “Here you go, Detective. I made copies of everything I had and what we’ve talked about.”
“Thank you so much, Shane, for your hard work. As I’ve said before, I wish everyone who helped with criminal investigations were as thorough and professional as you.”
He smiled and couldn’t quite keep Katie’s gaze. “Thank you, Detective.”
“Oh, I have a question for you but… you have to keep it confidential.”
“Of course,” he said, perked up, his eyes wide with wonder.
“I don’t know if this means anything. I wouldn’t normally leak this confidential information so early in the investigations, but since the Elm Hill Mansion has such a colorful past I just thought…”
“It’s okay, Detective—really. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”
Katie smiled and said, “Do the words ‘raccoglitore di cacciatori’ mean anything to you?”
Without hesitation, he said, “It means hunter-gatherer.”
“You know Italian?” she asked.
“Yes, and Spanish and German.”
“Does hunter-gatherer mean anything to you—besides the obvious?”
“There’s an old book series that was written in the late 1940s based on one young man’s experiences of finding his way in life—where he fits in and what his life means. He travelled the cities, rural areas, and many countries to try and find himself. It’s quite interesting and a bit unsettling. It’s called The Hunter-Gatherer: One Man’s Journey.”
Katie was temporarily at a loss for words. “You say this is a book series from the 1940s?”
“Yeah, I like old stuff, what can I say? It’s actually well written by… the author’s name escapes me. Sorry.”
“How many books are there?”
“Uh, four or five. No wait, six books.”
Katie jotted down some notes. “You definitely have what it takes to be a detective, you know,” she said, though numbers raced through her mind: six girls in foster care, six books in the series, and five buried stillborn babies. Could there be some connection there?
“Nah, I love it right where I am.”
Katie took the envelope from him. “I believe you’re right. You are right where you should be.” She turned to leave and said, “If you think of anything else, you know how to reach me.”
“Yes, Detective—I will certainly do that. Good luck. Do you need an escort back to the main floor?”
“I can manage, thank you.” She turned to leave, gazing at all of the historical information around her and still amazed about all she had learned about Elm Hill Mansion.
Twenty
Wednesday 1635 hours
Katie rushed back through the forensics division of the sheriff’s department to meet up with McGaven, but stopped when she heard voices coming from John’s office. Glancing in, she could see two technicians and John having a meeting, so she kept moving to her office at the end of the hall.
The office door was slightly ajar, and she could hear low voices from within. Her gut instinct put her on high alert as she pushed open the door. Leaning on the corner of her desk was Undersheriff Dorothy Sullivan, dressed in a deputy uniform instead of her expensive suit and spike heels. Her makeup had been pared back a little too.
Both McGaven and the undersheriff turned to Katie as she stood in the doorway.
McGaven raised his eyebrows at Katie, implying that he had no idea why the second highest officer at the sheriff’s department had paid an unannounced visit to their cold-case office.
“Detective Scott,” the undersheriff said. There was something in the way she pronounced “Scott” that made Katie cringe.
“Undersheriff Sullivan?” Katie replied.
“Oh no, Sullivan or Dottie is just fine,” she said and smiled broadly as she stood up, several inches taller than Katie, even without her heels.
Katie returned a smile as she dropped her briefcase and the large envelope from Shane on the desk. “Is there anything that we can do for you?”
“Oh no. I’m just making the rounds and talking with everyone—getting acquainted. I wanted to see how the cold-case unit operated. Very clever use of space here. It’s great, actually,” she said looking around and gazing at Katie’s whiteboard scribbled with notes and next leads. “I won’t keep you two. I can see that you’re busy.” She hesitated before exiting, as if on cue. “I appreciate your reports on the Harlan homicide. Keep up the great work.” She turned and then faced Katie directly. “How’s lunch sometime next week?”
“Uh, sure.” Katie tried to sound enthusiastic, but she wasn’t looking forward to being chatty with her boss or having a “girls’ lunch” either.
“Your uncle said how much you like burgers, so let’s meet for burgers then.”
“Of course. Text me the date and time,” said Katie.
Undersheriff Sullivan left.
“Well, that was exciting,” said McGaven, not looking up from the computer screen.
Katie put her index finger to her lips—giving the signal to remain quiet for a moment. She peered out the door and everything was clear. “She’s gone now.”
