All the Dead Girls (Graveyard Falls Book 3)

by Rita Herron

  Beth took the list of names from Vanessa, and Ian led the way outside. They hurried to the SUV, and Beth jumped in the passenger side.

  Dark had set in, the gray sky filled with more storm clouds, the woods bleak with shadows.

  Had the unsub kidnapped Prissy and dumped her phone so the police couldn’t track her?

  Images of the young girl lying helpless in a cold cave with a killer standing over her bombarded Beth. Then Vanessa crying over Prissy’s grave . . .

  Dear God, she hoped Prissy was alive.

  Beth fought a sense of déjà vu as Ian parked at an overlook on a winding section of the mountain. Was the cave where the unsub had held her and killed Sunny nearby?

  Was Prissy lying on that stone floor, terrified, freezing, and praying someone would find her alive?

  What had her dreams been? Had she dreamed of college, having a big wedding someday? Or maybe she fantasized about a career and traveling?

  Tears threatened, but she pulled herself together. Her heart ached for the young girl. She had to save her.

  Maybe Prissy’s text history would lead them to a suspect.

  “If he has Prissy, he might be local as we suspected,” Beth said.

  Ian gestured toward the sharp ridges above. “You’re right. He could live anywhere in these hills and no one would ever know.”

  Ian handed Beth a flashlight, then aimed his on the ground as they walked along the road’s shoulder.

  Gravel and dirt crunched beneath Beth’s boots. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled. A smaller animal skittered through the woods.

  Beth shined her light in a circle, then along the edge of the road. Ian stepped closer to the embankment, leaned over the rail, and scanned below. Beth paced several feet down the road and then turned around and started back, but something shiny caught her eye on the other side of the rail. Probably trash, a tin can.

  She’d check it out. She inched closer to the rail, battling dizziness at the height. The ridges were sharp, steep, and unforgiving with drop-offs over a mile deep. She gripped the rail and let the dizzy spell pass.

  When her vision cleared, she maneuvered the flashlight to cover the ground and spotted the object.

  A cell phone.

  She yanked on plastic gloves, then reached over the rail to dig the phone from the weeds.

  “It’s over here,” Beth shouted. “I’ve got it.”

  Ian jogged over to her, his expression grim. “Look, Beth, a few feet down.”

  Beth’s head swirled as she aimed her gaze down the embankment. A backpack lay in the weeds.

  Ian climbed over the rail, rocks and dirt skittering as he crept down the side of the hill. Seconds later, he retrieved the backpack and hauled it back up to the road.

  Various scenarios raced through Beth’s head. Prissy had accepted a ride with someone, realized she was in danger, and then escaped and ran down the embankment.

  The unsub had thrown her belongings off, thinking no one would ever find them. Then he took Prissy God knows where.

  Or Prissy’s dead body lay somewhere in those dark, desolate woods below.

  Ian dropped the backpack into the back of his open SUV trunk. He wanted to run the show here, but Vance’s order taunted him. He had to answer to Beth.

  “You’re in charge, Beth. You want to call my deputy and Vance?”

  She stiffened. “Forget that Vance said that, Ian. I told you earlier, we’re working together as a team. I’ll call him while you phone your people.”

  He nodded, grateful for her concession. She stepped aside to call Vance.

  Ian phoned Deputy Whitehorse. “Agent Fields has the Carson girl’s computer. We’re bringing it to the lab for analysis along with her backpack and phone. We found those in the woods.”

  “I’ll put together a search team and get out there ASAP,” Whitehorse said.

  “Did you find that cave?” Ian asked.

  “I’m afraid not. There was an old abandoned apple house, but that was it,” Whitehorse said. “I’m on my way.”

  “Thanks. We need you.”

  “The county lab is closer than the federal one,” Beth said. “I asked Vance to make some calls so we can work through there.”

  “He agreed?” Ian asked, surprised.

  “Yes. We can’t waste time driving back and forth.”

  She was right.

  Beth’s shoulders tensed as she examined Prissy’s phone.

