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

by Jennifer Chase

  She was alone.

  “Anyone there?” she croaked as her throat was still exceptionally dry. “Can I have some water?” She didn’t expect to hear a reply but wanted to hear someone’s voice—even if it was her own.

  She began working her restraints, feeling out the thin, sturdy twine and how many times it wrapped around her wrists. She tried to move her body upward on the bed to try and figure out how her hands were tied. Rocking and bouncing slightly, the bed springs groaned and squeaked until something loosened and she began to make progress with one area of the twine.

  “I can almost…” she whispered to herself. “If I could just…”

  A door slammed nearby making Tess start and jerk her arms down, pulling hard on her wrists. She let out a feeble cry as two strong hands pushed down hard on her upper arms as he leaned across her body, paralyzing her. Without saying a word, a man tightened her restraints, all the while breathing heavily near her ear. After he secured her, he didn’t speak to her. He didn’t touch her. She waited in absolute terror for what was next.

  What was he waiting for?

  And then, she felt a slow weight press down next to her body. Her flesh prickled as if ants were crawling all over her. She couldn’t help but recoil. Any hope she had felt previously had been dashed. “Tell me, Tess… What are your dirty little secrets?” The eerie voice in the dark was nothing more than a whisper.

  “Tell me!” He hissed like a snake.

  “I… I don’t know what you want from me,” she stuttered in terror. “What secrets?”

  “Truth,” he said. “You’ll give me the truth before I have no use for you anymore.”

  “What truth? I don’t know what you want. Please… please…”

  Tess felt the weight next to her face and tried to turn away. Paralyzed in fear, she shook, waiting for another taunt or strange request she couldn’t answer.

  His breath panted against her cheek and then in her ear, making her shoulders shudder uncontrollably. Goose bumps paraded up her arms and down the back of her neck.

  “Tess…” he hissed. “Tess…” he repeated again but this time with more drama. “I know you want to tell the truth. Let it out…”

  Twenty-Nine

  Tuesday 1330 hours

  Katie sat at her desk in her quiet office, thinking. McGaven had opted to use a computer upstairs in the detective division to run backgrounds, while obtaining a court order for phone records from Emily Day’s apartment, to find out if calls came in from the hospital.

  Katie finally picked up the phone and dialed the South Street Psychiatric Hospital to make an appointment to speak with Jane Doe again.

  “Administration,” said a woman who answered the main phone lines at the hospital.

  “This is Detective Scott from the sheriff’s department. I was in last Friday to visit with a patient. I was wondering if I could make another appointment to speak with her.”

  “Name of patient,” said the woman with little voice inflection.

  “Well, she hasn’t given a name. It’s just Jane Doe on her record,” Katie said.

  “One moment.”

  Katie could hear the pecking of a keyboard as the administrator searched for the patient.

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but I don’t see any patient by that name.”

  “Are you sure? I spoke with Dr. Smith,” Katie persisted.

  “Let me try something else. One moment.” There was a loud click.

  This time Katie could tell that the woman put her on hold. She tapped her fingernail on her desk—waiting for almost five minutes.

  “Hello?” said the administrator.

  “Yes, I’m still here.”

  “Jane Doe has been moved to another hospital—Silver Springs Hospital.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s near Cold Springs, about an hour from here.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “The only notation I have is that there are larger therapy groups there that can accommodate her for an extended length of time.”

  “Did Dr. Smith put in for the transfer?” Katie asked, trying to pry a bit more information from the woman.

  “There’s no notation of that but he did sign the transfer papers.”

  “Thank you,” said Katie and hung up the phone.

  She leaned back in her chair, still not grasping why Jane Doe had been transferred. Was it because there was better therapy and care more fitting to her needs? Or was there something more sinister?

  Katie didn’t have time to call the other hospital, but made a mental note that she wanted to check in on Jane Doe very soon. Katie not only knew that Jane Doe had some answers about the killer, but she feared for her safety. First things first, she had an appointment with the county building and planning department in fifteen minutes. She grabbed her things and left the forensic division.

  Parking at the Sequoia County Office Building, Katie walked to the entrance carrying her notebook. It had been an official county building since 1884 and still had the architectural integrity of the historical provenance to prove it. The stairs made a grand entrance to the main large double doors of the stout building. Once inside, signs directed you to the various local government areas.

  Katie headed for the building and planning department. She opted for the stairs instead of the elevators and quickly climbed to the second floor. From there, it was easy to find where she needed to be. What she wasn’t expecting was how busy the office would be, with people submitting blueprints and obtaining building permits. There were more than a few glances at Katie, taking in her badge and gun with wary curiosity.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Scott from the sheriff’s office and I’m here to see Shane?” she said when she made it to the front of the line.