“Katie made a new friend,” said
McGaven teasingly.
“Thanks. Why don’t you go instead?”
“C’mon, a burger power-lunch will do you good.”
“Yeah, no.”
“Here’s info and background on the girls,” he said and handed Katie a sheet of paper. “To add to your murder board.”
“Okay. Wow, not a lot of information.”
“I was a bit surprised too—but they were essentially thrown away, taken into foster care and thrown back out. I couldn’t find a residence for Tanis Jones, but there’s her last place of employment. It’s something.”
Katie began writing an overview of the young women who were the last to stay at Elm Hill Mansion. “Okay, Tanis Jones works at Sunshine Gifts & Antiques. We’ll have to pay her a visit. Heather Lawson moved out of state to Kansas and there are no records for her. Terry Slaughter – no information. She has quite a few aliases. And Karen Beck committed suicide in prison.”
Katie stood back and sighed.
“What’s up?” McGaven asked.
“Just looking at the short lives of these young women. How things could have been different if they had homes, families, someone who cared. It just makes me sad.”
“For all intents and purposes, we have to move forward assuming that Candace Harlan is alive,” he said slowly. “Heather Lawson and Terry Slaughter, too.” McGaven scrolled through pages of information. “I believe that Lawson and Slaughter most likely changed their names. It will be difficult to find them, but we can, if needed.”
“Unless one of them becomes our next victim,” Katie said sourly.
“Hey, you’re not getting all negative on me now,” he said.
“Never.” She studied the board. “We need to talk with Tanis Jones.”
McGaven looked up. “Let’s go.”
A buzz alerted Katie that there was a text. She glanced at her phone and saw that it was from Chad, but dismissed it, promising herself she would get back to him later.
“Have we received any emails from forensics or the medical examiner? We need to talk to him about Mary Rodriguez.” Katie hadn’t had a chance to open her messages and knew that McGaven was always cc’d on any reports.
“Nope.”
“What about that CPS officer? Has he called you back?”
“Wait a minute. Oh yes… Jerry Weaver, CAPSW.”
“That’s quite a title.”
“It means he’s a certified advanced practice social worker and CPA officer.”
“We need for him to get us all the information about the last six girls at the Elm Hill Mansion.”
“I’ve put in another call to him. We keep missing each other, so I gave him your number as well.”
“Good. Updates… okay, let’s see what kind of evidence picture we get here…” she said and began printing her newest information.
McGaven read as she wrote.
“So, the mansion was actually built in 1894 with the landscaping completed in 1895. It is 403 Elm Hill Road.”
“Okay, makes sense.”
“The original owners were German immigrants Emily and Frederick Von Slovnick. He made a considerable income in the railroad and building business—so he built this beautiful mansion for his bride.”
“That was a big deal back then.”
“This is where it gets unusual. According to available records, Emily had several miscarriages with no living children. Then Frederick poisoned his wife and took his own life.”
“Wow, tragic,” he said.
Katie stepped back and said, “The only thing that seems to stand out about the house is that the building plans differ—from the original to the submitted. It seems that there is a discrepancy in the staircase.”
“Placement or size?”
“It’s actually smaller now.”
McGaven thought about it for a moment. “We’ll have to check it out and see what’s what.”
“Okay, this is who we have so far…” she said, and continued her lists.
Current People of Interest:
Unknown man/boy that Candace Harlan met and ran away with.
Robert (Bob) Bramble – construction foreman for the Elm Hill Mansion Project. Found body.
Amy Striker—emergency contact for Candace Harlan (dentist office)—address 1457 Green Street at the Parker Division.
Unidentified man – hooded runner at Parker Division.
Tanis Jones—only local foster girl. Last place of employment (current) Sunshine Gifts & Antiques.
Shelly McDonald—in prison, confirmed that there were disciplinary actions and police were dispatched. Linked to Deputy Hugh Keller.
Sara and Jonathan McKinzie – previous owners of Elm Hill Mansion.
Deputy Hugh Keller—dispatched to Elm Hill Mansion domestic disturbance, disturbing the peace, missing persons report. Implied relationship with Shelly McDonald? Was relieved of duties just after the mansion closed down for good. Works as a bartender at The Well.