  “Do you see anything?” Ian asked.

  Disappointment streaked Beth’s eyes. “The last phone call she made was to Vanessa. Last text at two forty-five this afternoon telling Blaine Emerson that she couldn’t wait to be with him. She suggested they meet after fifth period, skip their last class, and sneak away.”

  Ian grimaced. “Poor girl. Did the boy respond?”

  “Just with an emoji. Smiley face.” Beth sighed. “He was leading her on.”

  “Punk,” Ian muttered in disgust. “I’d like to tear him a new one. At least my father taught me to respect women.”

  Beth’s gaze met his, his comment lingering between them. But Ian didn’t retract the words. Coach Gleason had cared about the students. Once he’d told Ian that he wanted to empower females to stand up for themselves because his own mother had been bullied by her husband.

  All the more reason he felt for Prissy’s mother and despised her boyfriend. Just as he despised Bernie.

  If only Ian could find his father and tell him that he loved him.

  Beth saw the wheels turning in Ian’s head. More questions about his father—what could she say?

  If she remembered the face of her abductor, she could clear him. “I’ve worked with teens before,” Beth said. “It’s a vulnerable, stressful age. Everyone’s trying to fit in, find their place, break away from their parents. Hormones, insecurities, self-esteem, love—everything is dramatic and life-shattering.”

  “The humiliating incident with Blaine was probably the trigger. But do you think she ran away to escape her mother and stepfather?” Ian asked.

  “Sure, that’s possible. If it wasn’t for the discovery of those bodies at Hemlock Holler, we wouldn’t know Prissy was missing right now. Just like with me and Sunny.”

  Ian grew quiet, but tension emanated from his every pore. “That’s right. No one reported you and Sunny as missing, did they?”

  Beth shook her head. “The Otters wouldn’t have. They didn’t want to get in trouble and lose the money the state designated for us.”

  Beth’s phone dinged, and she checked the text. Director Vance.

  Have identified more victims. Task force meeting at noon tomorrow.

  Beth texted that she and Ian would be there. Hopefully someone on the team had found a lead.

  Dammit, Ian wanted to find Prissy Carson and find her alive.

  But instincts warned him that was not going to happen.

  “There are a few pictures in Prissy’s phone. Some at a science fair. Another couple at a blood drive where she volunteered. Then several of her and Vanessa.” Beth angled the phone to show Ian. “There are some candids of a teenage boy, probably the jerk who blew her off.”

  “He might be a punk, but he’s only a teenager, Beth. He was just a baby when you and Sunny were taken. He couldn’t be responsible for the boneyard victims.”

  “I know,” Beth said. “I can’t believe this unsub has gotten away with these crimes for years without any witnesses coming forward.”

  “He’s extremely clever or someone no one would ever suspect.”

  Like a cop, Ian thought. Or a first responder or rescue worker. Or a . . . father figure? Yet whomever this unsub was, he’d aged fifteen years.

  That meant he’d honed his skills, had learned not to leave evidence or to draw attention to himself.

  “Let’s see what’s in the backpack.” With latex-covered hands, he unzipped the pockets and catalogued the contents. History, science, and math books. Notebooks full of homework and assignments. A rain slicker. Calcula
tor.

  A binder filled with scribblings of her name in various connections to Blaine Emerson. A red scarf. Condoms.

  A siren wailed, and seconds later Deputy Whitehorse drove up and parked. Two other SUVs followed, a rescue and search team from the county.

  Ian met them and explained the situation. “At this point we aren’t sure if the girl was taken or if she ran away. She was upset with her family, and her crush at school humiliated her in front of her classmates.

  “She could have hitched a ride with a friend and dumped her stuff to make it appear she’s gone for good”—he hesitated—“or she may have climbed into a car with the madman we’re looking for, and her only chance at survival is us.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “The temperature is dropping,” Ian told Whitehorse when he arrived. “We may have an injured fourteen-year-old girl in these woods or down that embankment.”

