All the Shiny Things: A Kate Reid Novel (Kate Reid Series Book 1)

by Mahle, Robin

  Scarborough made his way inside, not waiting for an invitation.

  Katie was already sitting up and had only just been able to slip on her robe before he barged in. If their relationship had been a secret before, it wasn’t any longer.

  Scarborough, an acutely perceptive man, seemed unmoved at the sight of the two of them having shared a bed. “We need to get Katie out of here.”

  “What?” She jumped up, clutching her robe together, although her modesty had gone unnoticed. “Why? What happened? Is my family okay?”

  “Yes, they’re fine. I’ve been ordered to get you into protective custody now. Grab your things; we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  “Wait, hold on. What the hell happened?” Marshall asked.

  “Chief Wilson arrived at the station about twenty minutes ago. He found a package that was left around the back entrance,” Scarborough replied.

  “Oh God.” Katie eased back down onto the bed. It was the dreaded other shoe that was about to hit the floor with a great thud.

  “Katie, it was your friend’s wedding ring. There was also a note inside. It said he wanted it to go to you, as a reminder of what happened.”

  “We need to get down to the station and run it for prints,” Marshall said.

  “We’re already on it. I don’t expect we’ll find prints.” Scarborough turned to Katie. “He’s here and we need for you not to be. This isn’t coming from me, although I concur; it’s coming from the top and you have no choice now.”

  She looked to Marshall, pleading for him to object, but she knew he wouldn’t; not this time. He only started to gather her things. “Where are you going to go?” She’d hoped he would come with her, but that wasn’t who he was. Marshall would see this through to the end.

  She waited for him to respond, but he didn’t, or couldn’t. Either way, she knew she wouldn’t see him again until all this was over. “When am I leaving?” she asked Scarborough.

  “The arrangements are being made now. We’ll go down to the station as soon as you’re packed and ready. Then, I’m guessing you’ll be leaving sometime this afternoon. I’ll be down in the lobby. Get down there as soon as you can.” Scarborough shot Marshall a judgmental glare and left the room.

  “What kind of look was that?” Katie asked.

  “The kind that says I should know better than to sleep with someone I’m supposed to be protecting.”

  “That’s absurd. Everything you’ve done has been to protect me.”

  Marshall moved closer, standing just inches in front of her. “He’s right. You should have been put in protective custody weeks ago, after he contacted you again. I’ve been playing a dangerous game because I wanted to keep you close to me. I kept telling myself you were an integral part of the investigation and needed to stay. But in all reality, I’ve been the one putting you at risk. I’m sorry for that.”

  She tried to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her. “I’m in love with you, Kate. I realized it a long time ago. I know there’ve been times when I saw the look in your eyes; you wanted more from me, but I stopped myself. I knew it wasn’t right. I didn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability.”

  “What changed?”

  “I don’t know. Sam’s death; the pain I saw in your eyes. I wanted so badly to make it go away.”

  “That was the only reason? To make me feel better?”

  “No, of course not; I love you and I knew you cared for me too. I wanted to be with you.”

  “You know I don’t just care for you, Marshall. After everything we’ve been through? I love you too.”

  Scarborough pounded on the door again, destroying all momentum that was about to lead them somewhere she desperately wanted to go.

  “Let’s get a move on!” he shouted.

  The fantasy they were living in was about to end. She would be hidden somewhere, God only knew, and he would stay and help the FBI until they found the killer.

  “Will you know where I’ll be?” she asked.

  “Well, after Scarborough caught us in the same room, probably not. And he’d be right. If things start to go south; if I don’t know where you’re at, the safer you’ll be.”

  She returned to packing her things, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that this could all end very badly; she couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone else she loved.

  After running a brush through her hair in the bathroom, she emerged, dressed and ready to leave.

  Marshall was sitting patiently on the edge of the bed, watching the news. And there it was. A picture of Sam flashed on the screen. They both stared at the television in silence, waiting for the reporter to speak.

  “Samantha Hansen of Arcata, California was found dead behind a rest stop just outside of Rio Dell. Samantha was twenty-eight years old and a newlywed. Police recently held a local press conference, brushing aside any claims that this case is linked to the Katie Reid case. The victim of a childhood kidnapping more than twenty years ago, Katie Reid recently came forward with a sketch of her abductor, having memories of the traumatic event resurface less than a year ago. Police have dismissed any connection between the two cases, though, sources say, it is suspected that her abductor kidnapped and murdered several other children in 1989. Samantha had been a long-time friend of Katie, but police dismiss this as unrelated. The FBI is now involved and sources say the investigation has escalated since the tragic murder of Samantha Hansen.”

  Marshall turned off the TV. “Son of a bitch. That was the national news. We’re going to be hounded by them now. Maybe Scarborough was tipped off and that’s why the big rush to get you out of here; their profilers did a threat assessment and they want you gone.”

  “Why didn’t he tell you?”

  “I don’t know, but we need go—now.”

