Her Last Whisper: An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Katie Scott Book 2)

by Jennifer Chase

  A soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Come in,” she said.

  A stocky deputy with close-cropped sandy hair dressed in uniform entered. “Detective Scott?” he addressed.

  Katie stood and said, “Yes, please come in.” Extending her hand, she continued, “Nice to meet you, Deputy Windham.”

  He shook Katie’s hand and took a seat across from her.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

  “No problem, anything I can do to help.”

  Katie shut several file folders and pulled the one for Amanda Payton, leaving it front and center on the desk. “I came across this kidnapping case for Amanda Payton from six months ago.”

  The deputy nodded. “I’m glad you’re looking into it,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “Something didn’t sit right with me.”

  Katie opened the deputy’s incident report. “I read your report several times and you were very thorough. I really appreciate the photos you and your partner took of Ms. Payton and the scene at the time.”

  He leaned forward. “You have to understand. That entire incident was difficult to forget. I’ve never had an experience like that with a victim.”

  Katie realized that her patrol experience of a little over two years paled to what the deputy must have witnessed in his decade of service.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words as you remember it?” she said.

  He sighed and appeared uncomfortable. Pausing a moment to get his thoughts together, he began, “My partner and I, Deputy Miller, were patrolling the Basin Woods area on third watch. It was raining on and off. There was no activity, no calls for service, and we were thinking about getting some coffee. What seemed like out of nowhere this young woman stumbled into the street barely dressed and we almost hit her. We stopped to help her and got her into the patrol car and asked her repeatedly what happened. We saw her injuries on her wrists and ankles. She was absolutely terrified and wouldn’t talk to us at first, but she finally told us her name, some landmarks where she had been held, and that she had been kidnapped.”

  “Why was this case dropped so quickly? She claimed to have been kidnapped.”

  He sighed. “Detective Petersen, the detective who caught the case, felt that there was nothing more to it without corroborating evidence and Ms. Payton had since been uncooperative. Basically there was nothing more we could do. Since he didn’t want to close the case, he downgraded it to a cold case to keep it open in case new evidence became available.”

  Katie frowned. “I haven’t spoken to Detective Petersen yet, but it’s obvious that’s the next step.”

  “He’s…” the deputy stopped talking.

  “He’s what?”

  “Detective Petersen has been here a long time and he’s a good cop. He doesn’t take well to people questioning his work, shall we say. I’m just giving you a heads-up.”

  “Noted. Thank you.” Katie had never been intimidated yet by a senior police officer, and she wasn’t going to start any time soon.

  Deputy Windham readjusted his weight in the chair, obviously uncomfortable with having spoken ill of one of his fellow police officers.

  “I made a few calls. Amanda has quit her job and moved,” she said.

  “That could mean she made everything up and doesn’t want to be found, or it could mean that she’s scared to death that her kidnapper will come back.” He looked away as if thinking about why she moved so abruptly.

  “Since Detective Petersen downgraded it to a cold case… Maybe her story was created for you to believe her or at least sympathize with her. The house where she was held, you couldn’t find anything fitting her description?” Katie asked.

  “There are certain things you learn on the street. After ten years on the job, I have a good sense of when people are lying and when they are telling the truth,” he said shifting in the chair. “It’s the things they say, don’t say, mannerisms, and slight gestures. I’ve seen it all.”

  “So do you think she was lying?” Katie watched the deputy. He had a way about him that was compassionate and calm. It was difficult not to like him immediately.

  “Quite the opposite. I think she was absolutely telling the truth.”

  “Why?”

  “She told us details—landmarks and specific details about the house—all without hesitation. My partner and I searched the streets for houses with blue doors with white trim. We found several, but found no evidence to suggest someone had been held there or had recently escaped. I knew there had to be something we were missing—anything to corroborate her story. But nothing surfaced. We tried, but the only outcome was understandably her frustration with us and then she stopped cooperating altogether,” he said.

  Katie nodded in sympathy. “I see you noted that when you first had contact with her, she kept saying the word ‘truth.’ What do you think that means?”

  “I honestly don’t know. She kept repeating it, claiming over and over again that she’s telling the truth.”

  “You truly believe that she was coherent and wasn’t giving you something she had dredged up in a fantasy? Although her toxicology was clean—no drugs—prescription or otherwise.”

  “She didn’t appear to be under the influence.”

  “Maybe something went wrong with her date or with someone she’s known for a while? A sex game that got out of hand?” Katie pushed.

  “I don’t think so. Something really spooked her—she was afraid and was still reeling from her experience when we found her.”

  “I’m just trying to see both sides of the story. I’m going to pursue this case. It comes down to whether or not she made everything up and is lying to us, or if she wants this terrible experience behind her.”

  “I see where you’re going with this, but that was what, six months ago, and I still feel the same way right now as I did that night. She was telling the truth,” he stated again.

