Spray-painted along the upper living room wall was the single word: “TRUTH.”
Sixty-Five
After parking the car on the next street, McGaven felt drained and definitely in need of some rest—or at least a large cup of strong coffee before investigating the large wide-open field. Sitting in the front seat, he grabbed one of the water bottles he had packed in the car, twisted the cap off, and immediately downed half of it. The cool water helped to revive some of his waning energy and gave him a lift—but it still wasn’t as satisfying as a double cappuccino.
Cisco put his nose up against the side of McGaven’s face, sniffing and snorting, until the officer gave him some attention.
“Hey, buddy, you thirsty?”
He smiled as he poured some water into a leftover plastic cup. The dog happily lapped it up with half of the water dribbling out the sides of his mouth.
“Nice going, Cisco. I guess Katie hasn’t taught you proper water etiquette.” He laughed and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Sorry, I need to get back to work, buddy.”
The black dog whined and paced back and forth in the back seat.
McGaven got out of the car and took a moment to stretch his back. He hadn’t been to the gym for more than a week and could feel the tenseness in his lower back and hamstrings building.
He stood in the middle of the street, completely still, watching and listening. If he stood long enough, the dark shadows began to play tricks with his eyes. One could imagine a couple of bad guys hiding behind a tree, or a dinosaur monster ready to attack—especially if you stood and stared long enough.
A pair of yellow eyes appeared on what was left of a wooden fence; he pointed the flashlight directly at a startled yellow-striped feral cat, causing it to cower and then dart off the fence, disappearing into the darkness.
His flashlight flickered.
“Crap,” he said, trying to shake it back to full charge. There were extra batteries and another flashlight in the car.
McGaven pulled his cell phone to call Katie just as it rang. He pressed the talk button, “McGaven.”
The voice on the other end was familiar and said, “This is Chad. I just heard about the fire over on the south end of town. I tried Katie’s cell but it went to voicemail.”
“Katie’s fine. We’re at the Humanity Project checking some things out.”
“Humanity Project? I heard that’s a bad place,” Chad said.
“Nothing to worry about. Katie will call you later,” he said and hung up as he moved toward the other street. He cut through several yards to get to the white house where Katie had called from, and then he dropped his phone. He bent down to retrieve it, and that was when someone whacked him on the head, throwing him to the ground. Groggily, he tried to get up to face his attacker, but his vision slowly faded. The last thing he heard before giving in to the darkness was Cisco’s barking.
Sixty-Six
The word “TRUTH” mesmerized Katie and she found herself drawn to the wall—not able to take her eyes away from it. On the floor in front of the message were several spray paint cans lying on their sides. Holding her flashlight above her directed Glock, she closely examined the letters of the word. Wondering if there were visible fingerprints still on the spray cans, Katie leaned over to have a better look.
She touched the back of her left hand against the wall and found that the paint was dry, but that still didn’t lessen the chilling image.
This pleasant small house was the home base for a killer, or at least it was somewhere he hung out. She pulled out her cell phone. “Where are you?” she said softly.
There was intermittent static.
Katie couldn’t take her eyes away from the message on the wall. She noticed that the spray-painted “H” at the end of the word “TRUTH” swept up and around, crossing the “T.” It was an interesting personal signature.
She knew that McGaven would join her in a couple of minutes, so she hurried to walk around the main floor examining everything she could until he arrived. She realized she was in the area where the killer might have spent time, devised his plans, and masterminded his fantasies. It was actually a perfect cover and an ideal place to hide in plain sight. Again, clever and devious, which matched her preliminary profile—along with organized.
As she walked from the kitchen area back to the living room, she searched for a false wall and noticed a smudged area with what looked like grease about halfway up around the corner section. It appeared to be recent. Moving closer, she ran her fingertips down the side and felt an indentation where her index and middle finger fit easily.
She heard a weird noise, almost a raspy groaning, that sounded more like a dying animal, which made her instantly direct her gun and use her flashlight to sweep the area. Nothing was in sight—she half expected to see a cat or possibly a raccoon in the corner. But she was still alone.
Dammit! Where are you, McGaven?
There it was again. The strained sound as if it bubbled up from the bowels of the earth—chilling and creepy at the same time.
Katie retraced her findings on the wall and placed her two fingers into the niche again—this time she pressed and slid, and then pushed harder until the corner flexed. She pushed the wall as hard as she could and it wouldn’t move. Using several different techniques of pulling, pushing, and sliding, she managed to move the hidden door wide enough for her to peek behind it. It was a cleverly designed entrance that most people would never know was there unless they looked for it. She never would have thought to look for it if it wasn’t for her visit to the special effects company and all their masterful makeup and animated techniques.
Nothing was as it seemed.
Her heart pounded as her breath became erratic in anticipation. She needed to wait for McGaven, but she had to get inside the secret room. She peered into the opening. To her horror, as the flashlight beam crossed the small-sized bedroom, she saw a woman’s body on the bed. Unmoving.
Not waiting another minute, Katie frantically attacked the secret door until she opened it wide enough to squeeze through. Her head roared with the sounds of her own heavy breathing and muttered words of hope. Images spilled into her mind and blurred her vision. Her mind played tricks on her as the stakes of the investigation rose.