  » » »

  Hints of daylight’s arrival were evident in the birds chirping and the few remaining night creatures scampering away, back into their burrowed holes. It was still early when they arrived at the station.

  It wouldn’t be long before the media converged on this small town. And the package? The one Scarborough rushed in to tell them about? Sam’s ring and a note. The killer would no longer be able to sneak around here unnoticed, assuming that was what he was doing. Not with the FBI in full force and the press breathing down their necks. He would be forced to take more drastic measures to get her attention; more drastic than killing her best friend. This was the real reason why the FBI wanted her taken somewhere safe; away from everyone she loved in order to protect them too.

  Scarborough, Marshall, and the others filed inside, Katie following closely behind. One of the agents kept looking around like he was waiting for someone to take a pot shot at them. Did Scarborough know more than he was letting on?

  “We’re going to hold a briefing to get everyone up to speed, including the agents who will be handling your transfer,” Scarborough said.

  Katie listened and realized she was about to get the chance she needed.

  After the FBI began their meeting, she’d make her move. There were several agents, more than expected, and the entire Rio Dell police department, which consisted of about eight people. The only space that could hold everyone was the main bullpen area just opposite the entrance. Katie was not asked to participate, but to remain in the lobby, which was fine by her.

  They didn’t take any notice when she slipped out to the back. She told the dispatch officer, the only other person not involved in the briefing, that she was going to use the restroom. He only grunted acknowledgement, since he was trying hard to listen to Scarborough speak.

  Approaching the chief’s office, she ensured no one was around and jiggled the door handle; it wasn’t locked, so she walked right in. “Now what?” she said, scanning the room and looking for something; anything that would stand out and scream “I killed Sam.” But did she really believe he killed her? No. But she did believe he knew something and wasn’t talking.

  His desk was still covered in pape
rwork. “How the hell does he even work in this?” She then proceeded to scatter the papers further, in hopes of revealing something of meaning. She was forced to view the heartbreaking crime scene photos of Sam again, but pushed them aside. She had precious little time and couldn’t afford painful sentiments right now.

  What was she looking for? How was it that Sam was found by a maintenance crew that only showed up once a month? She began pulling open the file cabinet drawers, the old metal rollers screeching on their drawer guides. Nothing. She rifled through the files on the credenza, then the files on the bookshelf. Nothing.

  Time was ticking away as she scavenged through his office. “What is it that you’re hiding, Chief?” She opened the pencil drawer and a sticky note with the word “Caltrans” was scribbled on it. Just below was a phone number and some dates.

  Caltrans was short for the California Department of Transportation. They’d be the ones who would maintain the rest stops, wouldn’t they? she thought.

  Katie wanted to dial the number, but her phone was being monitored and if she picked up the chief’s landline, would the dispatcher see it light up on the switchboard? In the end, she decided her phone would be the least noticeable, in the short term. Everyone who mattered right now to the investigation was out front.

  She punched in the number and the automated operator answered. Damn, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. I bet they’re not open. But what struck her the most was confirmation that the number had in fact been for the maintenance department. The menu indicated that by pressing 2, she could reach highway maintenance. “Oh my God, did he schedule the crew, or know someone there who would do him a favor?” Katie was struggling to connect the dots completely, but it was starting to become clearer. The chief knew Sam’s body was there. But if it was an anonymous tip, wouldn’t he have shared that information? No, it had to come from someone he knew, someone he didn’t want anyone else to know about. She disconnected the call and, for a moment, stood there, processing her theory, trying to make sense of it. But she was running out of time.

  She started flipping through the files again in the tall cabinet, looking for anything else that would help her piece this together. She reached the back of the bottom drawer and spotted a file that had no label and lifted it up just enough to bend it open. Inside were the chief’s personnel files, at least, some of them. Katie scanned through, looking for anything of relevance, but she only read that he had been a detective with the Sacramento PD since 1980 and the files indicated he applied for the detective’s position with Rio Dell in 1989; the same year of her abduction. She knew he had been in charge of her case during that time. He told her that he knew of her case and wanted to be involved, so he applied to relocate and head up the investigation. At that time, the Rio Dell Police Department consisted of about four people: the chief at the time, two beat cops, and then they had an opening for a detective because of Katie’s case. Wilson applied and was transferred soon after.

  There must have been cases that were more exciting in a big city like Sacramento; why did he have such an interest in hers? He would have probably soared in the ranks of that department, maybe even made Commissioner by now. But he chose to move his family to this hick town where nothing ever happened, except when three kids went missing in the summer of 1989.

  She jotted down his badge number with Sacramento PD. It was the only identifying piece of information she could find. No social security numbers, no home address, nothing else. His badge number was the only place to start looking. Katie knew enough people in the San Diego PD who could help her pull information based on that alone. Her only problem now? She was about to be yanked from society; hidden away. No social media, no contact with anyone, not even Marshall. She would have to convince them not to put her into custody. Would a Caltrans phone number or the chief’s personnel file be enough? Not this time; they were under too much pressure. The only solution would be to find a way to remove herself from this situation if she wanted answers. The information was hardly enough to warrant an investigation into Wilson. The likely scenario was the one that made her pulse rise at the mere thought of it. Execution was now the key.