  Katie nodded. “I think there’s something more here too. I’m going to find her and talk with her and see if she can tell me anything new, or if she sticks to her story. If you think of something that I should look into, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “I will.” Deputy Windham stood up, making his uniform belt squeak from the numerous items he had attached, including his holstered gun. “Detective, there’s one thing I do know for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Amanda Payton was scared to death of something, someone, and she might run because of it.”

  After Deputy Windham left, Katie picked up the phone and pressed the double-digit number for the detective division. The phone rang once before someone answered, “Detective Division.”

  “Hi, Alana,” said Katie.

  “Hey, Detective Scott. How are you?”

  “Can’t complain. I was wondering if Detective Petersen is in?”

  “He sure is. You want me to transfer you?”

  “No, I think I’ll come up for a visit.”

  “Great.”

  “See you in a little bit,” said Katie and she hung up.

  Outside the door to the detective division, Katie clutched the Amanda Payton file to her chest feeling conspicuous and somewhat of an outsider even though she was an investigator just like them. She’d received quite a lot of heat from a fellow detective when she’d originally been called in to help with the missing girl’s case. Thankfully, he was no longer working for the sheriff’s department, but she knew there were still others who resented her because her uncle was the sheriff.

  Before she could knock, there was a buzz and the door unlocked. Stepping inside, the floor was a buzz of activity with several detectives talking animatedly about the latest bust, and Alana talking alone with a uniformed deputy.

  “Oh, Detective Scott,” she said as she caught Katie’s attention. “Go on down to the second door on the right.” She gestured and then resumed her conversation.


  In front of a closed door decorated with a cheaply made name plate—Detective Sergeant David Petersen—she took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in,” stated a deep voice within.

  Inside, she found a thin man with dark hair sparsely covering the top of his head hunched over a pile of paperwork. His tie and jacket were draped over the only other chair in the office.

  “Detective Petersen?” said Katie.

  “Yes,” he said never looking up. “What can I do for you?”

  She hesitantly closed the door, leaving a couple of inches cracked open. Taking another step closer to the desk she said, “I’m Detective Katie Scott. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Still the detective didn’t look up.

  “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about one of your cases—which is now a cold case.”

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Well,” she began, contemplating how to balance her need for answers with a level of polite respect.

  Detective Petersen finally looked up and stared at Katie. “What’s on your mind, Ms. Scott?”

  Katie noted that he didn’t address her as detective and decided to dive straight in.

  “Do you remember a case from six months back involving a woman named Amanda Payton?”

  “Payton,” he echoed, searching his memory. “Oh, of course, the woman that reported that she had been kidnapped and held against her will; then she managed to escape.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What do you want to know? The reports are self-explanatory.”

  “Well, for starters, I noticed there weren’t any background checks run on Ms. Payton, and I wanted to know why.”

  “Didn’t need it. We looked into her claim, which was unfounded, and then she retracted her statement. End of case.”

  “Yes, but the evidence…”

  “I know you’ve got the glamorous job combing through our old cold cases, but you’re going to have to realize that some cases don’t warrant further investigation. There are more cases, current cases with real evidence, that need our attention.”

  “Why is this a cold case, and not a closed one?”

  “No cooperation from the victim. We can’t investigate unless we can talk to the victim. It’s cold in the hope that maybe one day she’ll change her mind.”

  Katie chose her words carefully as she changed tack. “Detective, what was your impression of her condition? Did you not feel the bruising on her wrists and ankles added significant weight to her story?”

  He let out a loud sigh. “Look, if someone—a victim or not—doesn’t want to work with the police there’s nothing more that can be done—unless they change their mind or if solid evidence comes to light. We did our due diligence. If your look through the case finds otherwise, then so be it.”

  “Due diligence? That’s interesting. I thought we were here to help people and keep them safe? Did you ever think that maybe she’s terrified that the person who abducted her is going to return? Capture her again, or worse, kill her this time? Did you ever think that she’s devastated that no one believes her?”

  He looked up at her with disdain. “Was there anything else you wanted to know about the case, Ms. Scott? Otherwise I’d like to get back to solving real crimes with reliable witnesses.”

  “No, I have everything I need. Thank you, Detective, for your precious time.”

  Eight

  Wednesday 0715 hours

  The next morning, Katie walked out to the police training area and met with a tall, dark-haired, older man, Sergeant Blake Hardy, who was in charge of the five police K9 units for the sheriff’s department. The large six-acre cyclone-fenced training area was located just two blocks east of the sheriff’s department. It consisted of routine drill items for climbing, scaling, tunneling, and various other obstacles for agility and endurance. There were two different sized sheds on opposite ends of the training area and it was surrounded by trees, giving this barren space a little of the Pine Valley charm. The cool morning was refreshing and helped to ignite Katie’s spirit of beginning a new day.

  Hardy turned to see Katie approaching and smiled. “Hello, Detective Scott.”

  “Sergeant,” she nodded. “Thank you for letting me and Cisco crash your training this morning.”

  “No problem. It’s nice to have a war veteran here to show the rest of these mutts how it’s done.”

  “Cisco has been so bored since we came back, this is exactly what he needs.”

  “You’re up next after Deputy Ryder.”

