Last Girls Alive: A totally addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Katie Scott Book 4)

by Jennifer Chase

  Katie thought about it and how it related to the killer profile on her murder board.

  “Detective, I can see this is troubling for you,” Holmes said.

  “Yes, it is,” she said slowly, thinking about all the links with the name Ray, the title of the book, and being an unhappy child.

  “Well,” he said. “Would you like to see them?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Holmes left Katie and McGaven alone.

  “I’m sorry,” McGaven whispered.

  “For what? We’re running down leads. This phrase or description means something to the killer—we need to find out why. There are too many links that makes sense. We’re on to something here.”

  McGaven took a seat on the antique couch and frowned. “Not too comfortable.”

  “My dear deputy, those weren’t made for comfort and not someone of your stature either…” He held a small box. “Here they are.” Setting them down on the coffee table, he pulled out the first volume in the six-book series. “Here you go.”

  Katie took the book and was surprised that it was small and thin with a brown cover and gold lettering for the title and author—it was only forty pages long. It was more like a pamphlet or short story, she thought. The four-by-seven-inch book had yellowing pages, so she was careful handling it as she began to read. She flipped to the front where it said: Abacus Publishing 1942 copyright. It also said that the previous year 1941 it had been published in Italian. That made sense about the Italian writing. The killer was beginning to make more sense to her, and seemed to have a thing for the Italian language.

  Holmes gave McGaven the second book to look at, which was the same size.

  “Wow, it’s more like a journal,” McGaven stated as he thumbed through the book.

  Katie skimmed pages and read paragraphs, gleaning life sentiments and personal growing pains from the author—it was more appealing to teens and the younger generation. The main thing she figured out was that “Hunter-Gatherer” referred to being alienated and left to fend for himself. Hunter-Gatherer had been cited as being alone in this world, surviving mostly by hunting and fishing, and harvesting wild food. The obviously young author used the title as a metaphor for the growing pains of his young life.

  “What do you think?” asked McGaven.

  “I think we might be reading something that the killer feels is his memoirs.”

  “You want to see more?” asked Holmes.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” said the host as he approached one of the bookshelves, opened a small box and retrieved a small flash drive. “I have the entire series scanned into computer files.”

  “That would be fantastic, Mr. Holmes,” said Katie. “We’ll return it to you when our investigation is over.”

  Holmes gave Katie the drive and said, “My dear, if you ever want to mingle at one of my mystery parties, you just let me know.”

  “I will, thank you,” she said, slightly embarrassed by the invitation. “I have one more question for you.”

  “Of course. Anything I can answer that might help.”

  “Have you ever had anyone else refer to or ask you about Hunter-Gatherer, either at one of your parties, or anywhere else, for that matter?”

  He paused. Katie wasn’t sure if it was for dramatic effect or not, but he appeared to contemplate the question, searching his mind. “No, not to my knowledge and I’ve heard a lot of people talk about obscure books in my day, but nothing rings a bell.”

  Katie gave him the book back and pocketed the flash drive. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for taking the time to talk to us and lending us the digital copy.”

  “My absolute pleasure,” he said, and was suddenly gone. Vanished like a magician after entertaining an audience.

  Katie and McGaven were finally on the road back to the department. It was beginning to get dark and Katie was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t shut off from all the information they had learned today.

  “What the hell does all this mean?” asked McGaven.

  Katie noticed that he was looking even more tired as the day went on. “There’s definitely some clues and similarities for our killer. We’re getting to know more about him, what makes him tick, but no closer to finding him.”

  “We’re getting closer,” he said.

  “So what we have right now is… A book series about the feelings of what it’s like navigating life as a teenager and feeling like you’re all alone. Mary Rodriguez had a new boyfriend by the named of Ray – the same name of the person who Candace Harlan left the foster home with. The author of some obscure book series by the name of Ray. Coincidence?” She sighed. “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “Don’t forget that two of the county employees that worked at Elm House confirmed the problems, abuse, and unsettling incidents that took place,” McGaven added.

  “It gives us quite a bit to think about,” she said.

  Forty-Two

  Wednesday 0930 hours

  Katie had already been working for several hours before McGaven arrived. She couldn’t sleep. There was too much information swirling around in her mind—she was beginning to feel the clock ticking down for a new victim. It was like walking around a time bomb.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the victims, looking just as she had found them, reaching out to her from their graves, begging for her to find justice for them.

  Katie let out a much-needed exhalation—it was more out of frustration than being overwhelmed or uncertain. Again, they were facing a tremendous amount of information; each fact by itself didn’t mean much, but piecing certain ones together, it began to form a picture.

  It occurred to Katie, as she scanned the freshly updated board as well as the notes in her file, that there had to be a way to push the investigation forward and flesh out evidence—in a way that the department would be in agreement with.

  She ran scenarios as she chewed the end of her pen.