  The short, dark-haired man barely looked at her as he keyed up her name on the appointment computer. He clicked a couple more keys with his chunky fingers. “It’ll be just a few minutes and he’ll be able to help you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Next,” said the man, stretching his neck along the line.

  Katie stepped away from the counter and glanced around the room.

  After waiting about ten minutes, a very tall thin man in his early thirties came out around the counter. He glanced around the room. His wiry, sandy hair, partial beard, and gold-rimmed glasses made him appear more like a college student or teaching assistant than an employee for the building and planning department. He caught sight of Katie waiting and smiled as he approached her.

  “Detective Scott?” he said. “I’m Shane, the county researcher and archivist.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Katie replied.

  “Well, you’re in for a treat. I received your request for the original plans of the Basin Woods Development and any other information we might have. Follow me,” he said. There was an upbeat tone to his voice.

  Katie remained quiet and followed the man as they passed several offices, some with open doors and others not, and then descended a staircase for more than two stories until they reached a basement.

  Shane stopped a moment at the entrance to flip on several light switches, brightening the dark room with a slowly increasing glow. He turned to Katie and said, “I know it’s a little chilly down here, but you get used to it. You’re going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “It’s actually even too cool for the paper archives. I’ve been trying to get the county to put some money into a more climate-controlled environment down here. But, you know, there’s never any leftover money in the budget to pay for such things,” he explained.

  Katie nodded.

  The overall basement was huge. It seemed like it went on for miles and it would be easy to get lost, unable to find your way back. It felt like a crypt. Even though Katie was cool, a sickly heat began to infiltrate her body. With each step, she had to concentrate on walking a straight line. The long rows of filing cabinets seemed to close in on her. But she kept her breathin
g normal and walked with purpose, following Shane deeper into the basement.

  Not now…

  There were large metal filing cabinets stacked high all around her, each drawer labeled with numbers and letters corresponding to section and contents. Along the back wall were old roll-top desks topped with several cubbyholes with rolled-up papers inside them. Katie assumed they were blueprints and old contracts. She was intrigued with the storage of archives and wanted to know what kind of information there was about the Basin Woods Development.

  “After you called, I was thinking about your request,” he said, opening a tall cabinet with small square slots inside. “I had just organized some of these cabinets recently and remembered the name, Basin Woods Development.”

  “Are there the original blueprints?”

  “Better than that,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Katie couldn’t help herself and laughed. “You must really love all of this.”

  “Detective, it’s more than just documents, blueprints, and archived old newspaper articles. It’s history. It is a part of Sequoia County—everything here is what made it what it is today.”

  Katie smiled, inspired by what he said. “I guess I never thought about it like that, but you’re absolutely right.”

  Shane pulled out a large bundle of old blueprints. Pulling the rubber band from the tube, he walked to a low metal table in the corner. “Here are the original plans,” he said as he carefully unrolled the package. He grabbed four plain glass paperweights to secure each of the four corners. “Okay,” he said and rubbed his hands together.

  Katie stood next to him reading the plans. “It says Woodland Pines Project?”

  “Yes, that’s what the project was supposed to be,” he replied.

  “I’m not completely following,” she said.

  “Okay.” He leaned over the plans; using his right index finger to point out sections, he explained, “These were the original plans submitted in 1984—six years before the actual submission.”

  “Alright, now I’m following.”

  “This project was created by the Magna Group, and Baseland Architects did the drawings.”

  “How did it end up as the Basin Woods Development?” Katie asked, studying the illustrations. There were notations from the architects and builders: codes and numbers. One had a penciled-in note, barely legible, “Highland Project NP #367-44,” which had been written on the lower right corner.

  “Well,” he began, “that’s where it gets interesting. I dug up old newspaper articles, which were fairly well researched for the time. It turns out that the budget for the original project fell through and the Magna Group had its funding revoked. This company originally wanted to build more of a luxury area, but politics play a major role and so eventually it fell through.”

  “Did another company bid a new project?” she asked.

  “You’re on the right track, Detective. Simms Development swooped in and proposed more of an affordable housing project—basically a low income.” He flipped the pages and it was clear that the new area was much more conservative and smaller. “Two years later, this was what was proposed, and after the permit was processed, it went into full construction mode.”

  “Why am I getting the feeling that there were internal issues?”

  “To say the least; funds went missing, construction cut corners, and there was a man killed on the job when part of a roof caved in on him.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a while ago and most people forgot about the place.”

  Katie flipped through several pages of renderings and she began to recognize the area. “Do you have the individual house plans?”

  “I thought you might ask. I’ve located about half of them. Was there one in particular you were looking for?” He adjusted his glasses while he stared at her, eagerly awaiting an answer.

  Katie opened her file of an aerial view of the street which included the house she had searched. “Here,” she pointed. “I know it’s difficult to see with the trees, but you can see the side streets.”

