The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  “If you should find anything out of the ordinary, like pieces of clothing or an object that is out of place, call the item to the attention of your deputy, who will determine its significance, flag it, and call it in.

  “I want to thank each of you for volunteering your time to find this young lady.”

  Jennifer watched as the last of the vehicles left, carrying searchers to their respective areas. She tiredly sat down on a folding chair and poured a cup of coffee from her thermos. Before long, Blake sat down beside her. He wrapped a small plaid blanket he’d retrieved from his car around her shoulders.

  Surprised, she glanced at him, but he was already focusing on the topographical maps he was taping to the table. Each map was marked with that search team’s focus.

  “Blake, do you think they’ll find her today?”

  He stopped what he was doing to look at her. He waited a moment before he responded. “If they do, I doubt if they’ll find her alive. I think she’s been abducted and the one who did it has either already killed her, or soon will, because of the posters and media attention.”

  “Why haven’t we found her body?”

  “We have too much ground to cover. She could be in a shallow grave somewhere that could take years to discover.”

  “I didn’t see Nicholas Connor among the searchers. Is he here?” asked Jennifer.

  Blake opened his laptop and pulled up the searcher roster and searched for Nicholas’s name. “His name’s not here. So why wouldn’t a missing girl’s boyfriend join a search to find her?”

  “Good question. Remember when he told us he was home alone that night watching a Pacer and Miami Heat game on ESPN?”

  “Yeah, he said he ordered delivery pizza and watched the game.”

  “Well, I found the ESPN Pacer schedule on the Internet, and there was no Pacer game on ESPN that night. In addition, I talked to the kid who delivered the pizza and he said that Nicholas was not alone that night. The kid saw a woman with short, light hair and too much makeup sitting on his sofa.”

  “Sounds like we need to bring Nicholas in for a little visit.”

  ***

  He leaned against the window frame of his cabin, peering up at the sky. Where was the fucking rain? He’d had Catherine Thomas in his cabin for five days too long. Clouds in drifting shades of gray stretched across the sky, giving him hope it would rain soon. God bless the rain, his mama always said, for it washed the earth. Rain would also wash a crime scene of trace evidence, and he was all for that.

  A grin creased his face. He was damn good at what he did. Sure, he prided himself on the way he hunted and secured the bitches, the prey, but the kill itself and aftermath was apparently pure genius. In all his years of killing, not once had he even had a sniff from law enforcement. No visits, no questions, nada. That was how proficient he’d become after he’d gotten caught the first time.

  He was twelve and kicking the shit out of the family dog in the backyard when the five-year-old neighbor brat, Sally Billings, wandered into his yard. She became hysterical, screaming, sobbing for him to stop kicking the dog. He had to stop her from screaming; he had no choice. So he’d thrown her over his shoulder, kicking and shrieking, and locked her in the tool shed so he could run to the house and get his father’s belt. He returned to the shed, pulled her panties down, and beat her with the belt as his mother had beaten him. He’d counted ten lashes until she promised not to tell anyone what he’d done to the dog. Hysterically, she’d begged him to let her go, so he did, confident that the fear of another beating would keep her quiet.

  It wasn’t even three hours later that the little bitch ratted on him to her parents, and he was charged with battery, convicted and slammed in the secured juvenile detention facility for six months. But that punishment was nothing to what Mama delivered after he’d served his time. He’d learned his lesson. From that point on, once he’d secured his prey, no one got out alive.

  As for the killing aftermath, it was his own sheer genius that inspired him to wait for rain until he dumped the bodies. He’d seen on some forensics TV show how rain could wash away key trace evidence. So he’d put a damper on his impatience and wait for rain before saying good-bye to his latest prey.

  He threw another log in the fireplace and headed toward the kitchen. As soon as he entered the room, the Catherine bitch started whimpering. He walked around the wooden table where he had her face-down, naked and strapped to the table with duct tape. He’d fed her cereal a couple of hours before and cleaned up the table where she’d defecated after her last beating with good old Dad’s belt. The rain was coming and it wouldn’t be long until she’d breathe her last breath.