  “Great,” she said, turning to watch the action.

  Dressed in dark gray SWAT pants, dark T-shirt, and sporting a leg-holstered sidearm, Deputy Ryder held the collar of a dark sable German shepherd named Nitro. The dog barked loud, high-pitched and in rapid succession, the unmistakable call of the working police dog, and bounced up and down on his front paws. Thirty feet away was the decoy, a dog trainer dressed in an oversized protective bite suit, who was moving in the opposite direction away from the K9 team. The fifty-pound-plus suit impeded the trainer somewhat, causing him to waddle as he moved.

  “Sheriff’s Department! Stop or I’ll send the dog!” the officer yelled and then repeated the warning. When the man in the suit didn’t stop, he let go of the dog’s collar, hissing, “Fass,” meaning attack in German.

  Nitro took off at a full pelt, leaped up, and bit down on the decoy’s shoulder, dragging him down to the ground with all of his propelled weight.

  Deputy Ryder jogged up to his partner and yelled for Nitro to let go: “Aus!”

  Immediately the dog let go and trotted back to the officer to sit at attention.

  “Good boy, Nitro,” said the deputy, tossing the dog his favorite ball.

  “Great work!” yelled Sergeant Hardy.

  Katie clapped and said, “Nice job.”

  Deputy Ryder jogged up with Nitro heeling at his side.

  “You’ve been working with him. He comes off the bite well,” complimented the sergeant.

  “It’s all about the ball,” the deputy said. “It’s so much better than the burlap training stick.”

  “Glad to hear it,” the sergeant replied. “Deputy Ryder, this is Detective Katie Scott.”

  “I’ve heard about you.” He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” He shook her hand.

  “Same here,” Katie said.

  “Okay, Scott, you’re up with Cisco.”

  “Great.” She walked back to her Jeep and took Cisco out on the leash. Putting his favorite toy in her back pocket, she walked out to the working field.

  “Do a stop and frisk,” suggested the sergeant.

  Katie knew the drill well. She waited for the decoy to come in close and commanded Cisco to lie down: “Platz.”

  Cisco pressed his body to the ground as Katie approached the decoy and started to pat him down, pretending to search for something. As she worked her way around his body, the decoy grabbed her suddenly and they struggled. Cisco was by her side in an instant, grabbing the decoy’s sleeve between his teeth and dragging him down hard to the ground.

  “Stop moving!” yelled Katie to the decoy. Then to Cisco, “Hier.”

  Cisco immediately let go and padded over to Katie, finishing off with a neat heel sit.

  Katie turned away from the decoy as Cisco held close next to her left thigh. Suddenly, out of nowhere the decoy grabbed Katie by the shoulders and spun her around. They began to struggle again, mimicking a surprise attack to simulate what could easily happen to a police officer out on patrol. Cisco didn’t miss a beat, jumping up to assist Katie and dragging the decoy back down to the ground.

  “Cisco, aus,” Katie ordered. “Hier.”

  Cisco ran to Katie’s side and waited patiently for his reward—the ball.

  “Good boy, Cisco. Atta boy,” she said, giving him a quick pat on the side.

  “Awesome bite,” said the decoy trainer.

  “He’s a great dog, Scott. His speed and agility are imp
ressive for an older dog,” stated the sergeant.

  “He has always been fast and he’s not showing signs of slowing down. Thank you for allowing us to train today. I can tell he’s happy to be back doing some work, even though it’s just training.” Katie looked over at Cisco, panting with his favorite yellow ball in his mouth, and smiled.

  Nine

  Wednesday 0915 hours

  Tess Regan wanted to go home. She wanted more than anything to quit and never see her co-workers, her job, or her boss ever again, but it had been the only job she could get after she was let go from her previous company, and she desperately needed the money. It was mind-numbing work, processing medical insurance claims day in, day out, but insurance was a necessary evil; loathed by those who paid in but never claimed, and those that claimed and never got near enough to cover whatever they had insured. At least, that was what Tess thought as she stared around her small cubicle, her narrow desk not wide enough to balance all her claim folders, searching for an excuse to leave her desk. Retrieving office supplies, using the restroom, or stepping out for a coffee, anything to catch a break from her gloomy existence.

  Tess wanted more—to be special. She was going to be thirty-four in two months and she felt that her life had hardly begun. She was drowning in debt and her boyfriend of more than three years had decided that morning that he wanted to move on in his life. In other words, move on from her. She had no savings, no relationship, and had been estranged from her parents and brother for more than five years. Even her best friend from college had been slowly distancing herself. Tess had never felt so alone.

  She got up from her desk, sidestepping the pile of spreadsheets on the floor that she needed to process before the end of the day; the sadness she carried felt like deadweights dragging at her feet. She felt empty. She wanted out.

  Walking through the office, Tess glanced around but no one looked up, no one noticed as she slipped like a ghost down the long hallway and pushed open the communal restroom door. Once inside, she locked the door and stood motionless for a moment gazing at the image staring back at her in the mirror.