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

by Susan Lund

  One day, they'd find it all, every last byte of data, and they'd know just how successful he'd been all along, operating right under their noses.

  They were all just too stupid to see what was in front of their very eyes.

  Stupid stupid stupid…

  After work, he went home and had dinner, plotting his evening. He left the apartment building after dark and had to hide behind the dumpster in the alley to prevent Mrs. West from 2C from seeing him and saying something, the way she usually did when he was unable to avoid her in the hallways. She always came in the front door, but for some reason tonight she came in the back and he almost ran into her. Luckily, she was partially blind and didn't see him standing there in the shadows, all dressed in black, with a black hoodie and black ski-mask rolled up, a pair of night vision goggles ready to be pulled down over his face.

  He sighed with relief when she finally ambled inside and the door closed, the electronic lock clicking shut. He walked to his rented shed a few blocks away where he kept his bike. After unlocking the padlock, he pulled away the tarp that kept moisture off the expensive touring bike and drove off down one of the paths that circled Paradise Hill. The night was damp, with low clouds hanging halfway down the side of the mountain. Sparse clouds blocked out the moon, but a few stars peeked out from the clearing. He slipped his night vision goggles down and was able to maneuver well enough despite the darkness.

  The trip to Roslyn took longer than normal; he had to pull off the road several times to avoid being seen on the trip there, in case anyone he knew saw him out riding and remembered the time and place. It added ten minutes to his ride there, and meant he had less time to watch Elena.

  When he finally arrived at the cemetery bordering the schoolyard, it was already time for the kids to go home. He parked his bike and walked deeper into the woods, winding around the exterior, pushing through the thick underbrush to get to his usual spot. Once there, he scanned the playground looking for the girl, anxious to catch sight of her. Even if it was only for a few moments, it would be worth the effort.

  There she was.

  He'd been afraid she and her family had moved away; the last time he'd ridden through the trailer park, it had been dark and there was no car in the driveway.

  He responded immediately to her presence, his heart rate increasing as he imagined taking her that very night. Oh, he'd love to be able to, but he didn't have his car nearby and he wasn't set up to take her. That had to be much better planned.

  But he could get closer.

  In the shadows of the forest, he was nearly invisible, so he walked along the woods to the space behind the trailer park where her family lived. He stood in the darkness bordering the road so he could track them while they walked home, his hand down his pants, watching and waiting for her and her friends to leave the schoolyard and return home.

  Finally, he heard their voices, young and innocent, laughing and talking as if there wasn't a serial killer standing in the dark forest, watching and imagining the day he would take one of them.

  Specifically, Elena.

  He picked her out of the three girls, admiring her long wavy brown hair, her tiny form—small for her age, unable to put up any kind of fight. She was wearing her favorite puffy jacket and leggings, a ribbon clip in her hair, holding it back from her face. He could imagine that her cheeks would be rosy from the cold and her hands chilled.

  He walked along in the shadows, following the girls a dozen feet away while they talked and laughed, making their way back to their separate houses. He watched her, keeping an eye on her as she almost skipped along, happy in her innocence.

  Then, she must have heard sound from the crush of dry leaves, and he had to duck, tripping on an errant root. He fell to the forest floor, making a racket with the dried leaves as he struggled not to fall flat on his face.

  The girls heard the noise and turned to look where he was, on his knees, his hands digging into the carpet of fallen leaves.

  "Is that you, Nathan?" one of the girls called out. “I swear if it’s you, I’m telling mom.”

  "Maybe it’s a bear," one of the girls offered.

  "No, they're hibernating."

  The girl stepped closer to the ditch at the side of the road and peered in to where the noise was coming from. For a moment, the girl saw him. Eugene jumped up and ran in the opposite direction, but the girl had been only a few steps away.

  She saw him.

  She had to know it was a man following them in the trees.

  "There's someone in there!"

  He ran.

  Only when he was far enough away did he turn and glance back.

  They were still standing there, pointing into the woods, leaning in together as if for courage. He was shocked that they hadn't run away, but perhaps that was because they seemed to think he was Nathan, whoever that was. Likely one of the boys from the playground; maybe he liked to play tricks on them.

  He turned and jogged the rest of the way back to his bike, climbing on and riding straight back to Paradise Hill.

  That was close.

  He was getting sloppy, not having hunted for a while. He knew he had to up his game if he was going to rack up the kills for long enough to make the history books.

  Elena had seen him, but luckily, he’d had his night camo on, a ski mask over his face, and the night vision goggles.

  She wouldn't be able to identify him even if she tried.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tess sat across from Michael and tried to compose herself.

  When she had tamped down her emotions well enough to speak, she looked into Michael's eyes.

  "I thought of that already," she said quietly. “I put him in Seattle, on or near the time that two girls in the area went missing. It's impossible to write him off as a suspect." She shrugged, filled with a sense of resignation. "Even I have to admit it. There were the ashes in his attic—the bones up there, too. Plus, there's the porn. If he was anyone other than my father, I'd be pointing a finger at him as a prime suspect. He was separated from his family, living alone, a long-distance trucker with all these pieces of evidence in his house. It's impossible not to see him as a suspect."