  ***

  It was nightfall, and finally the rain started coming down in sheets, drenching anything and anyone in its path. The searchers had gone home for the night, finishing another disappointing search for Catherine Thomas. They found nothing, leaving most to wonder how the girl could have vanished without a trace.

  The next day, Dick Mason returned to work. He and Jennifer had just had an unpleasant run-in with an intoxicated husband who chose to beat his wife so badly she’d had to be hospitalized. The poor woman had the misfortune of asking her husband where he had been for the past twelve hours. Jennifer and Dick had gladly handed the husband to a deputy, who whisked the man off for an up-close and personal visit in the county jail.

  They were waiting in line for coffee at a Starbucks drive-thru when Jennifer’s cell phone buzzed.

  “Jennifer, this is Blake. A deputy just found Catherine’s car. He’s securing the scene and is waiting for the crime analysis techs.”

  “Where’s the car?”

  “Deer Run State Park.”

  “What? How could her car be at Deer Run State Park? We’ve combed that park three freaking times!” She was incredulous. How in the hell could anyone miss seeing Catherine’s car in the parking lot?

  “That was my first thought,” Blake responded.

  “Where are you, Blake?”

  “I’m heading there now.”

  “So are we.”

  Jennifer shoved a wad of bills to the Starbucks barista at the window, took the two coffees and gunned the car in the direction of Deer Run State Park.

  Once they reached the park and entered the parking lot, even in the driving rain, they couldn’t miss the 2010 white Honda Civic. It was sitting under a street lamp that bathed the entire parking lot with bright light. The crime scene investigation van was there, as was Blake’s black SUV.

  Jennifer and Dick grabbed their yellow rain slickers from the back seat and jumped out of the car to race toward Blake, who was now waving at them.

  “Have they found anything?” Jennifer wanted to know. The crime techs hadn’t been on the scene for long, but there was always a chance they’d found something important early on.

  “Not yet,” said Blake. “But Karen Katz thinks the car has been wiped down. She can’t find any fingerprints, including Catherine’s.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Jennifer as she peered inside the car.

  “Wish I were. She said the car is fucking spotless, including the trunk.”

  “There is no way a busy young woman like Catherine Thomas would have a spotless car.” Dick added.

  “Oh, hell no,” exclaimed Jennifer. “Mine hasn’t been spotless since I drove it off the lot.”

  A silver minivan raced into the parking lot, nearly ramming the deputy’s car at the entrance, its brakes screeching as it came to a stop near them. Fred and Julie Thomas jumped out of the car and rushed toward them, sliding on the rain-slickened pavement. Julie lost her footing and slammed to the ground on her hip. Fred continued running, not even stopping to help his wife.

  “Where is she? That’s her car! Where’s Catherine?!” Fred was in hysterics.

  Dick ran to help Julie, who still lay on the ground where she fell, sobbing as the rain pelted her body. Dick checked to see if she had any injuries, then persuaded her to wait in the minivan. />
  Blake pulled Fred away from Catherine’s vehicle. “Fred, you can’t be here. This is a crime scene. Drive Julie home, and wait to hear from me.”

  “My baby. My baby’s gone.” Fred melted his knees in hysterics, crying so hard his entire body shook. Suddenly, he started gasping for air and held his left arm as he screamed in agony.

  “Jennifer, call dispatch and get an ambulance out here, stat.”

  As she called, Dick used his umbrella to shield Fred from the driving rain. Blake leaned over Fred and tried to talk him down. Julie, now on her knees next to Fred, sobbed hysterically. Helplessly, Jennifer watched Fred writhe in pain as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

  Fred Thomas had gone to that dark place parents go when they lose a child. Jennifer had visited that place the day the doctor told her that her baby was stillborn. The dark swallowed her whole for months as she grieved her loss, blaming herself for her baby’s death, certain that she was being punished for her initial decision to give him away to strangers. God was punishing her for not wanting her baby more, for not fighting harder to keep him until her abduction knocked some sense into her. She understood Fred Thomas’s pain, more than she wanted.

