The Only Girl Left Alive: The McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Series: Book Three

by Susan Lund

  "They're bad seeds," Mrs. Carter said with a sigh. "My father always said that about the Kincaid part of the family. Luckily, Eugene and the boys escaped that fate."

  "That's a blessing," Tess said, thinking of the two boys. "They seem perfectly well-adjusted to me."

  "They're sweet boys," Mrs. Carter said.

  Now, with Phil Hammond as their father, Tess figured they might be able to escape the taint of the Kincaid line.

  She hoped so.

  Chapter Ten

  Michael couldn't hide his excitement about the results from Seattle's forensic lab.

  When his mother dropped him off at the police department he went right up to Chief Hammond's office, barely able to contain himself as he took the stairs two steps at a time. He almost ran into Eugene on his way out of the stairwell.

  "Whoa there," Eugene said, holding his hands up to try to avoid running into Michael. "Slow down."

  "Sorry," Michael said, and stopped. "In a bit of a rush."

  "Take care of that shoulder," Eugene said and pointed to Michael's arm, which was still in a sling. "Don't want to re-injure it or you'll never get back into the field."

  Michael nodded. "Will do."

  He didn't even bother to say goodbye; he could barely tolerate the man.

  "Nice seeing you, too," Eugene called out from the stairwell.

  Michael shrugged to himself and went into Chief Hammond's office, eager to hear the results and check out any documentation Chief Hammond could provide him. By rights, he shouldn't be shown any of the paperwork, but so far, Chief Hammond had proven willing to break the rules.

  Michael hoped he continued to do so.

  "Hey, Chief," Michael said after Jennifer, the current admin, had waved him in. "What's up?"

  "Have a seat," Chief Hammond said and pointed to the chair across from him. "Eugene was just in for a visit. I have to make a call to Seattle, so you're just in time."

  Michael removed his jacket and sat on the chair while Chief Hammond dialed the number, checking back to make sure he had it right. Then, Hammond settled back and watched Michael, the receiver to his ear.

  "Hello, young lady," he said, smiling off into the distance. "How's that husband of yours?"

  Michael smiled to himself, amused at Chief Hammond's tone with whichever admin person he was speaking with. He obviously knew them all by name and even biography, since he'd been in the position for so long.

  "You give him my regards and tell him we'll have to meet up for a beer the next time I'm in town. I will. Now you pass me on to the assistant director, if you don't mind."

  There was a silence as the admin transferred Chief Hammond to her boss—Mike Chalmers, assistant director of the CARD team in Seattle—and then he smiled again.

  "Hello, Mike. Thanks for calling and for the fast turnaround. What do you have for me?”

  Chief Hammond listened and then scratched something down on a pad of paper.

  "Interesting," Hammond said and glanced up at Michael. "You sure about that?"

  After another pause, and some more scribbling, Chief Hammond thanked Mike, the two men said their goodbyes, and finally, Hammond hung up.

  "Well, isn't that a head-shaker?"

  Michael sat forward, eager to hear what had confused Chief Hammond.

  Hammond sat back and glanced out the window at the grey skies.

  "What?" Michael asked. "I mean, if you can tell me, that is." He didn't want to push too hard.

  Hammond exhaled heavily. "Looks like Lisa Tate was up in Seattle when some of those pictures were taken."

  "Really?" Michael nodded. Often, police were able to identify locations based on the décor of the rooms. "They recognized some of the backgrounds?"

  “Yep.” Chief Hammond turned to his computer screen. "Mike's sending me the pictures, but it looks like Lisa was taken to Seattle and used in the trade. We have pictures of her with that tattoo on her ankle in a hotel room the techs have IDed as being from a motel on the outskirts of the city, where a lot of truckers stay."

  "Oh, God," Michael said, a sick feeling in his gut. “That’s terrible.”

  "It is. The local police are familiar with the rooms in that motel. It’s frequently used for prostitution."

  Michael imagined Lisa being passed from pimp to pimp, used for porn and sex.