  Adding questions nagging at her, she wrote:

  Who is the unknown man in the black hoodie? Is he following the investigation? Why? Can we trap him?

  Who left the piece of paper in my locker directing us to the company that manufactures the metal storage containers for construction sites? ETL Express?

  Is Tanis or Candace the key to unlocking the secrets at Elm Hill Mansion?

  Who/where are the McKinzies?

  Who was the father of the baby that Mary Rodriguez aborted? Who was her Ray?

  Was the killer using the Hunter-Gatherer books as his play book? Why Italian?

  “Morning,” said McGaven as he burst into the office.

  “You always make such an entrance.”

  “Sorry I’m late, but I had a quick check-up about my injury,” he said. “And if you must know, everything is just fine.” He smiled. “What’s been going on? I’ve been thinking…” His voice tailed off as he read the new additions and the questions on the murder board. “Interesting.” He continued, “I’ve been running some reports and put in some favors to find out where the McKinzies are. Basically, what other organizations they are involved in. That’s a place to start. I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

  “Some things are making more sense,” she said.

  “Have you called Tanis Jones?”

  “I have, but she hasn’t returned my calls. She’s a bit skittish, maybe I’ll stop by her studio if I don’t hear from her soon.”

  “An idea occurred to me. Black-hoodie guy seems to be watching us and following us around. Right? So I think we need to set an acceptable trap.”

  “Acceptable trap?” she said, and laughed. “I like that. Is that what you’re going to put in your report to Ms. Undersheriff?”

  “Well? We need to be extra vigilant and extra by-the-book-Betty.”

  Katie laughed and said, “By-the-book-Betty? I’ve never heard that. Did you just make that up?”

  “Maybe.”

  She laughed again.

  �
��So, about trapping the unknown black-hoodie guy.”

  “Go on,” she said intrigued. Before McGaven had arrived, she was thinking they should do something similar. She loved the fact they were on the same page.

  “I figured you were going to go back to the Mary Rodriguez crime-scene area sometime.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it. I wanted to explore it again, since it was under such difficult conditions.”

  “Well, why don’t we use that as a trap?”

  “I like where you’re going, but obviously ‘they’ are keeping a close eye.”

  McGaven grabbed a piece of paper and drew a basic area of the park and where the body was located. “Okay, I was thinking that we could get surveillance cameras at these points,” he said, indicating areas of the trail and the main one heading to the crime-scene area. “It would be actual footage that someone has been following us.”

  “That’s great, but black-hoodie guy will no doubt see us setting up.”

  “Not if we have someone else do it.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, not sure who it would be.

  “Who do we both know that can set up surveillance without drawing attention?”

  “Of course,” she said. “John.”

  “Exactly. What if we have him set up some basic cameras? Even if hoodie guy sees him, it’ll look like a birdwatcher or nature lover setting up.”

  “That might work, and we’re keeping it by the book within our department. We have reason to believe that hoodie guy has been following the investigation, spying on us, and he was the one that trapped us, so this would be a way to get proof and hopefully record an identification.” She made a couple of notations on the sketch. “But we’re going to need these three areas watched so that there’s no chance of hoodie guy escaping without an ID.”

  “We can handle it,” he said with confidence.

  “You’re assuming two things: that the brass are going to let us do this; and that John has time to set up cameras for us.”

  “Of course he will.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I already asked him on the way in.”

  “Of course. What if our guy is armed? And what if he brings a friend to complicate things?”

  “Well, we’ll be ready. I’ve thought about that.”

  “You sound like you’re going to enjoy this too much.”

  “So what do you think?” McGaven asked intensely, waiting.

  “I think it might work.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s do it—I’ll run it by the ‘proper’ channels. It shouldn’t make anyone upset that we’re trying to find a possible witness in two homicide investigations.”

  “I’ll go set it up with John right now,” he said, standing up. “We’ll be there ahead of you tonight. I’ll text you when it’s time and hopefully hoodie guy will be watching… and with some good ol’-fashioned police luck… we’ll have our guy before the end of the night.”

  “And hopefully, we will have more answers than questions for a change.”

  Forty-Three

  Wednesday 1745 hours

  Heavy clouds and thunder brought some heavy rain bursts throughout the afternoon, but it was good that the weather was dismal because it would lessen the chance of running into anyone else at the park just before dark.

  Katie went home to take care of Cisco and then came back to work for about an hour, to make sure she had the okay from the proper channels, before McGaven gave her the go-ahead in a text: Ready to go.

  He and John had made sure that the areas were set with weatherproof cameras and they each had taken their watch positions around the creek.

  Katie was soon behind the wheel and slowly leaving the parking lot at the sheriff’s department. She was nervous. Mist filled her windshield as she drove along the deserted road heading to Stately Park. It seemed closer to midnight than approaching 6 p.m., and the darkness had an extra sinister quality to it—maybe it was just her imagination.

