by Billie Reece
“I did,” I lie. A necessary lie, though. The cat is currently sealed in an evidence bag and waiting in the patrol car.
Ingrid takes a drink from her juice box. “Okay, let’s talk about the cat.”
“Where did you find her?”
“Behind my school.”
“Your brother said he drops you off on the corner so you can walk in with your friends.”
“Yes, the back corner. We walk the long way around. Our parents said it was okay,” Ingrid is quick to tell me.
“I know. I believe you. Were your friends with you when you found it?”
“No. I was early because Tucker needed to get to work. After he left, that’s when I saw it lying there in the grass.”
“Did you see anybody else?”
“Just that old cat man that lives nearby. He hates kids and is always yelling at us. Tucker tells me to ignore him.”
“Cat man?”
“Yeah, he’s like really old and has tons and tons of cats.”
“Right.” I nod. “Did he say anything to you?”
She frowns. “He cussed at me and accused me of killing it.” Tears fill her eyes. “I would never kill a cat.”
Reaching across the counter, I take her hand. “I know that. Best to stay away from that old man from now on.”
Tucker comes back into the kitchen carrying a tiny hoodie. He holds it up. “Put this on. Let’s go.”
Ingrid jumps down off the kitchen stool and Tucker surveys her body, probably making sure there are no traces of cat blood.
Satisfied he hands her the hoodie. “Mrs. Cynthia’s going to watch you today. The cat incident stays between the three of us. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Thirty-Seven
“Thanks, Cynthia, I greatly appreciate this.”
I stand against the patrol car, watching Tucker express his gratitude to the neighbor, Mrs. Cynthia Hagist. It’s the third time he’s done so since dropping Ingrid off. Cynthia, a petite gray-haired woman, seemed thrilled. Ingrid had given her a big hug and disappeared inside the cozy home. Cynthia hadn’t stopped beaming since.
Still, time to move on.
I clear my throat.
Tucker casts a look over his shoulder, sending me an apologetic smile. He turns back to Cynthia. “Right. Call if anything comes up.”
“Will do.”
Tucker hurries across the yard. He gives the old woman one last wave before sliding behind the wheel. I take the passenger side.
He readjusts the seat and starts the car. “I hate dumping Ingrid on people. I like to give notice and make arrangements.”
“Did you see Cynthia’s face? I think you’re good. In fact, you made her day.”
He clicks his seatbelt and drives away. “You’re good with her. You told the Stevens’s that you’re a mom. Do you have a daughter or a son?”
I hesitate. “Son.”
“Oh, how old?”
“Fifteen.” I clear my throat.
Tucker glances over. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s fine.”
We’re silent after that as he pulls from the neighborhood.
I’m just about to check in with Lieutenant Gordon when Tucker says, “Um, thanks again for all the help. You didn’t have to bury that cat. I would’ve done that.”
“Yeah, about that…”
Nuna Dillon turns from the reception desk as Tucker and I walk in through the back of the station. I place the evidence bag on the counter.
Wrinkling her nose, she peers down at it. “What is that?”
“A cat,” I say.
“Poor thing.” She leans closer. “What happened to it?”
“That’s what I need to know as soon as humanly possible. Specifically, if the injuries are accidental or deliberate.” On the counter to the left sits a bowl of pink and white mints. I select one. “Can you do that for me, Nuna?”
“Yes.” She takes the evidence bag.
“Thank you.” I unwrap the mint and slip it into my mouth. “Let us know as soon as the report comes back.”
“Will do.” Carrying the bag, Nuna walks off.
With Tucker beside me, I lead the way to the conference room doubling as our workroom. As I walk, I touch my bruised cheek, testing it. Yep, still sore.
I stride in the conference room and run into Lieutenant Gordon coming out. One look at his face tells me something is wrong. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Caroline. She left the station earlier and didn’t tell anyone where she was going. When she didn’t return our messages, I pinged her phone. She went to that house in the woods. The one Ignacio found. I sent Sharon to make sure everything was okay. She just called. It’s not good. They’re en route to the hospital right now.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
“She’s been attacked. It’s bad.”