  Michael exhaled. "I'm surprised you're taking this so well. You're strong. But don't jump to any conclusions about your father. It's still possible that all the evidence means is that his house was used to store incriminating evidence by his two friends. How mobile was he after the accident?"

  "Not very," Tess said, remembering some of her visits with her father. He'd used a cane to get around for a while and had to stop long-haul trucking in favor of local deliveries. Even then he had problems, being unable to lift anything over twenty pounds because of the injury. "I don't know if he could even get up into the attic."

  Michael made a face at that. "Yeah, those folding stairs are very narrow; you have to be pretty nimble to get up there." He ran his hand over his chin, which was covered in a thicker growth of beard. "Someone got those boxes up there when John Hammond couldn't pay for the storage shed any longer. It likely wasn't your father. He would have had a hard time just getting up the ladder, let alone carrying any heavy file boxes up there."

  That made Tess feel somewhat better. If that was the case, he probably hadn't put the bones in either—they were from after her father's accident.

  At that moment, Michael's cell rang. They both startled. Michael picked it up and checked the call display, angling it so she could see.

  It was Special Agent Nash.

  He pressed the speaker icon so she could listen in.

  "Hey, Michael," Nash said, his voice sounding chipper. "Thought you might like to know we got the DNA results back from the bones in Ron McClintock's attic. Unfortunately, they don't match any girl in our database, but at least it rules out Lisa Tate."

  Tess felt a wave of relief wash over her at the news.

  "Thank God," she mouthed, meeting Michael's eyes. She wiped her hand across her brow. He nodded and reached out to stroke h
er cheek.

  "That's good to know. Do you have DNA on all the missing girls in the database?"

  "Yes," he said. "Either their DNA or a family member’s, so we can compare results to them and determine any family connections. The bones in the attic aren’t from anyone listed in the database. Could be someone who was never reported missing."

  "That's sad. How could a child go missing and not be reported?" Tess asked, forgetting that the phone was on speaker. She quickly covered her mouth.

  "Is that Tess?" Nash asked. He didn't sound irritated.

  "Yes, sorry, Special Agent Nash," she said quickly. "I walked into the room and overheard what you said." She made a face of regret and shrugged. Michael shook his head like he didn't care.

  "It's all right," he said. "I hoped Michael would tell you; I knew that you'd want to know if Lisa was ruled out."

  "Thank you," Tess said. "I really appreciate being told. I’ve been afraid it might be her, so that's a relief."

  "It’s so sad that a child could go missing and no one report her.”

  "It is sad. It seems impossible for someone not to miss a child—other family, friends," Nash said. "But it happens every year. We've seen cases where parents have sold their children for drugs, so that’s always a possibility."

  "Is there no way to try to match the DNA to someone in the FBI's crime database?"

  "As a matter of fact," Nash said, his voice sounding pleased, "they're running the DNA against the FBI database and are looking for familial links. We may be able to identify her that way.”

  After a pause, Nash continued. "Well, that's all I have for now. I'll let you know what the techs find out when I get anything."

  "Thanks for your help and willingness to keep us informed," Michael said. "We appreciate it."

  "Don't mention it."

  Michael ended the call and turned to Tess.

  "So? What do you think?"

  Tess shrugged. "Who's the child?" She shook her head in dismay. "It's terrible to think that a child is dead, and no one was looking for her."

  Michael pulled her into his arms, giving her a hug for comfort. "I know. I think of my boys, and it makes me sick."

  Tess pulled back and looked in Michael's eyes. "When will you go see them?"

  "I'm planning on going to Seattle the following weekend after the Thanksgiving holiday. You could come with me, visit your mom."

  Tess nodded, happy at the thought of getting away from Paradise Hill and the case, even if only for a few days. She'd have a long talk with her mom about Paradise Hill and her father.

  "I should pop in and see my editor, update her on the cases and the article I'm writing. I feel like I've been away from my real life for so long."

  "I know," Michael said and kissed her gently. "Me, too. I like my new life with you, though."

  She smiled. "Yes. It's like the consolation prize for all the other crap."

  "I'm your consolation prize, am I?" Michael said with a grin.

  "Definitely a prize," she replied, and kissed him back. They put their arms around each other and squeezed tightly. Despite the warmth of his arms, Tess couldn’t shake the image of a young Jane Doe, maybe ten years old, dying at the hands of the Paradise Hill serial child killer.

  Maybe spending hours in the porn room first.

  A desire to see the killer punished filled her, momentarily choking her with its intensity.

  Michael pulled away and brushed the hair off her cheek affectionately. "Feel like lunch at the Tap and Grill?"

  "I do," she said, glad to get out and get some fresh air. "Let's walk. I need the exercise if I'm going to apply to the FBI."

  "You're going to apply?" he asked, his eyes wide. "I think you should, but I wasn't sure you were really that serious about it."

  "Yes, I've been thinking about it for a while. Once this is all over, I'll put in an application."

  "I'll give you a good reference, or get Nash to give you one," Michael said, seeming really excited at the idea. "I'm sure you'll be fine, given your background. With a BA in criminology, you have the education. And you have a clean record, if I'm not mistaken."