  "She could still be alive."

  "She could, but damn, it's a pretty hard life if so. No telling where she might be, even if she is still alive. Life span's pretty short for kids who get forced into the sex trade so young."

  Michael shook his head, his gut twisting at the thought. If it was true, it changed the whole complexion of the case. Lisa had been abducted, but she'd been taken to Seattle to be part of the child sex trade rather than abused and killed quickly, which was the usual case in child serial murders. There was no way of knowing what had happened to her if that was the case. She could be anywhere in Washington State—or in the entire US, for that matter. Girls were often taken and moved around the country. Hell, the world.

  If she was dead, she could be buried anywhere. If she was alive, she could still be working out of some dark side street in any big city in anywhere. She'd be twenty-eight years old. Girls who survived the sex trade often worked in the sex industry as strippers, or in the drug trade as mules. Some of them recovered and found new lives out of the business, but once they were in, it was a rough vortex to escape completely. Many had drug habits and suffered from PTSD and depression.

  He remembered pretty little Lisa Tate, with her long hair and innocent eyes. She’d been only ten years old and frail, short for her age and thin. It made him seethe with anger and hatred towards the men who did this. Men with no human empathy, who saw children as tools for their own perverted pleasure or a means to make big money in the black-market child porn trade.

  It made him feel even worse, in a way. If she had died quickly, it would have been a horrific day, maybe two. But if she’d been kept for the child sex trade, that meant years of sex slavery to potentially thousands of men.

  "Makes you sick to your stomach," Chief Hammond said, his voice low.

  Michael nodded, not trusting his voice to reply. He felt a burning need to find whoever did this to her and strangle the man. No—that would be too quick a death for him. Michael wanted to make the man—the men—suffer. Jail for the rest of their lives as convicted child pornographers would be justice, for they would be instant targets by the other prisoners.

  Then it hit Michael. What if they'd made a snuff film with Lisa? They'd sold the one they made of Patrice. It had turned up in the files and because of it, they were finally able to identify the girl who, until then, had been Jane Doe number thirty-six.

  "Have they checked to see if she showed up in any of the videos? Any snuff?"

  Hammond shook his head. "Haven't so far. Keep your fingers crossed that she doesn't."

  Michael leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. He'd seen child porn and even snuff films discovered over the years as part of his training for the CARD team, but he'd been unable to watch much because it made him physically ill. Someone had to watch the material, try to identify the children in an attempt to rescue them and to ID perps, and bring them to justice. But Michael knew it couldn't be him. He'd focus his efforts tracking down the killers, trying to rescue the kids, or capture the perps.

  Try to catch them before they killed again.

  If John Hammond and Kincaid, and potentially Garth Hammond, had been the perps involved in Lisa's abduction and potential sex slavery, perhaps that nightmare was over. While part of him wished Hammond had still been alive so Michael could personally arrest him, another part was glad. John had already known it was over, which was why he’d panicked, trying to get the urn out of the police station. Then, when he realized he couldn't, he’d killed Garth and then himself, unable to face the whole mess as it all came crashing down around him.

  Michael thought about Tess and Kirsten, and how hard the whole business was for t
he two of them. They’d be haunted once more by their roles in her leaving the tent that night. He felt incredible guilt at his role as a neglectful teenage boy, more interested in smoking pot than watching over his sister and her pre-pubescent friends.

  "What can I tell Tess and Kirsten? They'll want to know."

  Chief Hammond shrugged. "We'll have to inform Lisa's family—what's left of it, that is. It'll get out once that happens. You can tell Tess, because she's writing about the case, but tell her it's off the record until the parents go public with the information."

  Michael would be sure to tell Tess, of course, not only because she was writing about the case, but because she was so personally involved. Neither of them could forget that night, and probably would be haunted by it for the rest of their lives, no matter the outcome.