  Hayes Weller, a husky guy in his thirties who’d been military trained in recon missions, joined them. He was the leader of the local search and rescue team. He was also an experienced helicopter pilot, lived in town, and ran transports from accidents and smaller hospitals to more critical care units.

  Weller made quick introductions and then ordered his volunteer team to work. They brought flashlights, set up larger lights to illuminate the area, and attached ropes harnessing two men to climb down to the bottom of the canyon.

  Whitehorse divided the area into grids, assigned each man an area to search, then handed Ian a portable handheld radio so they could keep in touch.

  Beth cleared her throat. “I’m going down.”

  Ian shook his head. “There’s no need. That embankment is dangerous.”

  “I’m trained for this. If she’s here and alive, she might need me,” Beth argued.

  Ian and Whitehorse exchanged concerned looks.

  “She’s right,” Whitehorse said. “A terrified girl might respond better to a female than a bunch of men.”

  Ian nodded. They were right.

  Beth headed into the woods bordering the road, and Ian followed. No way was he going to let her dive in alone.

  He used his flashlight to scan for signs of life in the deep pockets of trees covering the ridge. Beth skidded and reached out for a tree limb to break her fall, but he caught her arm.

  Her gaze locked with his, the fear in her expression tearing at his gut. She was probably thinking about Prissy, relating to what she might be going through.

  But she didn’t comment or turn back. She shook off his touch and continued on.

  Brush and bramble clawed at Ian’s and Beth’s arms and legs. Tree branches snapped, showering them with raindrops that clung to the leaves. The moon struggled to break through the storm clouds, but only a thumbnail surfaced.

  The wind picked up, howling off the mountain. The temperature had dropped to a cool fifty. The middle of the night would feel more like thirty, and hypothermia could be an issue.

  Minutes bled into an hour, then another and another as they combed the woods. The temperature dropped to freezing, and storm clouds moved in.

  A low wailing sound came from the right, and Beth halted to listen. Ian gestured to a section thick with fallen branches.

  He hadn’t lived here at the time of the prison flood, but people still talked about it. It had happened so quickly that no one had been prepared. The river had overflowed, and the dam had broken. Several lost their homes, and although rescue workers had rushed to free the prisoners, they didn’t make it in time. The electrical system had failed, and they couldn’t get inside.

  A cry reverberated in the wind. Either an injured animal or person.

  Beth stepped over a tree stump, pushed aside a limb, and abruptly halted. Ian inched up behind her. An injured deer lay in the weeds, blood oozing from its side, its body trembling.

  “He’s not going to make it,” Ian said, hating to see the deer suffer.

  Beth stooped and gently brushed her fingers across the animal’s jaw. “I’m sorry, buddy, so sorry.”

  Trees rustled a few feet below. She aimed her flashlight toward it, and he caught sight of something moving. Beth slowly crept closer, careful to be quiet, but as she approached a boulder, a bobcat stalked back and forth.

  Beth froze and so did he. Any sudden movement might incite the cat to attack.

  Ian lifted his gun and fired at the animal’s feet. He screeched and snarled but slowly backed away, the predator’s eyes gleaming in the dark.

  He didn’t want to kill the animal, but if it attacked Beth, he would shoot.

  Ian analyzed the animal’s behavior. Eyes piercing the darkness, focused on them. Head lifted as if sniffing for their scent.

  Static echoed from his walkie-talkie. “Sheriff, what was that?” Whitehorse asked.

  He kept his voice low. “A bobcat.”

  Finally the animal sprinted in the opposite direction, and they began to move again.

  Seconds later, Beth’s gasp rent the air. He pivoted and saw the reason for her alarm. A garbage bag lay in a clump of weeds. The vile stench of blood and death hit him.

  His breath stalled in his chest. Surely to God some maniac hadn’t killed Prissy, stuffed her into a garbage bag, and dumped her in the woods.

  Beth plastered one hand over her heart. Please, dear God, don’t let Prissy Carson be in that bag.

  Stuffing the body in a garbage bag didn’t fit the MO of the man who’d buried the girls at Hemlock Holler.