  She peeked out the window, expecting someone to come walking down the hall, looking for her, but the corridor was empty. She could slip out the back. Her purse was with her, so she had her cell phone, ID, some money—not much, but there were credit cards. It was too easy to trace those, but not if she withdrew as much money as she could in town, then not use them again. Keys? She needed a car. A patrol car certainly wasn’t the best choice; she knew she wouldn’t get far in that. Marshall’s rental was parked out front. How was she going to get out of there?

  Marshall would know what to do, but he couldn’t be involved in this. It would cost him his badge and she wasn’t willing to risk it. He was too vested in her now; he would want her safely in protective custody, insisting he could snoop around the chief more discreetly than she could. But what would he find and would it put him in danger? She didn’t know how long it was going to take for her to find answers, or even if the answers would be what she needed to hear. This had to happen without him.

  Her pulse quickened to the point that she was feeling lightheaded. This was by far either the dumbest thing she was about to do, or the smartest. It would only be a few days, maybe a week at the outside. Then I’ll come back with something or nothing and they can do with me what they will. Marshall would have no culpability. She was rationalizing to the nth degree. It was the only way to convince herself she was not taking a ridiculously stupid risk with her own life. No protection from the killer who was after her. “It’s only a few days, then I’ll come back.”

  If she was going to leave, it would have to be now.

  22

  “Keys, keys, there have to be some keys in here,” she whispered, frantically searching Wilson’s desk drawers. Someone would come looking for her any minute; there was no time to waste. How long had she already been gone? Fifteen, twenty minutes?

  The top drawer of the credenza against the back wall; there they were—the keys to the chief’s Chevy Tahoe. She snatched them up and rushed to the door. Opening it slowly, she peered around the still-empty hall and stepped out. Quiet, undetectable steps carried her quickly to the back exit, where she pushed the metal bar to open the door and slipped out. The back parking lot had few cars in it, and so spotting the chief’s navy-colored, late model Tahoe was an easy task. Emblazoned on the front driver and passenger doors were the Rio Dell police emblems, big as you please. She could have laughed at her own recklessness.

  Katie pressed the remote keyless entry and jumped in. One thing was on her side; the only windows at the back of the building were in the kitchen, the copy room, and two small windows from each of the men’s and women’s bathrooms. No one in the front of the station would be able see her leave.

  She started up the SUV and it roared with its great American raucous engine. Was she really doing this? No time to think; just do. She pulled out onto the road, turning left, opposite the station. Her hands shook and her heart was pounding against her chest. She felt like a convict escaping prison. Of course, she realized she would probably end up in prison for stealing the chief’s car.

  Sam and Jarrod’s house; that was where she would go. It was only fifteen minutes away. Would he even be there? He had been staying at Sam’s parents’ house, but for how long, she didn’t know.

  With her phone being tracked, no calls could come in or out, or they’d find her for sure. There was a convenience store on the way; she’d have to buy a pay-and-go.

  “That’ll be forty-one dollars and sixty cents.”

  Katie handed the money to the cashier. The man looked like he was stoned, which seemed a little odd, considering the still early hour.

  “Does this have a charge, or do I need to plug it in first?”

  “You probably got enough juice for a couple of calls, but you’re supposed to charge it up first,” he said in a manner that confirmed her s
uspicions.

  “Thanks,” Katie replied.

  After he gave her the change, she walked to the ATM machine and plucked as much money as her two credit cards would allow. Five hundred dollars; it would have to do.

  She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat and ripped open the cell phone package, powering it up. The cashier stared at her through the window, his eyes squinting as if straining to see what she was doing. Shit, I gotta get out of here. Stoned or not, it wouldn’t take long for the guy to realize she was in a car that didn’t belong to her.

  The torque of the engine launched her forward, but then she threw it into reverse and backed out. She was again on the main road and headed to Sam’s house, punching her number in from memory. One of the few she could actually recall. For a moment, she imagined Sam picking up the phone off of the foyer table where it sat next to the bowl full of loose change. Instead, only the sound of her voice on the answering machine came through. He hadn’t changed the message yet.

  Jarrod’s cell number was stored in her own phone and she would have to turn it on to search for it. So far, no missed calls, but that would soon change. Maybe ten more minutes, at best, and they’d know she was gone. Searching her contacts, she found his number and dialed it on the disposable.

  “Please pick up, please pick up,” she chanted, worried he wouldn’t recognize this unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, thank God. Jarrod, it’s Katie. I don’t have time to explain, but I need your help. I need to borrow your car.”

  “What? Why? What’s going on, Katie? Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll explain when I have more time. Are you at home?” she asked.

  “I’m on my way, why?”

  “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Can I meet you there and borrow your car?”

  “Borrow? For how long?”

  “A few days; a week, tops.”

  “Are you in trouble? Where’s Detective Avery? Isn’t he supposed to be in charge of your safety?”