The little girl and her mother were preparing food. Their eyes looking straight at her—pleading with her to protect them.
The boom—the flash—in an instant—they were gone. I couldn’t save them…
She rushed to the bed where a woman lay still with her hands secured to the headboard and her ankles to the bottom posts. The restraints had bloodied her wrists and ankles; they had raw gaping wounds. The room reeked of urine, making Katie gag. She pressed her finger against the woman’s neck for several seconds. There was a faint pulse.
“C’mon, wake up,” Katie urged.
She carefully began to peel away the horrible duct tape that took part of her skin and hair with it.
The woman moved, startling Katie. First her hands and then her legs twitched.
His blood had saturated the front of Katie’s uniform, leaving behind dark red streaks infused with tiny pieces of other matter.
She wiped the side of her face with the back of her hand; it too was covered with blood… I couldn’t save him… Jack was gone.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Katie said. “You’re safe now. I’m getting help.” She kept a watchful eye, making sure no one was going to creep up behind her.
The woman moved her cracked bleeding lips and tried to say something.
Katie leaned closer and strained to listen.
The woman whispered faintly, “I told the truth.”
Chills raced through Katie’s body from the top of her spine and down her legs. “It’s okay. I’m going to untie you. Okay?” She couldn’t tell if the victim was the missing woman Tess Regan or another victim—she was in rough physical and mental shape.
The woman made a strange guttural sound and she repeated over and o
ver, “Please… please…”
Katie looked around the room and saw a discarded screwdriver and a pile of painter’s tarps in the corner. Whatever the killer was deciding to do he wasn’t going to leave her alive.
She pulled out her cell phone with a slight trembling hand and pressed the saved number that directed her to Dispatch. Her phone responded with three beeps.
“Shit, no reception.”
Katie moved back through the opening into the living room where her cell phone gave the tone that she was back in range again.
“911—what’s your emergency?”
“This is Detective Katie Scott with the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Office, badge number—”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence when someone slammed her hard and threw her to the ground. Her smashed phone catapulted across the room.
Lying face down with her cheek against the stinking carpet, Katie struggled to keep her eyes open. She saw a pair of shoes—they weren’t typical everyday shoes but the work shoes that police officers wore with a steel toe. Her phone dropped in front of her face as the person above her stomped its remains into tiny shattered pieces.
The next moment, her attacker pulled her weapon from her holster and she knew at that instant they were going to shoot her and be done with it. To her surprise, as she fought to keep herself conscious, trying to widen her eyes, she saw the outline of the person empty her magazine and the bullets drop to the floor one by one—each garnering a reflection from the low light. No matter how hard she fought, she closed her eyes.
Afghanistan. Her team had been searching a building when it was hit with heavy artillery. She and Cisco had been momentarily knocked out, tucked in a small area where the roof hadn’t collapsed on them. She lay still as she heard the enemy speaking in their language nearby in a hurried manner—it was clear they were arguing.
Play dead, she thought. Not moving a muscle, she remained still and hoped that Cisco wouldn’t move as she gripped him against her body. The men bickered barely a foot from her. Something made them move on, leaving her for dead. It hadn’t been her time to go yet…
“Well aren’t you a smart detective,” hissed a man’s voice, pulling her from her past nightmare and into the current one. His voice was a cross between a whisper and a stressed shout. “Too clever for your own good and look where you are now.” He took her empty service weapon and threw it through the window next to the door. Glass shattered in the aftermath of the impact, sprinkling pieces of shards around the living room.
Katie blinked hard, still only seeing the man’s shoes pace back and forth. She pried open her eyes wider to gain her bearings, straining to see who had ambushed her. His voice wasn’t familiar to her, but he obviously knew who she was by his tone and attitude. She caught a glimpse of him. The man standing over her held her life in his hands. She tried as hard as she could to identify him, but he wasn’t anyone she had spoken to or interviewed. That much she knew.
Then she suddenly realized he must be the security guard McGaven had talked to by the photograph from the DMV. He was the one that had helpfully copied security footage for the investigation. He had access to the chemicals found in evidence and it would have been easy for him to follow Amanda and the others. He had watched and waited for the right opportunity.
Randall Drake was the killer. The man Amanda couldn’t identify from his whisper, but was terrified would come back and kill her.
Katie would bet that Randy had a high-end late model vehicle that had left an imprint on Amanda’s back—most likely during a struggle. But all that didn’t matter right now.
She fought to move her arms but the weight of them kept her pinned down. Fleeting thoughts of McGaven crossed her mind. Why couldn’t she hear Cisco barking?
Cisco…
Katie closed her eyes again and played dead as her body slowly recovered from the intense blow, shattering her nerves and muscles. Her hands and upper body began to come back to life and she knew that the longer she waited, the more strength she would regain.
“You’ve ruined everything,” Randy ranted. “This wasn’t part of the plan. I have to dispose of you, so that it won’t find its way back to me.” He began to breathe hard, his fevered breath causing him to pace faster. “There’s only one thing I can do now.” He slammed the front door and locked it with a key.