  "I've never even had a speeding ticket," Tess said with a laugh. "I don't do drugs, and the most you can get me to drink is three beers. After that, I go to sleep."

  Michael laughed out loud at that. "I'll remember that. Two beers will be your limit when I try to ply you with alcohol."

  "You don't need to ply me," she said and squeezed him.

  "I know," he said, and kissed her. Finally, Tess pulled out of his arms. "I am hungry though, so let's go. I'm surprised you didn't join Chief Joe for lunch."

  Michael stood and went to the front closet, removing Tess's jacket for her, helping her with it. He grabbed his own.

  "Eugene was meeting him and Mrs. Hammond so I told him I already had a lunch date.”

  Tess nodded in understanding. "You really don't like Eugene."

  Michael slipped on his boots. "I really don't like Eugene."

  Tess didn't say anything more, not wanting to rehash old territory. Mrs. Carter poked her head in from the back of the house. "You two going out?"

  "Yes," Michael said. "We're going to get lunch at the Tap and Grill. Want to come?"

  Mrs. Carter waved her hand in dismissal. "You two go on your own. I'm going over to Kirsten's to see little Lou."

  "Okay," Michael said and opened the front door. "We'll be back later."

  They left the house and Tess went to the driver's side of Michael's Jeep. "I kind of like being able to drive your Jeep," she said with a smile.

  "I kind of like being chauffeured around."

  "We're a team," she replied.

  "We are."

  Michael picked the most secluded booth, with no patrons on either side of them so they could talk in private without worrying that they’d be overhead. They'd only just started on their meals when Michael's cell rang. Once again, it was Nash.

  Michael didn't put the cell on speaker, since they were in a public place.

  "What have you got?" Michael asked, meeting Tess's gaze.

  He listened for a while as Tess waited impatiently to hear what Nash had to say. Finally, Michael nodded.

  "That's very interesting. You said she's from where?"

  After another long pause, Michael sat back.

  "Okay," he said and exhaled. "I'll talk with you later," he said, and ended the call.

  Tess didn’t waste time. "Well?" she asked.

  Michael leaned forward.

  "One of the girl's names was Shawna," he said. "The daughter of a woman Kincaid dated a while back, by the name of Marianne Watson. They're from Kennewick, but apparently moved away to Idaho twelve years ago."

  "He was grooming her through dating her mother," Tess said.

  "Looks like it," Michael said. "Marianne was known to the police and had a record for prostitution and drug possession. She left Kennewick with her daughter to go live with relatives, after she had gone into rehab to get clean. They can’t locate the mother. What do you want to bet that her bones are buried somewhere in the forest near the cabin? Or maybe her ashes are somewhere in some fire pit or burn barrel.”

  "I'd bet a lot, actually." Tess sat back and stared at her plate, suddenly no longer very hungry. "So, what do you think happened? Kincaid or John met Marianne in Kennewick at the truck stop, picked her up, became involved with her, provided her with drugs, and then used her daughter for porn? Maybe killed the girl for their porn business?"

  "Something like that."

  They ate in silence for a moment, both of them lost in thought about the case and the new information.

  "Maybe Kincaid tempted her with drugs and got the girl for the business." She shook her head, unable to imagine it. "There are so many people who desperately want kids and can't have their own, and so many people who have kids they don't want and neglect or abuse—or worse. Life's not fair."

  "No, it isn't," Michael said. "Be prepared if you join the FBI that
you'll see the dark underbelly of humanity."

  Tess exhaled. "Someone has to. I can't look away."

  "That's why you should be an agent. We need people who can't look away, who have a burning need to see justice done."

  "That's me," Tess said, even more certain now that she wanted to join the FBI—if they'd take her. "Do you think I'll be able to handle training? Will I pass their tests?"

  He reached out across the table and squeezed her hand.

  "I'm certain you will. You're strong."

  She smiled at him. "I'm frustrated not being directly involved in the cases. I want to be right there, reading the files, interviewing people, looking at results."

  "Then, young lady, the FBI is for you." Michael smiled and picked up his hamburger.

  She grinned back at him and did the same, feeling a little better that the bones in the wall weren't her father’s work but rather Kincaid’s.

  She glanced up.

  "Michael, I just remembered those rent receipts for the apartment in Kennewick.”

  Michael chewed his food. "That's right."

  "That was two years before my father hurt his back. It could have been him who killed her, not Kincaid."

  Michael nodded but didn't say anything and his silence made Tess feel worse. Her father could have killed the woman and her child, then hid the child's bones up in his attic. Maybe he had been involved all along…

  "Don't," Michael said and grabbed her hand. "Don't get ahead of the evidence. We don't know anything yet. All we have are names, a relationship to Daryl Kincaid, and one set of bones."

  "Child's bones. And rent receipts in Kennewick, the town where the woman and her child lived. But those receipts were from five years ago, so that doesn't fit with the years. If the girl and her mother went missing twelve years ago, they wouldn't have been living at the apartment my father rented. Still, my father used to drive for deliveries during the time they went missing."

  "If you want, I can pass those receipts to Nash and he can look into who lived there back then."