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

by Jennifer Chase

  Sitting straight up on the gurney with a surge of anxiety as the medic tried to calm her, Katie looked desperately for McGaven.

  Cisco jumped up and huddled next to her.

  Her head cleared. “Gav,” she yelled. “It’s Jerry… she kept saying. “It’s Jerry…”

  He jogged up to her. “Take it easy, Katie.” He tried to make her lie down and relax.

  “No. You don’t understand. Have you caught him?” she said, trying to catch her breath. It felt as if she had run a marathon.

  “Who?”

  “It’s Jerry.”

  “Jerry,” he repeated.

  “Yes, it’s Jerry Weaver.”

  “The social worker? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, he trapped me at the house with Shane. And… and…”

  McGaven grabbed a deputy. “We need officers at Jerry Weaver’s house, he’s a county social worker. Do it now. He’s considered armed and dangerous.” He thought about the options and said, “There could be a victim with him. Use caution.”

  The deputy began radioing the information and took off to his patrol car.

  “NO… no, you don’t understand,” she said.

  Chad and the sheriff approached.

  “Take it easy,” said McGaven.

  “No, we don’t have time. We have to get there.”

  “What do you mean, Katie?”

  “I think…” she said, her mind spinning fast. His build, his access to the reports, his meetings at the house, and his contact and personal information with the girls. “It makes sense…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Katie realized, of course, it had been Jerry Weaver at the prison, covering his face but readjusting the clipboard to sign in using his left hand, and he must’ve said something so threatening to McDonald that she killed herself.

  And Candace’s reluctance to say “Ray” was the social worker. She probably thought she’d get him in trouble or he might harm her. His wording about how he couldn’t make unannounced visits, the bipolar assessment that was completely wrong, yet in reality he could have intervened if there was any indication of abuse.

  Jerry Weaver used the abuse as a way to the girls—a twisted way that he was going to save them because he figured out how to survive his past through the Hunter-Gatherer book.

  “It’s him!” she said desperately.

  “Who?” said McGaven.

  “Jerry Weaver is Ray… Ray is Jerry Weaver.”

  Fifty-Four

  McGaven drove at excessive speeds—taking the corners with haste and expertise. Katie rode shotgun against all orders from paramedics, Chad, and the sheriff. She was fine, in her opinion, and promised that she would get checked out once Jerry Weaver was in custody. Once the killer had been caught and wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

  After hearing back from Spreckles PD, the fingerprints on a tea mug at Tanis Jones’s apartment came back as Jerry Weaver’s and everything became a blur from there. Weaver’s house was found vacant. There was no clue to where he had gone.

  Katie hung on to the arm rest and pushed away the pain that was now, ultimately, flooding her body. Her legs felt numbed to everything, but that didn’t stop her. She gritted her teeth every time they drove over a bump as it jarred her neck, causing excruciating pain to explode down her back.

  After Jerry Weaver’s house was found empty, Katie knew exactly where he would be hiding and hopefully Tanis would be there too. Once she realized Jerry was Ray, it was easy to read his motives for doing things and how he manipulated his victims to fit his fantasy. When his victims saw right through him, he killed them. There was no other choice. Once they didn’t fit his version of his fantasy—they were gone.

  Katie recalled several of the clues that they had uncovered and ran them over and over in her mind. Shelly McDonald committing suicide after receiving a visit from a man that signed in as Ray Roland, which just happened to be the name of the author of the “Hunter-Gatherer” series. Candace Harlan seemed genuine, but there were a few things bothering Katie about her statements. Her flippancy about Ray Conner, who didn’t exist. Her being at the Elm Hill property during the time where Katie and McGaven were trapped in the metal storage container and almost killed. Candace’s Ray was described as average, business type, quiet, older, and had helped her escape the conditions at the mansion. And Mary’s Ray made her believe that he was the one—the perfect man for her.

  Katie speculated that Weaver had had a horrible childhood and spent time immersing himself in a book series that most never heard of—but why would he want to kill the girls at Elm Hill and carve the title of his favorite books? It obviously satisfied an internal need, a fantasy, a way that he could be in control. By basing his life on a fictional character, it made him feel like he was finally in control, that he was important.

  “You okay?” asked McGaven, who had been staring at her as they stopped at a traffic light.

  “Of course. I’m fine.” She forced a smile even though she wasn’t.

  McGaven kept driving, passing through downtown, and heading northeast to the outskirts of the area. Not much to see except for some industrial business and the railroad which drove right through it. They were heading to the Sunny Motel—the one where Candace Harland and Ray stayed for three months some five years ago. Patrol was on standby, ready for backup less than a mile away from the location when McGaven gave the word.

  McGaven eased up on his speed when they saw the big motel sign with a red dot described by Candace Harlan. The sign was the only thing that looked decent and relatively new. The old two-story motel was an L-shape structure and bordered the property next to the railroad where there were dozens of old train cars stored. Most were heavily tagged with graffiti. Tall weeds had taken over all around them, contained only by a drooping barbwire fence.

  McGaven pulled off the road next to an abandoned gas station. The car was blocked from view at the motel. He had called the motel and spoken with the manager, and after some finessing, he found out the largest room with two sleeping areas and a kitchen was rented by a Ray Roland.