Thirty-Eight
The silence in the conference room weighs the air down. I stand facing the map, staring at the tiny black square.
Ignacio is back from my order to rest. Lieutenant Gordon and Sharon just returned from the hospital. Dominic and Tucker are here too. No one has said a word to me in the past hour.
Lieutenant Gordon breaks the silence. “Caroline’s been airlifted to Knoxville. She’s in critical condition. Fallon, her boyfriend, is on the way. This is no one’s fault. Caroline shouldn’t have gone to that house.”
“When Ignacio found that house, we should have done an immediate search,” Sharon spits out.
“Detective Buchanan!” Lieutenant Gordon snaps. “That’s enough.”
I turn away from the map. I look at Sharon, covered in Caroline’s blood. “You’re right,” I say. “This shouldn’t have happened. I made the call. I didn’t think it was connected to Danielle Stevens. I thought it was a cold lead on Ava Neal.”
I make eye contact with each member of the team. “I’m sorry. This is on me.” I look at Lieutenant Gordon. “Whatever Fallon and Caroline need.”
“Of course. They have our full support.”
With a sigh, I look up at the ceiling to gather my thoughts. “We can stand around and continue to blame me or we can catch this bastard. We can bring Danielle home and make the bastard pay for Caroline.” I bring my attention down to their faces. “I vote the latter.”
“That goes without saying,” Lieutenant Gordon agrees.
“I think Danielle was there,” Sharon speaks, her voice hard. “Caroline was going in and out of consciousness but I’m pretty sure she said Danielle was there.”
I breathe out. “Alive?”
“Yes,” she bites off. “From what I gathered, Caroline was trying to rescue her when the stabbing occurred.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“You’re damn right, shit!” Sharon snaps.
“Detective Buchanan!” Lieutenant Gordon reprimands again.
I hold up my hand, keeping my gaze on Sharon. “I made the wrong call. That’s on me. We can talk about it later. But for now, how about we not argue that fact and instead focus on catching our man?”
Sharon hesitates, then with a nod, she straightens up. “Yes, I’m all for that.”
“Good.” I turn to Dominic. “Did you get anywhere with Geet Cafferty?”
“Not really. Same thing you got. A guy with no hair on his face and a baseball cap.”
“The baseball cap is different,” Tucker says.
I nod. “Sketch artist?”
Dominic shakes his head. “Best we could do is the local art teacher.”
“It is what it is. I want to know as soon as something gets drawn.” Next, I look at Ignacio. “The crime team being sent to the abandoned house, I want to know everything they uncover the moment they uncover it.” I make eye contact with each member of the team again. “Time is against us. Best case, Danielle has twelve hours to live. And let’s not forget we’re also investigating attempted murder on Caroline.”
Last, I look at Tucker. “There’s a reporte
r, Jaime Hearst, who was doing a story on the old man with the cats. Apparently, they keep disappearing. Mutilated cats were part of The Lullaby Man’s thing. I want to know if the cat found near the school belonged to that man.”
“Cats?” Sharon asks. “Caroline mumbled something about cats, too.”
I nod. “There was probably a mutilated one, or more, at that house.”
“I’m on it.” Tucker leaves the workroom.
I turn to Lieutenant Gordon. “Why was Danielle there? We didn’t even know about Thomas Quillen’s connection to that place until this morning. How is it someone else did? We’ve got the doll, the envelope, the photo, and now the house. It has to be someone close to the details.”
“Someone savvy enough to figure out the house before we did,” Lieutenant Gordon ads.
With a knock, Nuna Dillon sticks her head in. “There’s a press conference in five minutes. Did you all forget?”
Lieutenant Gordon sighs. “Yes.” He looks at me. “You and me. Let’s go.”
