Cold Case at Carlton's Canyon

by Rita Herron

  “She was strangled?” Amanda asked.

  “MO is the same as Kelly and Tina,” Justin said. “The ring in her hand belonged to Julie Kane.”

  Amanda muttered something beneath her breath. “Lynn and Julie were staying at the Sunset Mesa Inn. Mrs. Faust hasn’t heard from Lynn since yesterday. She was supposed to be shopping for a dress for Saturday night.”

  “Did you talk to the inn’s manager?”

  Amanda clenched her phone. “Next on my list. Then I want to talk to the school counselor.”

  One of the crime techs motioned that he’d found something, and Justin walked over to him and saw him holding up a long brown hair with a pair of tweezers. “The victim is blond. You may be right. This may belong to the unsub, a female.”

  Or hell, this was an event center; there was no telling how many people had been in and out. They probably needed the names of all the employees, vendors, cleaning staff. Another list to sort through.

  “Bag it and anything else you find. And don’t forget to search the door and floor for prints. If our suspect is female, she probably had to drag the body inside. At some point, she might have touched the wall or floor for support.”

  Amanda returned, her phone in hand. “Neither Lynn nor Julie showed up at the inn last night. I told the owner to call me if they did. And I asked my deputy to check out the rooms where Lynn and Julie were staying to see if there was any indication where they might be.”

  “I’ll call and put a trace on Julie’s and Lynn’s phones.” He punched in the number for his chief and made the request as he and Amanda rushed to her car. This time she took the wheel and, ten minutes later, they were seated in the living room of Faye Romily, the school counselor.

  “I don’t understand how I can help you,” Ms. Romily said.

  Amanda explained the connections they’d made between the missing girls and the recent murder victims.

  “You really think one of your classmates is behind this because of some deep-seated jealousy?” Faye asked.

  “The unsub has to be mentally unstable,” Justin explained. “The class reunion was a trigger for the rage that has been eating at him or her for years, so the perp escalated.”

  “Deidre Anderson said that Bernadette Willis was cut from the cheerleading squad that year, and that she suffered emotional issues.”

  A stricken look crossed Faye’s face, and she stood and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Amanda, you know I can’t discuss the sessions I had with any of the students. That’s confidential.”

  Amanda sighed wearily, but Justin squared his shoulders. “Ms. Romily, we believe there are two other young women missing now. If the suspect follows the pattern, those girls may be dead before morning. We don’t have time for a court order—”

  “Please, Faye,” Amanda said. “You don’t have to divulge details—just tell us about Bernadette. Did she suffer emotional problems?”

  Faye inhaled sharply and gave a quick nod.

  “Did you think she was dangerous?”

  “I don’t want to say—”

  Justin cut in, “Did she ever talk about hurting anyone in her class?”

  Faye winced and cut her eyes sideways. “She was a troubled young girl. I...tried to follow up and see what happened to her after graduation and was told she was institutionalized at one point.”

  “Do you remember the name of the hospital or mental-health center?”

  Faye hesitated a moment, then scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

  Amanda flashed Justin a look of concern. They both were watching the clock.

  “I’ll call them,” Justin said. “See what they’ll tell me or if they have an address where she lives now.”

  Amanda’s phone was buzzing. “That’s the mayor calling. I’m going to tell him to set up a press conference for the morning. I think it’s time we inform everyone what’s going on and warn them there’s a serial murderer in town.”

  Justin punched the number for the mental hospital. How many more women did the unsub plan to kill?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Justin punched Disconnect on the phone with a curse. “The receptionist at the hospital wouldn’t tell me anything about Bernadette. Patient confidentiality.”

  “Let’s go there in person,” Amanda said. “Maybe if we talk to one of the doctors they’ll help us. I’ll start working on a warrant.”

  Justin gritted his teeth as she put in the request and drove toward the mental hospital.