  "Here," Chief Joe said and passed over an image he'd printed off. "This is the close-up of the tattoo on her ankle. I checked the files from the week she went missing; Tess and Kirsten both told Renfrew about the tattoos and gave him one for comparison, in case they found her body and needed to ID it. We had that on file, and it checks out. We also have some close-up images of her that have been identified as Lisa."

  Michael took the images and braced himself for what he'd see. Luckily, the only thing visible in the first image was a slim ankle with a My Little Pony tattoo in soft blue and rainbow colors on the mane. The image was blurry from being blown up so much, but it was clearly the same as the tattoo in the file, which was imaged beside the girl's ankle. The other images were clearly Lisa as he remembered her – fair hair, big blue eyes.

  "That’s her.”

  "It is," Chief Joe said. "Here's the larger image. You can see the décor in the motel room. According to Mike in the Seattle office, it matches files for other girls used in the sex trade at that specific motel near Westlake. Eighteen years ago, that motel was used by a number of pornographers and pimps."

  "So, Lisa was abducted and taken to Seattle, and pimped out of the motel," Michael said, shaking his head. "She could be alive.”

  “She could very well be. The thing is, back then, Ron McClintock was also on that route from Kennewick to Seattle."

  Michael frowned at the thought Ron might have also been involved. Of course, he was a prime suspect, given all the evidence in his house, but he hoped, for Tess’s sake, that the man wasn’t.

  “I was hoping Ron wasn’t involved.”

  "He did have Janine's ashes in his attic, and the bones in the wall. Plus, other evidence. He had opportunity for a few of the girls, before he stopped driving long-haul. I don't see how we can't include him as a potential suspect. If he was alive, I'd be bringing him in to question him about his whereabouts back in the day, and for each of the missing girls. He may not have done the abducting for all of them, but he could have been involved. No doubt about it."

  "We don't have any actual evidence he was at the porn room at Hammond's service station," Michael offered

  “No—not yet, at least," Chief Hammond said. "There's still lots of evidence to go through, though. It's taking a lot of manpower, but they'll come up with some conclusions as to how many men were involved in making the videos."

  "I know. This town is going to reel when they find out that two or maybe three of their members were involved in a child porn ring and possibly a snuff film market."

  "They're already reeling," Chief Hammond said. "What’s gotten out so far has them talking at every gas station and truck stop, diner and laundromat. The Hammonds have been knocked down quite a few status pegs in most people's opinions, from what I can see."

  "John Hammond's always been the black sheep of the family, though," Michael said. "And Daryl Kincaid’s even lower in people's minds, even before all this."

  "That's right, but still. The Hammonds are livid, as you can imagine.”

  “I can,” Michael said, checking his watch. "I've kept you away from your work for long enough, but thanks for letting me ask questions."

  "No need to thank me, son," Hammond said. "It's good to have you here to consult."

  As Michael left the office, deciding to walk home instead of calling for a ride, he thought about Tess and how she'd respond to the fact Chief Hammond might name her father as a suspect in several of the murders. He could see her face in his mind's eye.

  It would break her heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  That bastard.

  As Eugene ran down the stairs and out past the main front desk, he seethed quietly, although he made sure to put on a smile as he passed Officer Chris Jones, the duty officer.

  "See you at Riley's on Friday," he said, pointing his finger and mock pulling the trigger.

  "Back at you," Jones replied, smiling like a total idiot.

  Eugene had enjoyed his hour with his father, listening to the old man describe the case and where the investigation was currently. He’d left the office feeling good that the old man trusted him so much that he felt he could break the department's rules on confidentiality.

  Then Carter had to show up, practically running into Eugene in the doorway to the stairwell.

  Eugene knew his father had a fondness for Michael, and it made him furious.

  It should have been him, Eugene, who had gone to the FBI academy and became a Special Agent. Or even a police officer with the Paradise Hill PD.

  Nope. His sealed juvenile record prevented that; the old man hadn't even encouraged Eugene to consider applying when he’d graduated from high school.