“Bones!” Sharon blurts out. “Caroline said there were bones. Little kid bones.”
My body freezes in place. The air around me vibrates with my heartbeat. My hand comes out and I brace myself on the conference room table.
Ava Neal.
Ignacio’s already dialing his phone when he says, “I’ll make sure the team being sent to the abandoned house knows.”
I drag my thoughts to the present. “Let’s focus on the living and that would be Danielle.”
Sharon’s phone buzzes and she checks the text. “The rest of the DNA is back on the ‘care package’. As expected Geet Cafferty’s fingerprints are all over it.” Her gaze narrows as she keeps reading. “What the…?”
“Sharon?” I prompt.
“Three additional samples,” she says. “One not identified.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “Two are matches. Thomas Quillen and Rachel Eldridge.”
Rachel Eldridge, the third and final victim.
I’m too stunned to speak.
Thirty-Nine
Beyond the closet door, she heard them. Moving and talking. Laughing.
How could they laugh when she was in here locked in the dark? Scared.
Her stomach hurt with hunger. Her mouth ached for water. Her lips and cheeks cracked where the gag remained tied around her head.
The girl had thrown the cat in here a few hours ago. It landed on her lap. She kicked her legs, trying to get it off and the girl giggled.
Then the girl shut the door. She didn’t slam it. She simply clicked it closed and then stood outside, continuing to giggle.
Inside the closet, she tried to get the cat off, but her legs ached from not moving. The cat went nowhere and she was forced to sit on the floor with the poor creature remaining on her lap.
Bloody. Meaty. Bones jutting.
The blood seeped into her jeans and made her sob.
She screamed. And screamed. She pleaded. But the girl outside didn’t come back in.
Fear grew in her. It morphed into terror. No one knew she was here. No one was coming. What happened to this cat would happen to her.
The voices outside shifted, coming closer. She held her breath, praying the door wouldn’t open again. Her breath wheezed against the gag. Her body flashed hot, then cold. She whimpered. She couldn’t help it.
A knock came on the door. A friendly one. That was the man’s knock. The girl never knocked.
He sang out softly, “Are you decent? May I come in?”
The door opened. Two faces looked at her. Both smiling and happy.
Excited.
Eager.
The girl lifted an old doll. She waggled its head back and forth, talking for it. “Hello, I’m Opal. I was the one in here before you. When you leave, I’ll become Rachel.”
Rachel stared at the doll. Her muscles shook. Tears came rushing from her eyes. This was the end. They were going to do to her what they did to the cat. What they did to the other girls who had once been in this closet.
Forty
“Thank you for coming,” Chief Hickman says. “We’ll keep this brief as this is an active investigation and we need to get back to work.”
Physically I’m here at the press conference but mentally I’m checked out. We’re standing outside the police station with Lieutenant Gordon, myself, and Chief Hickman. Reporters line the sidewalk and spill out into the street. I’m sure this is the most activity small town Iris, Tennessee has ever seen.
Yes, physically I’m right here but my brain has been whirling since we got back the DNA bomb. I struggle to make sense of it.
The old cabbage patch doll left at the Stevens’s home carries a DNA match with Thomas Quillen, a man who has been incarcerated for ten years now. Worse, it carries the DNA of Rachel Eldridge, the last girl murdered before Thomas Quillen was caught. Her remains were found seventy-five miles west of here along with the remains of Mary and Opal.
Dominic is getting in touch with Rachel’s parents to see if the doll might belong to her. But more importantly, how had the copycat come to be in possession of it?
I keep one ear open, listening to Chief Hickman rattle off the usual things: Devastated family. Community support. Promising leads.
I stand up straighter at the mention of Caroline Christianson’s name. The reporters scramble like vultures for the details.
I recognize a few of the faces in the crowd. They’re the same pack that follows stories around the state. I don’t hate reporters, they simply annoy me. Some cops welcome the attention. I, however, have never been one of those cops.
“We have time for a few questions,” Chief Hickman says.