  “I want you to stay here,” said McGaven with a serious expression. No smiles. No jokes. He was dead serious.

  “You know I can’t do that. We’re partners. We have each other’s back.”

  He shook his head.

  “C’mon, I’ll hang back. Just give me the shotgun,” she said, almost matter-of-fact. As if it was any other day trying to finagle her way into the situation.

  McGaven leaned forward. “I know you’re tough, but think just for a moment what you’ve been through today. You should be resting at home or in the hospital under observation—resting.”

  Katie opened her mouth but decided not to say anything. She sat back and tried to relax.

  “I’m not joking around.” He stared at her, anticipating what she might say. Opening the door, he added, “I’ll be back, I’m just going to have a look around.” He left, not saying another word.

  Katie watched McGaven move stealthily toward the motel. He went around the back way and disappeared from her view.

  She spied the keys dangling in the ignition. Thinking for a moment, she swiped them and stepped out of the car. Opening the trunk, there were several duffel bags McGaven had packed. She knew he had one for stakeouts, but there was also another one with his backup pistol. Unzipping the bags, she quickly found the gun and made sure that the magazine was fully loaded. It didn’t take her long to fully protect herself with firepower and a heavy sweatshirt as she closed the trunk. She thought about the bulletproof vest, but didn’t want to waste another moment.

  Katie didn’t intend on running in like a banshee, she wanted to be prepared as backup. Surveying the property, so many variables were obvious to her. First, there were several areas where someone could hide and ambush the police, and there were also several exits making it more difficult if the killer fled and hid somewhere in the brush nearby.

  The parking lot was in dire need of repaving,
with several deep holes. Two orange cones had been placed near them, but they were faded from being in the sun for such a long period of time. There were only three cars parked—one pickup truck, an SUV, and another small compact car. She assumed one was the manager’s and one of the other two was most likely Weaver’s.

  Two patrol cars rolled up and slowly drove around and parked just out of sight. McGaven must’ve called in for backup.

  The two deputies jogged down the side of the property along a narrow trail in between the heavily overgrown area. They too disappeared with the weeds as cover.

  Katie spied an area just above the motel near the storage yard where she could watch and move in if needed. Moving quickly, her muscles began to loosen up, making it easier for her advance. She observed the two deputies and McGaven priming themselves at the motel room door—it was last one on the end at the second level.

  She heard McGaven give the law enforcement orders, “Jerry Weaver, this is the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department! Open the door!” McGaven stood strong with the two patrol officers beside him. “Kick it in,” he said, and stepped out of the way.

  With ease, one of the patrol officers stomp-kicked the door, allowing the frame to splinter and then the door burst open with a loud bang.

  Each of the officers moved inside with furtiveness, their weapons trained in front of them ready to use force if needed. Katie heard them yell, confirming they had cleared the rooms.

  “Clear!” The main living room.

  “Clear!” The bedroom and bathroom areas—McGaven!

  “Clear!” The kitchen and dining area.

  To Katie’s surprise, the two deputies and McGaven quickly exited. She watched the anguish on McGaven’s face. He was angry, but upset by what he had seen.

  Katie left her position and jogged up to the motel, taking the stairs two at a time.

  McGaven saw her and said, “I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.” He was still visibly shaken and his voice remained low.

  “What is it?” she said breathless.

  “Jerry Weaver isn’t here.”

  She glanced around. “Oh, he’s around. There’s no way he’s not.”

  “Based on what?” he said.

  “Based on the fact he thinks he’s so smart. Look, he’s outsmarted us twice before and got away. I bet he’s watching right now. I’d bet my badge on it.”

  McGaven hesitated and thought about Katie’s rationale, trusted her expertise, and then turned to the patrol officers. “Take a look around the property. Check every possible hiding place. Turn your radios down. Stay alert.”

  Katie pushed past McGaven and entered the motel room. She wanted to see for herself—Weaver’s lair.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She ignored him and went inside the cramped room with tattered and worn-out furniture. Everything appeared to be mismatched thrift-store buys. Food remains, flies, and miscellaneous wrappers were strewn all over the table, counter, and small sofa. Mouse droppings were scattered across the floor near a small opening at the end of the wall.

  Katie walked through the cramped living area and moved into a small room. It was mostly dark, making everything obscured. The rancid food smell was overwhelming, but there was another smell vying for attention that caught Katie’s senses, triggering her to slow her pace.

  “Katie,” said McGaven. This time with more urgency as he followed her into the room.

  Looking at the other end of the dank room, to Katie’s horror, there was a nude woman, tied to a chair and slumped over, and it was easy to see the letters carved into her back even in the gloom. She still approached with caution as the stench was overwhelming and growing in intensity with every step. Katie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman. Her thin body didn’t move. The skin stretched over bone was grayish and had a slight iridescent shadow about it. Her long dark hair covered her face. It was clear to see that the rope around her neck had been tightened too much. Looking down, she saw her feet, ankles, and calves were partially eaten away by rodents—tiny chew marks were visible.