  “Yes, Judge, we think two more women may be missing and possibly dead. Every second counts.” A pause, then Amanda thanked him and hung up.

  “He’s going to do it. I set the press conference up for ten in the morning.”

  “Hopefully we’ll have the killer in custody by then and you can deliver some good news.”

  She rolled her shoulders as if to relieve tension. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  She accelerated, and ten minutes later they parked at a concrete building set off from the road surrounded by barbed wire fencing.

  “This place looks like a prison,” Justin muttered.

  “It’s the only mental health facility within a hundred miles,” she said. “I guess they have some dangerous cases.”

  “Like Bernadette?”

  She shrugged, and they identified themselves at the security gate, then parked in the visitor lot. Other than the few cars in the employee lot, the place looked virtually empty.

  Justin glanced at the clock. Of course, it was late for visitors. But he had the uneasy sense that this was a place where unwanted people were discarded by loved ones and forgotten.

  His impression of the place continued to go downhill as they entered. The building smelled old, like sick people, medicine and despair. Amanda squared her shoulders as she spoke to the receptionist, who eyed Justin over the rims of her bifocals.

  “Judge Stone is working on a warrant for your records on Bernadette Willis. I need to speak to the director of the hospital and the doctor who treated Bernadette.”

  The nurse fiddled with a pencil stuck in her bird’s-nest hair, then punched a button and paged the director along with a Dr. Herbert.

  The director arrived first, a portly man with a white beard, and led them to his office. Seconds later, Dr. Herbert, a rail-thin fiftyish bald man appeared, reading glasses perched on his head.

  Justin explained the reason for their visit.

  “We need to know everything you can tell us about Bernadette,” Amanda said. “What was her diagnosis?”

  “You know I’m not comfortable discussing my patients,” Dr. Herbert said staunchly.

  “We are investigating the disappearance of a string of girls, at least three of whom are dead,” Justin said in a dark voice. “If Bernadette exhibited signs of violence or verbally threatened any of them and you don’t tell us, then you’ll be responsible for their murders.”

  Dr. Herbert and the director exchanged concerned looks; then the director gestured for Herbert to speak up.

  Dr. Herbert fiddled with the pocket of his lab coat. “Bernadette was suffering from bipolar disorder when I treated her. Our sessions were private and yes, she did express hatred for several of her teenage classmates, girls she felt shunned her and made fun of her, but as far as I know, she didn’t act upon that aggression.” He paused, and Justin and Amanda both remained silent, waiting for more.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Justin finally asked.

  Dr. Herbert released a wary sigh. “She did attack another girl who was here at the time.”

  “What do you mean, she attacked her?” Amanda asked. “What exactly happened?”

  Dr. Herbert tensed. “She tried to strangle her.”

  * * *

  AMANDA’S ADRENALINE KICKED in, charging her with hope. “What happened after that?”

  “We reevaluated her and changed her medications,” Dr. Herbert answered. “She received intensive therapy and was released a year later.”

  “Wh
ere did she go from here?” Justin asked.

  Herbert slanted the director a questioning look. “I referred her to a home for troubled young women so she could continue her recovery with group therapy.”

  “What was the name of the place?” Amanda asked.

  “Hopewell House.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “Did you follow up with her?”

  Dr. Herbert shrugged. “I did. But I was told she left after a couple of weeks. I have no idea where she went from there.”

  Amanda ground her teeth. Bernadette could have moved anywhere.

  “You should try her aunt,” the director said. “She visited her once in the hospital, but said she was too old and that Bernadette had too many problems for her to take her in permanently.”

  Amanda’s heart constricted. So Bernie had felt abandoned and alone. Even her only living family member hadn’t wanted her.

  “Do you have her contact information?” Amanda asked.

  The director drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m not supposed to give it out.”

  “Do you want more women to die?” Justin asked bluntly.

  The man scraped a hand over his beard, then jotted down the address.

  Amanda shook their hands. “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else that might be of use, please call me.”