  ***

  The next morning, the rain continued to pelt the windows of Jennifer’s kitchen, as she poured cream into a steaming cup of coffee. A loud hammering on the front door startled her, and the cup flew from her hand and shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

  She ran to her living room and jerked open the front door. Dick Mason stood on her front porch.

  “A group of Cub Scouts just found a body in Deer Run State Park.”

  “I’ll get my rain slicker.”

  Dick raced the ten miles to the park in the driving rain and nearly lost control when the car hydroplaned near the park entrance. There were no police cars or emergency vehicles in the parking lot and they realized they were the first responders.

  “Come this way,” said Dick, as he raced toward the park suspension bridge. “Dispatch said a conservation officer called it in. He’s on trail number ten near the Ice Cave.”

  Jennifer looked down at her flat-heeled leather shoes and wished she’d thought to bring her hiking boots. Freaking great. She’d hiked the trails of Deer Run State Park many times with her dad, and sometimes by herself. She knew trail number ten was one of the more rugged trails with steep hills, deep canyons, and sandstone cliffs. She and her dad had taken this trail to see the erratics, which were pieces of bedrock from Canada that had been moved there by glaciers. The downpour of rain guaranteed the trail would be difficult, even treacherous, with the wrong type of shoes.

  They raced across the park’s suspension bridge, then entered the muddy trail at a fast walk. The area was quiet, with only the sound of rain drops hitting the leaves of the tall trees and pelting the hoods of their yellow, sheriff-issued rain slickers. Dick’s feet skidded as they hit a curve in the path too fast, but he regained his balance and moved forward. They’d reached the steep hill that led to the Ice Cave, when Jennifer slid in the mud, lost her balance, and fell face-first down the hill. She struggled to fasten onto something to break her fall. She latched onto a sapling for a second, lost her grip and slid the rest of the way on her stomach until she landed at the bottom. Dick rushed down the hill as quickly as he could in the slippery mud to pull Jennifer to her feet.

  She was covered with muck that clung to her face and hands, and soaked her pants and shoes. Trying to clean herself off, Jennifer wiped her muddy hands on a scarf she’d pulled out of her pocket. She turned away from Dick, not wanting him to see she was hurting from the fall, as well as the scratches and cuts that covered her face and hands. Dick turned her around and wiped at the mud on her face.

  “I’m fine, Dick. Stop hovering. We’re close to the cave, let’s keep going.”

  They’d gone only ten feet or so, when Jennifer saw five Cub Scouts huddled like frightened baby ducks around their wide-eyed troop leader. Several feet from them was the conservation officer she assumed called in the body. Then she saw her, a young woman lying on her back with her arms folded across her breasts, her hands pressed together as though she were praying. The rain ran rivulets down her naked body; her eyes were open, cloudy and opaque, blankly staring into space. Her face was swollen and her body had a purplish cast, but it was Catherine Thomas.

  Bile rushed to Jennifer’s throat and she swallowed hard. She tried to blink away the quick tears forming in her eyes, reminding herself that she was a professional. This was not the time to get emotional. She could do that later, when she was alone. She had to stay in control so she could secure the scene. Jennifer knew that trace evidence was critically important as it could definitively link an individual or object to the crime or accident scene. Since the body was uncovered, the rain was washing critical trace evidence away.

  Suddenly Jennifer became so enraged she shook with anger as she screamed at the conservation officer, “Where the hell were you when they did the training on crime scene preservation? You couldn’t fucking cover the body?! Gee, do you think the rain might be washing away valuable trace evidence?! And why the hell haven’t you moved the Cub Scouts and leader away from the scene!”

  The conservation officer just looked at her with a blank expression, which had the effect of pouring gasoline on her anger. She jerked off her rain slicker and carefully laid it across the top of Catherine’s body. Dick Mason removed his, and she placed it over the bottom half. The conservation officer, hands in his pockets, watched them closely, but didn’t move or say anything.