Hands go up. Chief Hickman looks around and chooses a woman in the front. “You.”
“Can you confirm the abduction of Danielle Stevens is related to The Lullaby Man, Thomas Quillen?”
I wait for Chief Hickman to respond before realizing he’s looking at me. I step up. “We don’t believe there’s a direct connection.”
The woman reporter follows with, “But there are similarities?”
“We believe we’re looking at a copycat,” I answer. “It’s been ten years since Thomas Quillen was arrested. It’s been twenty since he abducted his first victim.” Ava Neal, I silently add. “It’s been twelve since he killed his last victim.” Rachel Eldridge, I silently add. “Or the last we know of. We think someone is trying to capitalize on The Lullaby Man’s ‘fame’.”
“Why would someone do that?” The woman reporter quickly follows.
“There are evil people in this world. They do these copycat things for the kick of it. For the notoriety. For whatever reason makes sense to them.”
“Next question,” Chief Hickman calls out.
Hands go back up and this time I’m the one who picks. Jaime Hearst, the young reporter I questioned earlier, stands in the back and I point right at her.
Her eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Um…” She glances at her notes. “I guess…” She clears her throat. “Is it possible you got the wrong man? Thomas Quillen. Is it possible he wasn’t guilty? He’s not The Lullaby Man?” She lifts hesitant eyes to mine. “Could he be innocent?”
“No.” My voice comes clipped.
Jaime Hearst visibly wilts. Her voice is quieter on the next question. “But…how can you be sure?”
My jaw grinds.
Chief Hickman speaks up. “Because the court found Thomas Quillen guilty without a doubt. He also confessed to all three murders. And because the evidence said so.”
Jaime Hearst nods, her face reddening with embarrassment. “Thank you.”
More hands go up. I search the faces, just now realizing Lawrence Inglebird is missing. That’s odd. Lawrence is the one person on this earth who has invested just as much time in The Lullaby Man as I have.
But he isn’t here.
“Detective Covington?” Chief Hickman speaks.
My eyes snap to his. “Yes?”
“
Do you want to field that question?”
I have no clue what question. I didn’t hear. Instead, I say, “Where is Lawrence Inglebird?”
Forty-One
I charge into the conference room. “I need a photo of Lawrence Inglebird.”
For a moment, Sharon, Dominic, and Ignacio all stare at me. It’s Dominic who jumps into action first. He scrambles over to a laptop, click-click-clicks, and the printer whirls.
I wave to the work board. “Get it up there now.”
Dominic rushes over and puts a thumbtack on it. Lawrence Inglebird, aka Colonel Sanders, stares back. I make sure everyone is looking and listening.
“Lawrence Inglebird, sixty-eight, former news anchor, did a stint in children’s television, and now works as a freelance journalist. He made a name for himself on The Lullaby Man case. He knows the ins and outs of it on the same level as I do. He’s also interviewed Thomas Quillen several times since being incarcerated. He’s got a recognizable face. Caroline said she sensed there was no struggle. That Danielle possibly recognized her abductor. This would hold true with Lawrence. When we brought him in for questioning, Caroline said she felt as if he was withholding information.”
“Thomas Quillen could have told Lawrence Inglebird about the abandoned house,” Lieutenant Gordon suggests.
“About all of it,” Ignacio adds.
“It’s a theory,” I say. “Our priority now is finding Lawrence Inglebird. We need to circulate his picture. Get an all-call on his vehicle. I want him in an interview room in under an hour.”
With nods, the team breaks apart, each picking up phones and getting onto computers.
Lieutenant Gordon runs a hand over his bald head. “You really think he’d do this? Copy Thomas Quillen, abduct Danielle Stevens, and attack Caroline Christianson?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I admit. “But I do know Lawrence hasn’t had a real scoop in a long while. His name was all over the press during The Lullaby Man. You get used to that attention and it’s difficult when it dwindles. This copycat thing is a new chapter.”