He walked up to Katie and kicked at her leg. “Sit up. I know you can hear me. I said sit up!” He continued to pace. “Answer me! Sit up!” He kicked her hard again; this time it made a direct hit to her side. She felt the extra force from the steel toe.
Katie let out a wail of pain and rolled onto her back. It felt like her side had torn wide open.
“See, I knew you were awake.” He towered above her. “Detective Katie Scott. I didn’t get the pleasure of meeting you—just your partner.”
As he waved his arms, Katie noticed several tattoos and heavy burn scars on his upper forearms. He kept rubbing his hands together, obviously fighting his urges and keeping his impulses in check—for now.
“Well, Detective, don’t you have anything to say?”
Katie was winded and the pain in her side kept pulsing with pain. “Did you kill… Amanda Payton?” she whispered.
Truth…
“What do you think, Detective?” He laughed.
“Did you kill her?”
“Uh-oh, the secret is out now.”
“Why?” she asked, trying to keep him talking so that she could gain strength.
“Why? You mean you haven’t dissected or profiled me yet? Ah, but you have some blanks to fill in… like… I hated my mother—she lied. I hated my aunt—she lied. And…” he leaned down, bending over, and stared at Katie face to face, “I hated my foster mom too. Why? She lied.” He laughed as a few specks of spittle hit Katie in the face. “I guess I have mommy issues. What do you think, Detective?”
Truth…
Katie watched Randy. His hair was dark, crew-cut short, and parted strangely on the right side. His eyes were dull, but darted back and forth, seeing everything in the room. She remembered what McGaven had said.
“What’s the matter, Detective? Can’t talk? All choked up?”
“Who was she?” she whispered.
Truth…
“Who?”
“Tara,” said Katie.
He stopped, looked down at her. “What did you say?”
“Did you kill Tara too?” Katie braced for the worst.
“Don’t you ever speak of Tara. She was an angel. I would never… NEVER hurt her, ever. You understand me?” He took another swinging kick at her side.
Katie closed her eyes. The situation was overwhelming but she tried to gain her breath. She wondered where McGaven was—her thoughts jumped to the worst conclusion.
No.
“You couldn’t save Tara,” Katie pushed in a low tone.
“How many times do I have to tell you? They lied to me.”
“Why?” Katie managed to say.
“Why, you ask. Oh, I bet you think I hate women, right? Well, that’s not true. What I do hate is the LIES! Lies that come so easily to women! I’ve heard them my whole life—so now I just like to hear them confess.” He made strange sniffing sounds followed by clearing his throat.
Katie began to put together the clues that they had lived in this housing. “Did she burn in the house?” she guessed.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you bringing up Tara?” he said in anguish. “Why…?” he whispered.
“Why didn’t you save her?”
“They said… they said,” he began to unravel. “They said they would be fine… they said…”
It suddenly hit Katie. “You couldn’t save Tara or the baby.”
There was a sudden stilted silence.
“No,” he whispered. “The doctor said they would be okay. The nurse said they would be okay. The paramedic said they would be okay. BUT THEY WEREN’T OKAY!” He attacked Katie. “Everyone LIED to me!”
There
was nothing that she could do but take the hit—and the ones that came after. The pain radiated through her body causing her to grit her teeth. She couldn’t catch her breath. The familiar prickly feeling that usually led to a panic attack—or worse—began to crawl up her arms and legs.
But then he became winded and seemed to calm down.
“You’re tougher than you look, Detective. Oh, but did I read that you were in the army? Makes sense. But I’m afraid that your career is coming to an end. I’ve never killed a veteran before. Sounds like fun.”
Katie tensed and was ready for the next assault—assuming it was going to be a stomp kick to her throat or her head.
Instead, Randy let out an anguished yell. He stormed about the house talking to himself and fueling his anger.
Katie heard him walk toward the hidden room. He began to curse out the wounded semi-conscious woman on the bed.
“It’s your fault!” he yelled. “Why did you have to be so special? That wasn’t in the plans. I was just going to let you go… Well… maybe not!” he yelled, half laughing and half seething in anger.
Katie heard a loud bang and another one against the wall, like the entire house was going to tumble down on top of them as he beat the walls with his fists. Then all was quiet. There were strange splashing sounds and the smell of gasoline permeated the air, and she realized what he was doing. Dark memories gripped her once again.
Smoke filled her nose and clouded her vision. The smoke. The fire savagely consuming the bodies. Death was everywhere. Few were left alive—bleeding—missing limbs—pleading for help.
Her mind spun. There was nothing she could do… she couldn’t save them… it was human life… they mattered… there was nothing she could do…
She could save the woman in the torture bedroom. She had to. With every ounce of strength garnered in her body, Katie rolled onto her side. Blood was seeping through her clothes. She moved her arm slowly, inching it towards the small remote hidden on her waist. If she could just press it, she knew that Cisco would do everything he could to find her. The remote had a range of about a quarter mile. She had no other choice but to deploy him—and hope for the best.
Her Last Whisper: An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Katie Scott Book 2) Page 26