  “No, I can see. Can you leave this with me? I can get you the plans and courier you a copy. Would that be okay?”

  “Yes, absolutely. That would be great—thank you.”

  Shane took out his cell phone to write down the information. “So, Detective Scott, Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department. I’ll look up the address.”

  “Can you send copies of everything you have told me about the original project and what was actually built?”

  “Yep.” He made more notes on his phone.

  “What were the names of the people?”

  He went to a cabinet close by and pulled out a thick file folder. “The Magna Group president was Kenneth Jamison, Sr., and Simms Development president was Bradley Carter. I don’t know if that helps.”

  “Jamison?” she asked, a little surprised.

  Reading over the paperwork again, “Uh, yes. I’ll send copies of this too.”

  “Shane, you have been absolutely amazing.”

  “Naw,” he said as his cheeks flushed.

  “One more favor,” Katie said. “I need a list of all the people who owned/rented the houses before they were forced to move. Would that be the county assessor’s office?”

  “It would be, but I can get you that list too—if you like.”

  “Are you sure that you don’t mind getting everything back to me?”

  “Not a problem, Detective Scott. That’s what I do. And… I’m assuming this is for an investigation.”

  Smiling, Katie said, “It is… a very important case.”

  Shane began to roll up the plans. “I’ll get everything together and then have it couriered tomorrow some time. Would that be okay?”

  “That would be great.”

  Thirty

  Tuesday 1430 hours

  The Adirondack Plaza was a special place, a park where locals loved to spend time and a place where out-of-towners always visited. It was the perfect hunting ground. He sat on a bench in the shade of several large trees, wearing dark sunglasses. No one looked at him, no one sat next to him, and he knew that no one would ever remember him. He watched a group of three women sitting at a table, obviously on a break from work by the way they were dressed. The trio wore plain beige pantsuits with their jackets off in the heat revealing sleeveless blouses in various pastel colors. The sun kissed their arms and shoulders.

  Intriguing.

  Exciting.

  Two of the women were brunette and one a strawberry blonde, the loudest and most animated of the group. He watched her lips when she spoke, imagining what truth would come pouring out of her mouth. What she could share with him. It made his extremities tingle.

  He inhaled deeply, trying to get a read of the wonderful scents of them as they passed.

  A noise drew his attention away from the women suddenly as a slender young woman in jogging clothes pushing a baby carriage sat herself down next to him on the bench and gave a smile. She rocked the stroller gently back and forth.

  The fragrance of baby powder, baby lotion, and something sweet, most likely orange slices, hit his senses and sent him into a frenzy. He couldn’t bring himself to look into the stroller.

  He was trapped. His legs felt frozen to the bench.

  Terror filled him. His throat constricted.

  Looking down at his hands, they looked red like blood.

  He couldn’t take it anymore. Leaping up, he rushed away from the park.

  Thirty-One

  Tuesday 1645 hours

  Katie walked as fast as she could back down to the forensics division after the meeting at the county building, so fast that McGaven had to run to keep up.

  “What’s the emergency?” he asked as he jogged alongside.

  “It is a homicide,” she retorted with a tone that was out of character for her. She swiped her badge at the keypad in front of forensic services.

  “Hey, I’m on your side, remember?
I seem to recall you asking me if I had your back.” He blocked her with his lumberjack-sized body. “What’s going on?” he asked with a stern tone, and then relaxed when he saw the expression on Katie’s face.

  The door disengaged and Katie entered followed closely by McGaven. She kept walking to the office, down the main hallway past the examination areas, and then made a left, following another hallway until she reached the cold-case office.

  Neither of them spoke until they were inside and the door shut behind them.

  McGaven leaned against Katie’s desk with his arms crossed. “What’s up?” He had rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  She put down her notes. “First of all, I’m sorry for being abrupt with you. It’s wrong and unprofessional.”

  “I’m a big guy—I can take it,” he said with a lighter tone.

  Keeping her voice low in case someone could overhear, she said, “You know, I’ve been faced with stress before, not knowing if the bad guys were going to blow us up. You would think that would prepare me for working a homicide. Right?”

  “You have worked a homicide before—those missing girls—remember?” he said.

  “This is different.”

  “How? There’s no difference except for the victims.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but this is different. I talked with Amanda; I told her that I would look out for her and keep her safe. I sent patrol by the apartment, and it still didn’t save her life.”

  McGaven took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Katie, the sheriff wouldn’t put you in charge of this case unless he thought you were ready. You rocked the crime scene according to the officers that were there. They said if they didn’t know better, they would have thought you’d been doing this for years. It was seamless.”

  Katie was taken aback for a moment.

  McGaven laughed. “You know, Katie, you’re hard to figure out sometimes.”

  “What’s so funny?”