  Instead, Chief Joe had pushed Eugene to work for his grandfather in the trucking business. His juvenile record tainted Eugene in Chief Joe's mind, making him unfit for police work.

  So, instead of being a cop or FBI Special Agent, Eugene had become nothing more than a glorified delivery boy.

  He didn't do long-haul trucking, which would have given him the perfect cover to do his hunting. He was forced to stick with local deliveries within the county—sometimes taking the longer routes, but never long-haul. He had gotten Kirsten pregnant before she'd even finished her freshman year of high school and he’d had to marry her, to save his reputation and that of Chief Joe's side of the family.

  "You forget about college, you forget about playing around," a furious Chief Joe had said when he learned that Eugene had been screwing Kirsten. "You did this, and now you have to buck up, live up to your responsibilities as a father and a man. You marry her, and you raise your child. Do me proud."

  Eugene had played with Kirsten, enjoying his ability to control the girl, who, despite her strong will, was like putty in his hands. She had stars in her eyes that an older boy like him—a man, really—showed an interest in her. It had been so easy, and the family had apparently been willing to see him marry her despite their large age difference. He had really wanted Tess back then, but Lisa had been good enough because she was available. He had planned on killing her but had been foiled in his plans.

  Kirsten had been a consolation prize when Tess left town with her family. Having her at his mercy somewhat slaked his budding serial killer tendencies, but only for a year or two.

  It all started with Lisa, and if it hadn't been for his damn uncle John and his pervert of a father, he would have had Lisa to himself as kill number one. But they’d found him with her, holed up in the service station doing his thing, and took her away.

  Becoming a serial killer had taken a bit longer than he’d imagined.

  He drove back to work, expecting to pick up his latest load and make his way out of town to Ellensburg, where he had a regular delivery of groceries and other packages that arrived daily from Seattle. Then, he would park the vehicle at the local mall, buy a ticket at the Cineplex, and pretend to be watching a movie. Instead, he'd sneak out via a side exit, and grab the old clunker he'd stowed in the woods, taking Route 10 up to Roslyn to watch Elena for a while. He had it all planned out. He'd pull off the road, park his vehicle in the brush deeper into the woods along Bullfrog Road, and ride the bike—hidden in the back un
der a tarp—the rest of the way to the playground in the dark. The kids played there until after eight, so he'd be able to watch her for a while. When he'd finished, he'd drive back to Ellensburg, park the truck, then drive his delivery truck back into Paradise Hill and return the vehicle to the depot.

  Working late again.

  Wasn't that just typical of Eugene? Conscientious to a fault.

  He went to the counter and checked the roster for his vehicle, but it was already checked out.

  Sean Morgan had taken it—and the route to Easton.

  "What the hell, Mary? That was my route."

  "Boss came to look for you, but you were out visiting your dad. He had a special delivery to be made and needed to talk to you about it, so he assigned it to Sean instead. Sean already left, because the delivery had to be done earlier than usual. Sorry."

  Crap.

  He had been so looking forward to watching Elena. Now, he had no excuse to be out of town and far away from Roslyn. Every time he watched Elena, he always arranged to be somewhere distant from Roslyn, so no one would suspect him in case he was ever a suspect in her eventual disappearance.

  Now he'd have to go home with no excuse to be out of town.

  He could cancel his plans to watch Elena, but he'd be really disappointed.

  No, he was not going to miss his planned hunting expedition. He'd go, but he'd order a pizza, and then order a movie on the pay-per-view movie channel, paying with his credit card, to make it look as if he stayed home all evening watching the latest new release. He'd dress in his night camo and ride his bike up to Roslyn.

  It was less than twenty minutes away.

  He took his camera, planning on snapping a few pictures of Elena for his memory wall up at the shack. He'd go up there the following Sunday and spend some time planning for when he took her there. The time was almost ripe for the picking.

  He was sooo looking forward to taking Elena. He'd watched her now for long enough, fantasizing about what he'd do with her and to her. How he'd linger over it, relishing every detail. Recording it all for posterity on his tiny microchips.