  Katie put her hand to her mouth, to some extent in horror and partially to keep the smell away from her nose.

  McGaven moved closer to her. “Don’t, Katie.”

  Dapples of the victim’s blood were scattered across the floor in an almost intricate design of dots and then full-sized spatters. They weren’t bright red, but dull, dark, and almost rust-colored.

  With one hand, Katie slowly moved the woman’s hair, noting that her face was extremely pale and gaunt. Katie recognized the resemblance to the lovely, quiet woman that she and McGaven had spoken to.

  Tanis Jones appeared dead, but her skin was still warm.

  On a small table, there were various bottles of shampoo and ink. In a large shallow bowl, there was a mixture of jewelry, fingernails, barrettes, and groupings of hair. His trophies.

  McGaven touched Katie’s arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. We have to call it in for the homicide and forensics.”

  “Why?” she said. “Why did he need to do this?” She was devastated and weary as she looked around the room.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said gently. “C’mon.”

  A quiet gasp of air. It was faint but discernible.

  “Wait,” said Katie. She knelt next to Tanis and gently pulled her hair from her face again. Pressing her fingers against Tanis’s neck, Katie was able to detect a pulse. “She’s alive!”

  “What?” said McGaven.

  “She’s alive. There’s a faint pulse. Call an ambulance.” Hope filled her heart and she silently prayed for a miracle.

  McGaven made the call.

  Katie found a pocket knife on the table and began carefully cutting Tanis’s restraints. “C’mon, Tanis, you got this. Keep breathing… Gav, get a blanket or sheet. Anything we can wrap her in until they arrive.”

  McGaven and Katie carefully wrapped Tanis and laid her on one of the beds. She began to make tiny noises and it became clearer that she was breathing shallow, but it was consistent.

  Katie waited outside on the flimsy decking with a wobbly metal railing as McGaven stood next to her. She couldn’t get Tanis’s face out of her mind and the fact that she had been left to die in that condition. She couldn’t imagine the horrors and suffering Tanis had been through. If only she had figured out who the killer was sooner, then they would have found Tanis sooner. She felt weak and defeated as she stood there trying to act like everything was okay—when it clearly wasn’t.

  She watched the deputies search the overgrown area and thought they were going to find only ticks and mosquitos.

  Trying to calm her nerves, the only thing she could do was breathe and focus. The simple act of taking air in and out made things better. She kept her focus present and her mind on finding Jerry Weaver.

  Something shiny caught Katie’s attention—it flashed twice. She kept her head low but turned her gaze toward one of the train cars, not making it obvious. She knew instinctively that Jerry Weaver was hiding out there, and once they left, he would make his escape and maybe avoid law enforcement in the future.

  She wasn’t going to allow him to slip away again… He wasn’t going to hurt anyone else—ever.

  Katie walked up to McGaven and whispered, “He’s in the fourth train car with the blue graffiti.” She backed away. “I’ll head back toward the car and go around the long way as backup. You and the deputies can confront him.”

  “We can take care of this,” he said softly.

  “I’m just the insurance that he’s not going to get away this time. There won’t be enough time to call in for more reinforcements. Besides,” she said, “there will be cops coming here because of the crime scene, but that will ten or twelve minutes. Every minute counts.”

  McGaven gave her a look, a stern stare, before he jogged away to meet up with the two other deputies.

  Dark clouds skirted across the sky, making the day darker than normal. A few drops of rain escaped and dappled the ground. Rolling
thunder rounded out the gloomy day with a deep rumble. It seemed fitting to Katie as she moved silently through the weeds on the other side of the train yard.

  Some of the area was piled with trash and plastic items wedged underneath the dried overgrowth. Katie kept her eyes focused on the train car. With no movement or voices, she thought that the deputies were searching farther away than the area she had explained to McGaven.

  She came to a clearing where there were discarded canned goods and a pot. Looking closer, she found blankets and large trash bags filled with what she presumed were clothes and more bedding. It was a place that transients occupied and that made her pause. Where were they now?

  Looking around cautiously, Katie realized that she was exposed and needed to take cover. She pulled McGaven’s gun from underneath her jacket and moved faster, zigzagging around old machine parts and equipment until she faced one of the train cars. She continued moving until she was behind the car in question.

  Katie waited.

  She heard steady heavy footsteps approaching. Pressing back against the train compartment wheel, she readied herself for an attack, or to become backup for her colleagues.

  More thunder reverberated all around her, making her startle.

  “Come out now!” yelled McGaven, shattering the quiet. “Let’s see some hands now!”

  “I see you, Deputy,” came a voice Katie recognized. She knew that her assessment was correct and Weaver was hiding out, watching and waiting for his opportunity to slip away again.

  “Put down the weapon, Weaver!” yelled McGaven again.

  That’s all Katie needed to hear—that her partner and two other deputies faced being shot. With desperation she looked around the area, spying a ladder on the train car. Pocketing the gun, she climbed up the ladder without making a sound. It was rickety and she wasn’t sure if it was going to hold her weight, but she made it to the top.

  Lying on her belly, she inched forward until she looked down on the top of Weaver’s head; he was waving a gun as McGaven and the deputies had their weapons trained on him.