  She jangled the keys in her hands as they rushed to the car. Seconds later, she peeled from the parking lot and headed out of town toward the aunt’s house.

  “What do you remember about Bernadette?” Justin asked.

  “Not much. She was quiet, withdrawn. Obsessed with science fiction characters and movies. Rumors circulated that she was really a guy.”

  “Was she gay?”

  “I don’t know. Her clothing and mannerisms and hair seemed masculine.”

  “Gender confused,” Justin suggested. “Maybe she was struggling with her sexual identity and the popular girls accentuated the fact that she didn’t fit in.”

  Amanda swerved onto a side road that seemed to lead nowhere. Raw land and rugged countryside sprawled ahead of them, an eerie feeling encompassing her.

  Bernie’s aunt lived out here—alone?

  The car bounced over ruts in the road, a sliver of moon offering little light against the shadows. Her headlights blazed a trail on the dirt road that finally led her to a small trailer. No other houses or trailers were around, making her wonder why the woman lived in such an isolated area.

  “What’s the aunt’s name?” Justin asked as she parked and they walked up to the door. The trailer was rundown. A clothesline out back held a string of ratty jeans and housedresses, and a mangy-looking dog lay slumped on the ground near the stoop.

  “Oda Mae Willis. She is Bernie’s father’s sister. I heard she is eccentric, that she never married.”

  Three cats also roamed the yard, and when Amanda knocked, a screeching sound like cats fighting echoed from the inside. Shuffling followed. Then the door squeaked open, and a stoop-shouldered gray-haired woman wearing an orange flowered housedress stood on the other side. The scent of cigarette smoke surrounded Amanda, and the acrid smell of cat urine wafted through the door.

  Amanda fought back a gag. “Ms. Willis, it’s Sheriff Blair and this is Texas Ranger Sergeant Thorpe.”

  The woman glared up at her with rheumy eyes. “What you want?”

  “We need to ask you about your niece. Is she here?”

  “Hell, no,” the woman muttered. “I told those folks at the hospital I couldn’t take her in. That girl’s too much trouble.”

  Amanda’s heart squeezed for Bernadette. First to lose her parents, then to be a misfit in school, and to have her aunt refuse to give her a home. “Have you seen or talked to Bernadette lately?”

  The woman clacked her false teeth. “Hadn’t seen her in years and she just showed up here a couple of days ago. Said she was back for that reunion. Wanted to show all those kids that was mean to her what she’d made of herself.”

  “What was it she wanted to show off?” Justin asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Oda Mae muttered. “But she had that mean look in her eyes like she did the night I sent her to that hospital.”

  “You sent her there?” Amanda asked.

  Oda Mae’s head bobbed up and down. “Didn’t have no choice. She killed one of my cats. Strangled the poor baby to death. Then she started on another and I got my shotgun and made her stop.”

  Amanda’s pulse clamored. Killing animals was a sign of sociopathic behavior.

  An indication that Bernie might have been practicing for killing a human.

  And becoming a serial killer.

  * * *

  “IF BERNADETTE ISN’T staying with her aunt, where would she stay?” Justin asked as they settled back in the car.

  Amanda rubbed her finger along her temple and started the engine. “The inn is the most popular place.” She punched the number for the inn, then asked if Bernadette was registered there. “Okay, thanks. If she shows up, please call me.” When she hung up, she shook her head.

  “There are a couple of motels on the outskirts of town. Try those.”

  She gave Justin the names and he made the calls. The first one was a bust, but the clerk who answered at the Canyon Resort Motel confirmed that Bernadette was registered in room twelve.

  Amanda steered the car back onto the dirt road, then hung a left when she reached the main highway. Five miles down the road, they reached an adobe building painted a burnt orange that boasted a view of the canyon. Amanda parked, and they rushed to the lobby.

  They both flashed their credentials. “We’re looking for Bernadette Willis,” Justin said.