  Although since his burial ground had been uprooted, he might be desperate for another way to dispose of his victims. But that burial ground indicated a ritual. Rituals were important to a serial killer.

  Ian’s hand touched her shoulder. “I’ll check it out,” he said in a low voice.

  She should prove that she was strong enough to handle the task. But her stomach was roiling. The last thing she wanted was to throw up and contaminate a crime scene.

  An object caught her eye, and she shined her light on the brush.

  A pair of brown square glasses. Glasses exactly like the ones Prissy wore in one of the photographs at the Carson home.

  She pulled on a glove, plucked the pair of glasses from the weeds, and showed them to Ian. “These belong to Prissy.”

  “Dammit.” Ian pulled a baggie from inside his jacket, and Beth slipped them into it.

  She stepped aside so Ian could open the garbage bag.

  Ian removed his pocketknife and ripped open the bag. The rancid odor of a rotting carcass nearly made him gag.

  He forced himself to peek inside and hissed. It was a dead animal, although it was so emaciated he couldn’t tell what kind. Probably someone’s pet that had died and they didn’t want to take the time to bury it. It happened all the time in the mountains.

  “Ian?” Beth asked in a raspy voice.

  “It’s not her,” Ian said quickly.

  Beth leaned her head down and inhaled several breaths. “Thank God.”

  She looked so shaken that he pulled her up against him and held her. “It’s okay, we won’t give up.”

  She nodded against his chest, although tremors racked her body. For a long heartbeat, he stroked her back, comforting her. “She might still be alive,” he whispered.

  Thunder clouds boomed above, and rain began to pelt the trees and ground. His radio crackled again.

  Beth pulled away, pressing her hair back into place as she did the professional mask she wore to cover her emotions.

  “Sheriff, we haven’t found anything,” Weller said. “I say we give it up for the night. I’ll send a team out at first light to search again.”

  Lightning illuminated the sky, streaking the darkness with its force. Another pop and a tree cracked, sparks flying in all directions.

  His gut told him Prissy wasn’t here.

  “Fine. But first thing in the morning, search again. If she’s out here, maybe she discovered a place to hide.” Maybe the cave Beth had mentioned.

  But finding it in the dark with a st
orm raging around them was impossible.

  Fear sparked in her eyes as she scanned the mountain. “Where does this road lead?”

  Ian shrugged. “Up the mountain. There’s an old hunting lodge at the top, a few houses scattered around the hills.”

  A desperate eagerness laced her voice. “We should check them out.”

  “I have men on it.” He took her elbow and gestured for her to start climbing the hill. The rain was starting to pummel them, making the ground slippery, and they had to hold on to tree branches to reach the top.

  The rescue team gathered by their vehicles, wet and muddy.

  “We found the girl’s glasses,” Ian said. “No sign of her, though.”

  “Same here,” Weller said.

  “Why would he take the time to stop and throw her book bag and glasses away?” Beth asked. “That doesn’t fit with his actions to date.”

  “Maybe he had to pull over for some reason, and the girl tried to escape,” Whitehorse suggested. “She could have taken the backpack with her.”

  “And he caught up with her,” Beth said. “That makes sense. We also need to keep in mind that this could be a separate case. The mother’s boyfriend was trouble.”

  “I agree.” Ian rubbed his hands through his hair. “I’ll ask Markum to verify his alibi.”

  “We’re going to the school in the morning to question the teachers and students while your team searches again,” Ian said. “Whitehorse, be sure to cover the old lodge at the top of the mountain.”

  “There’s a 4-H camp there that’s shut down,” Weller said. “We’ll check them out tonight.”

  Beth climbed in the passenger seat, her shoulders sagging. How could she sleep knowing Prissy was still missing?

  Exhaustion pulled at her, but she didn’t want to stop looking. There was nothing she could do to help the dead girls except find justice for them.

  But if Prissy was alive, they could save her.

  The wind howled, slashing rain on the ground, shaking the trees, and pounding the car.