“I think that’s about it for now,” she said. “It’s—” She stopped talking and struggled with her lists.
“What’s wrong?” McGaven asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, we’ll just have to keep pushing forward and see what shakes out. This isn’t all of it—just what we know now.”
“I guess you’re right. Have you found out anything else about ‘hunter-gatherer’?”
“Just what you have, but I’m searching social media, blog sites, and chat rooms to see if there’s any connection with special groups or crime sprees—anything of interest. I’m also searching the tri-county area for other homicides that might resemble ours.”
“As a stroke of luck, I asked Shane at the county archives if ‘hunter-gatherer’ meant anything and he said that there are six books in a series with that name from the 1940s about a young man and his travels.”
“That’s interesting and convenient. Those books sound so abstract, but I’ll see what else I can find out,” he said.
“The killer taking the extra steps to carve those words on his victims’ backs—and his fascination with Italian. Says something…”
“Like he’s crazy.”
Katie chuckled. “No, it says something about his life, an event, or his childhood.”
“You mean some defining moment?”
“More like some type of a lifestyle he hates or loves, the way he was brought up, or something that isn’t so obvious. But it is big for him.” Looking back at the board, she said, “Everything has been set in motion because of Candace Harlan. We find out where she is and I think everything will begin to fall into place.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “Let’s get out of the office.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“John is having some type of meeting with his tech so I can’t ask him about the evidence, and I haven’t heard from Dr. Dean about Mary Rodriguez’s autopsy. And it’s a bit too early to catch Hugh Keller at work… So let’s see what we can find out from Tanis Jones. We may need to have patrol check in on her periodically. I want to make sure she and the other girls are safe.”
“On it. I’m still trying to track down Heather Lawson and Terry Slaughter.”
“Oh, and I have a surprise for you,” she said, smiling and gathering up her keys, phone, and notes.
Standing up and slipping his jacket on, he said, “Can it get any better?”
“Cisco is going to join us.”
“That’s epic.”
Twenty-One
Wednesday 1705 hours
A light mist filtered over the countryside, covering the sky and making the hour seem later than it was. The leaves were falling at a quickened pace and the usual brilliant shades of nature’s greens were just a bit duller than normal. Katie flipped on the windshield wipers and grumbled that the blades were in dire need of replacing as every swipe made a grinding noise and streaked her view.
A soft whine emitted from the back, as Cisco’s head and attentive ears pushed their way in between the driver and p
assenger’s seats. He gazed out the window and began to softly pant.
“I hear you, big guy,” said McGaven as he peered through the streaky windshield. “I hate rain too.”
“It’s not rain. It’s barely misting,” said Katie as she punched the accelerator and they rocketed down the road.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Everything in a homicide investigation is a fire—that’s homicide 101.”
“Yeah, well I want to get there in one piece.”
“Haven’t you always?” she said.
“Point taken.”
Katie drove toward a popular tourist area where many visitors stopped to buy supplies and gifts before heading off on various hiking trails and to local camping areas. She slowed her speed at the high street and began searching for a little shop called Sunshine Gifts & Antiques amongst many quaint shops with colorful banners fluttering in the breeze.
Spotting a parking spot, Katie said, “This place is as good as any,” and swung the car into the place with ease. For a moment she watched as a couple walked by slowly drinking coffee from a local java house and stopping to admire a window display before moving on. Cisco put his muzzle to the open crack of a back window trying to get a noseful of all the wonderful smells of the streets and people passing by the car.
Scanning the small shops, Katie and McGaven quickly found the gift shop and entered. Pushing the door open, a high-pitched three-step chime alerted the staff that someone new had arrived. The shop was small, but filled with gifts of every kind: key chains; journal books; candles; postcards; toys; jewelry; books; T-shirts and aprons printed with silly phrases. These items filled every inch of the space and most of the walls.
“Hello?” said Katie patiently waiting.
The smell of incense was sickly and overbearing. Katie hadn’t given any thought of her anxiety in more than a day, but being in a cluttered store made her uneasy. Her mind kept flashing to the smell of smoke and burning buildings, making her tense and lightheaded. Once that uneasy feeling had been released, she knew what followed—fight or flight.
Last Girls Alive: A totally addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Katie Scott Book 4) Page 10