  The tiny lady behind the counter looked as if she were ninety. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  “We just need to talk to her. Do you know if she’s here?”

  “Saw her leave this morning.”

  “Can you give us a key to her room?” Amanda asked.

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that,” the little woman said.

  “Look, we need to get in there. We have reason to believe she might be in danger,” Justin said, hedging.

  Fear splintered the lady’s face, and she reached behind her and retrieved a key. Her hand trembled as she handed it to Amanda.

  Justin led the way outside and down the row of rooms until they reached room twelve. He knocked and identified them as police officers, but no one answered so he used the key and let them inside.

  The room was dark, and he flipped on a light by the door.

  “Bernie?” Amanda called as she brushed past him to check the bathroom. But there was no answer. The bed was unmade, a duffel bag tossed on the floor, a wet towel thrown across the bed.

  Justin scanned the rest of the room and saw a yearbook on the bed. He picked it up, his pulse clamoring as he flipped the pages. He found the photo of the cheerleading squad on Suzy’s screen saver.

  Bernadette had drawn big black x’s across the girls’ faces.

  Amanda’s phone buzzed, and she snatched it from her belt. “Sheriff Blair.” She hesitated. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

  “What?” Justin asked.

  “That was Delores at the inn. Bernadette is there now.”

  Justin flipped the yearbook around. “Look at this.”

  Amanda took one look and motioned to the door. “Let’s go. If we hurry, maybe we can arrest her tonight and this ordeal will be over.”

  * * *

  AMANDA SWUNG THE squad car toward town, hit the gas and wove around a tractor trailer pulling out from a side street.

  Her thoughts strayed to Lynn and Julie. Were they all right?

  She hoped they’d snuck away to the city for a while.

  The other option was too disturbing because it meant they might be dead.

  But if she had them, why go to the inn tonight?

  The temptation to turn on the siren hit her, but she didn’t want to warn Bernadette she was coming.

  Jus
tin pointed to an SUV across the street from the inn. “Look, there’s a black SUV with a brunette in it.”

  Amanda slowed and parked several cars back on the side of the road. “Come on, let’s move in quietly.”

  Justin slid from the car, his gun drawn, and they crept along the sidewalk toward the SUV. They inched past a sedan and a minivan. Then Justin gestured that he’d take the right side of the SUV and she’d move in on the left.

  A car whizzed by, forcing her to duck between cars, and Bernie glanced up in the mirror. Panic flashed in her eyes when her gaze met Amanda’s in the rearview mirror.

  She reached for the keys, and the car engine rumbled to life. Amanda didn’t intend to let her get away. Keeping low, she ran toward the SUV. Justin reached it before she did and tapped on the passenger side of the vehicle.

  His knock distracted Bernie long enough for Amanda to reach the driver’s side. She rapped on the driver’s door, but Bernie saw her and gunned the engine.

  Amanda had to jump back to keep from getting run over. “Stop, Bernie!”

  Justin gestured toward the squad car, and they jogged back to it. Amanda jumped in and floored the engine. Tires squealed as she chased the SUV through town and onto the country road leading toward the motel.

  Another car darted onto the highway in front of Bernie, and she swerved to miss it. She lost control, and the car wove back and forth, brakes squealing.

  Amanda slowed to avoid hitting her as the SUV careened into a ditch.

  Amanda’s breath caught. If Bernie died, they might never find the other missing women.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Amanda steered the car to the side of the road and cut the engine, and she and Justin ran toward the SUV.

  By the time she reached it, smoke was billowing from the hood. Justin beat her to the driver’s side, yanked open the door and dragged Bernie from the vehicle.

  Blood dotted her forehead and lip, and her eyes looked glazed. From drugs or shock?

  Amanda gripped her phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  Justin eased Bernadette down onto the ground a few feet away from the SUV and checked her pulse.

  Amanda punched 911 and gave the dispatch officer an address, then knelt beside Justin and Bernie. “How is she?”