  Jennifer yanked her cell phone out of her pocket and called Lane Hansen. “I need back up at Deer Run State Park. We have a body here.”

  “Shit, is it Catherine Thomas?”

  “Yes, Lane. I think it is.”

  “I’m on my way. What do you need?”

  “Dick and I are the first responders. We need the coroner and crime scene techs. It’s vital that we get a deputy ASAP at the Ice Cave on trail number ten to secure the scene. The crime scene has already been compromised by the rain, Cub Scouts and who knows what else. We need to make sure it’s secured before anything else happens. We also need a deputy at the park entrance to prevent anyone from entering. This deputy needs to get ID, addresses, and phone numbers from anyone leaving the park. Our killer may still be here.”

  “I’ll give Blake Stone a heads up. He should be there any minute.”

  ***

  Blake Stone appeared and quickly assessed the situation. He turned to the two deputies following him, “Take the Cub Scouts and leader away from the scene, back to the parking lot. Get the leader’s statement, then find out why the hell she had these kids out here in this rain. Then get the Cub Scouts’ names and phone numbers, and find their parents to pick them up. We can call them in later to make a statement with their parents present. Make a call to Pat Brown, our victim’s advocate counselor. Those kids are going to need to talk to someone.”

  Dick pulled the conservation officer aside. They walked several feet away. Jennifer couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the ranger waved his hands as he talked as if he were angry. Dick was trying to calm him down, but soon the ranger pushed at Dick and stomped up the trail. “I’ll get his statement,” Dick called to Jennifer as he ran after the ranger.

  Blake touched Jennifer’s arm, “Is it Catherine?”

  When she nodded, Blake pulled back the rain slicker covering Catherine’s face. A drop of rain hit Catherine’s eye and as if it were a tear streaming down her cheek. That’s when Jennifer lost it. She rushed into the woods, bent down and heaved until she lost the contents of her stomach. Catherine was dead. She’d never see the bright, young woman wait on her table again, or hear the excitement in her voice as she talked about going to the police academy.

  Jennifer turned to see Blake at her side. He gently touched her back and she gravitated toward him. His strong arms encircled her like a warm blanket. She pulled him closer, melting against the warmth o
f his hard body. Nothing had felt that good for Jennifer in a long, long time. Something heated inside her as she breathed in his warm, male scent. They stood like that for a long moment, until Jennifer noticed the arrival of two crime scene technicians and a deputy who was putting up yellow crime scene tape. She gently pushed Blake away.

  He brushed her hair out of her face to examine the cuts and scratches on her cheeks.

  “Jennifer, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I am so sorry about that. I’m a professional. That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You’re a professional, but you’re human first.” He walked her back to the crime scene.

  Bob Goldberg pulled out his camera and walked the perimeter, taking photographs of various aspects of the crime scene. There was no such thing as taking too many photos, as they’d learned the hard way during a past case. He approached Catherine’s body and took photos of various angles as he got closer and closer to her.

  Karen Katz, with her hands in her pockets, also walked the perimeter looking for anything, no matter how small, that might be connected to the crime. She walked past Jennifer and Blake and said, “This is the secondary crime scene. She was killed somewhere else and dumped here.” She walked back to the body, lowering herself to her knees as she looked at Catherine’s face and neck.

  “So how’d she die, Karen?” Jennifer asked as she wiped a wet strand of hair from her eyes.

  “Did you see her neck?” She motioned for them to come closer. “See the deep grooves and bruising around her neck? I’d bet my next paycheck she was strangled with some kind of ligature. Doc Meade may even be able to tell you what type he used.”

  “What about time of death?” asked Blake.

  “This is only a guesstimate. The doc has the final word on that. But judging by the stiffness or rigor mortis of the body, I’d say eight to twelve hours ago.” She paused and looked at her watch. “It’s 9:00 a.m., so that puts it between 9:00 p.m. last night and 1:00 a.m. this morning. Keep in mind, the rain and cold weather slows down the process. It’s forty damn degrees today so my estimate could be off a bit. But, like I said, Doc Meade has the final say on time of death.”