  Checking the rearview and side mirrors occasionally, Katie didn’t think that she had been followed but she had a nagging feeling, a strong gut instinct: the unknown hoodie guy had been at some of the other locations too. She’d felt uneasy at the mystery bookstore and even looked around several times when they had arrived at Bella Vista.

  Another text came in from McGaven:

  What’s taking so long… cold feet?

  Katie’s return text: Taking it slow.

  McGaven: Copy that.

  Katie turned into the parking lot at Stately Park and slowed her speed. The rain had left large puddles and two large chuckholes near the entrance to the trails.

  “Great,” she mumbled to herself, navigating around the water traps. The Jeep bobbed and weaved until she found a spot where she didn’t have to exit the vehicle into mud or ankle-deep water. Double checking her weapons, she secured each appropriately and tucked her cell phone into a pocket. Pulling on a lightweight rain jacket, Katie took a little bit more time than necessary making sure she felt comfortable and ready to go.

  Opening the Jeep door, she quickly stepped out and then secured the vehicle. There was about an hour left before it got really dark, but the storm began to build with force. She had a flashlight if needed.

  The crisp evening air hit her sinuses and cooled her face. The wonderful smells of the forest made Katie relax and want to stay outside in the wilderness for a while. Her boots hit the walking path quietly, no sound emitted from underneath her feet. She wondered where McGaven and John were, but they knew where she was. She almost cracked a smile, but instead, she kept her focus forward and headed to the dumping area next to the creek where Mary Rodriguez was found. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the image.

  As she continued the easy hike the screech from an owl and movement of nesting birds in the trees around her made Katie more intensely aware that she was alone. In her opinion, it was probably the worst night to try and draw out anyone who had been following her. But she wasn’t going to stop now. A twig snapped about fifty feet from her but Katie kept her cool demeanor as if she didn’t hear a thing and continued walking to the creek bank.

  She casually looked from side to side, making her way toward the creek. The rushing stream was louder than it was before and obviously had picked up more water and momentum after the rain. The closer she got to the crime scene, the louder the rising creek became. It was more humid here and the air seemed so heavy you could cut it with a knife. The ground was saturated and slippery beneath her feet.

  Weaving around a few pine trees and dodging low-hanging limbs, Katie caught herself before she slipped into the running stream. Mud mixed with rainfall made the trail slippery and uneven. The shoreline where Mary Rodriguez’s body was found was now under several inches of water. That struck her.

  Did the killer want the body to be completely submerged?

  To wash away the evidence?

  Katie stayed a couple of feet from the edge, but now surveyed the area in a slightly different way. She wondered if the killer knew these areas well. Perhaps it was a place he had hiked many times before.

  Prickly bumps went down her arms and neck, making her shiver. Looking up, Katie could see the yellowish orange ball of the sunset between the trees, casting weird morphing shadows all around her.

  She thought she would make her way down further, but on second thoughts she turned around to head back up to her Jeep.

  Standing four feet from Katie was a dark figure dressed in dark pants and a hoodie covering his face. She blinked twice to see if it was an illusion. The figure stood completely still, like a statue, arms at his sides, looking directly at Katie.

  “Who are you?” Katie said forcefully.

  No response or movement.

  “What do you want?” She carefully reached her hand inside her pocket and touched the handle of her small Beretta. “Why are you following me?” Katie’s voice sounded distant, almost getting lost in the increas
ing wind developing all around them—rain was sure to follow.

  The figure moved slightly, shifting his weight to one side.

  Katie realized that the guy was getting ready to run, so she decided to make the first move and lunged forward. The figure turned and sprinted upward along the trail back toward the entrance. Katie thought the guy she was chasing was slower and more slight in stature than the last time she saw him. She picked up the pace and was able to grab the back of his sweatshirt and was about to tackle him, when he turned toward her, shoving her backward.

  Katie hit the muddy trail and slid back down the rest of the way—first on her back and then slipping around on her left side. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from falling. But she reached out, trying to grab anything—a branch, a bush, the side of a tree trunk—anything. Everything slipped past her clawing hands.

  Realizing that the rushing creek was near, Katie continued to flail her arms and legs to stop the momentum. Nothing helped. She screamed, a multiple echo ringing throughout the forest and through the canyons.

  The impact of the splash rattled her insides and her jaw clacked her teeth together. Instant cold permeated her entire body. Shuddering, Katie fought the current, not knowing where she would end up or what was in the water.

  The water grew shallower, and her speed subsided, and she was able to get her legs underneath her body and stand up. Falling a few more times, Katie finally managed to get control.

  Shivering and breathing hard, the adrenalin was flushing throughout her body in a manic manner. Katie looked up and saw movement and heard voices in a heated exchange. Gathering her wits, she climbed onto the creek bank and slowly stood up. Her legs were rubbery and the uneven footing made her view blurry. She heard more voices arguing.

  Climbing up toward the building commotion, Katie took careful steps so as not to slip and start the entire falling process again. She crept the rest of the way, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence.