Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Jennifer Chase

  Possible.

  She jotted a few notes on the chalkboard, then wrote down the names of people who’d been interviewed, using only their initials. Then she transferred the list to her cell phone so that she had something to work from out in the field.

  “Well, Cisco,” she finally said.

  The dog sat up, ears pointed in her direction as he waited patiently for a familiar command.

  “We’re going on a little trip.”

  Seven

  The man used slow, even strokes and a steady hand with the walnut-colored furniture stain. He ran the pristine animal-hair paintbrush across the bare wood carefully, making sure that every pore was saturated as he darkened the custom-cut lumber to his liking. Every movement was done with a gentle touch, and the hand-crafted detail made each piece close to perfection. He strived for extreme fastidiousness; there was nothing that was too good for them. It was the least he could do. If he could have included his actual love in the construction, he would.

  An open laptop sat on a sawhorse. It was tuned to a national news station spewing everything ugly going on in the world. The volume was set to high; it was difficult not to hear all the gruesome stories. There were murders, gang shootings, police executions, home invasions, and crooked politicians, each story uglier than the last. The sensationalism and community outrage made for a dangerous cocktail, addictive for some, so that they could not stop listening to the news.

  A pretty blonde reporter wearing a bright-blue dress read from her teleprompter with a smug matter-of-fact manner.

  “It is not known at this time…”

  The man stepped back to stare at his latest project, searching for any imperfections or inconsistencies. He loved every part of the process. It took him more time to build the coffin than it did to find the perfect occupant.

  “… whether the father is a person of interest or a suspect.”

  The four major stages of building the wooden boxes were: finding the right wood, patiently applying numerous layers of stain, stitching each section of fabric perfectly, and finalizing every finishing nail.

  “What we do know is that seven-year-old Candy Carter went missing after she got off the school bus.”

  The rectangular box was more than a work of art to him—it was his communication to the afterlife through his own labors.

  “Police have been tight-lipped about other potential suspects and have not responded to allegations of ongoing physical abuse from a family member.”

  It was the closest thing to hearing the other side, the right side, championing his efforts for his chosen recipients. He loved his little girls and only wanted to protect them from the harm that would eventually circumnavigate their lives, leading to destruction, torment, and grave sadness. That was something he couldn’t bear.

  “As the hours and days tick by, police are becoming more concerned. If anyone has any information about the whereabouts of this little girl, please contact them immediately.”

  Eight

  Highland Center Park was the town’s most popular park, and was centrally located in the oldest part of Pine Valley. The town had originally been named Sheraton Basin; it was not until 1905 that it was renamed Pine Valley after a vote.

  The history of the town revealed rivalries between families searching for gold at various locations in the hills. Gossip and long-revered beliefs handed down through the generations changed slightly over the years, but there were stories of ghosts, missing buildings, and people disappearing into thin air. Most referred to these accounts as purely fiction, but it made for an interesting tale for tourists.

  The area around Highland Center Park, unlike the renovated downtown area, was full of historical landmarks and county meeting buildings. All kinds of people frequented the area, from families with kids to the homeless community and visitors.

  Katie wanted to investigate who might have witnessed anything pertinent in the Chelsea Compton abduction. Someone might have seen something without realizing it—it was a matter of seeking them out.

  The park was a favorite spot for families and anyone wanting to play team sports. There were three playgrounds, two baseball fields, various picnic areas, a pool only open in the summertime, and several miles of meandering trails for walkers and runners. As well as the various open grassy areas, there were countless trees, mostly California pines and oaks. The county maintenance kept the numerous shrubs and flowers sustained throughout the seasons. It seemed there was always something blooming, which made the park teem with life year round.

  Katie sat in her Jeep studying the area on her iPad. She moved from one section to the next, expanding the details she wanted to see clearly. The geographical locations appeared different at ground level compared to aerial vantages on maps.

  She entered the address of the friend Chelsea had been visiting, who had since moved away, and Chelsea’s home at 1411 Bakersfield Avenue. The distance between the two was barely three quarters of a mile, if Chelsea had taken the walking route through the park. The only other alternative was weaving through the neighborhood streets as if driving a car, which would take twice as long.

  Chelsea had left her friend’s house at approximately 3.15 on a Thursday afternoon in August. It would have been hot, in the mid-nineties, and she would have wanted to walk in the shade and get home as quickly as she could.

  Only one person claimed to have seen her walking that day: Terrance Price, a fifty-eight-year-old homeless alcoholic, who was known to most people in town to be unreliable and to have a personality disorder. He claimed to have seen Chelsea get into a dark pickup truck, which then drove away. He didn’t get a look at the driver—it could have been a man or a woman. Police later disregarded his statement on the grounds that it had too many inconsistencies and inaccurate information.

  “Well, Cisco, you want to go for a nice leisurely walk in the park?” suggested Katie.

  The dog pushed his nose toward her face in excited agreement.

  Katie laughed. “Well, okay then.”

  She opened the driver’s door and immediately Cisco followed her out, letting out a couple of whines of happiness. He stayed obediently at her side and waited for her to snap on the leash. His glossy black coat shone in the sun, contrasting with his amber wolf’s eyes.

  Katie placed her cell phone, keys, and extra doggie bags into her pocket.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” she urged the dog.

  She decided to take the path that wove around the park. It would be a great way for her to see the entire location at a glance before tracing Chelsea’s last potential walk. She had been to the area a few times a number of years ago, but it was located on the other side of town from where she lived, so when she was a kid they had usually gone to another park.

  A couple of ground squirrels with high-pitched chatters ran down a tree, crossed the path, bounced into the deeper grass, then scrambled up another tree.

  Cisco let out two low barks.

  “Aus,” Katie ordered in German, meaning “leave it”. She wanted to blend in and not have a loud barking dog drawing attention to them.

  A slight breeze cooled the vicinity, making it quite comfortable, unlike when Chelsea had last been here. Walking briskly, with the occasional pause for Cisco to sniff something only interesting to him, Katie realized that the little girl would have entered the park near one of the community buildings. She noticed several cameras on the corners of it.

  It couldn’t be that easy, because it rarely was. There was nothing in the files about looking through security footage. Nothing much was mentioned about the park in general.

  Were there security cameras four years ago? she wondered.

  It suddenly struck her momentarily that even though she was investigating, she felt well rested and relaxed in the park setting. She was home. It felt strange, but wonderful. She took a nice slow inhale and concentrated on her beautiful surroundings, decompressing from where she had been.

  “Can I pet your dog?” asked a child’s voice.
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  Katie turned to see a little girl about five or six years old with large brown eyes, mesmerized by the sight of Cisco. She smiled. “Sure. If your mom says it’s okay.”

  She made eye contact with a young woman sitting on a bench with another, heavier woman, watching several children play on the slide.

  “Okay,” Katie said.

  The little girl slowly walked up to Cisco. The dog obediently sat and allowed the child to pet him, licking her a couple of times.

  Laughing with pure joy, she said, “He’s funny and very pretty. What’s his name?”

  “Cisco,” Katie answered.

  After a few minutes, Katie decided to walk to where the two women sat. She pulled down her right sleeve to cover the army tattoo on the inside of her arm. She wanted people to think she was just a woman out walking her dog—not someone collecting intelligence on a missing child.

  “Hi,” she said in a positive, upbeat tone.

  “Hello,” the women responded.

  “I didn’t want you to worry. Cisco loves children and doesn’t miss any opportunity to get fussed over.”

  By this time, the other children were surrounding the dog, petting him and kissing him.

  “Well, he is gorgeous,” said the younger woman.

  “I was just wondering… I haven’t been to this park in a while, but were there always security cameras over there?” Katie gestured. “I don’t remember seeing them.”

  “Oh, didn’t you hear?”

  She shook her head.

  “It was because of the homeless and loitering problem, which turned into crime issues. The county finally installed cameras on all the buildings, and also near the baseball fields and pool area.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize they’d done that.”

  “Yeah, it was about a year and a half, maybe two years ago now.”

  Her hopes were dashed.

  The other woman piped up. “The thefts and vandalism have literally stopped.”

  “That’s good. It’s a beautiful place here and they need to keep it safe for everyone.”

  “Amen,” the heavier woman muttered under her breath.

  Looking down, Katie said, “Well, let’s go, Cisco.” To the women she added, “I think he’s had more than his daily pets today.” She said goodbye and continued on the walking trail.

  Now that she was gaining perspective of the layout of the area, she was confident that she knew where Chelsea had walked that day. There were areas of the park blocked by trees and buildings that might make it difficult for people to see anything suspicious. Most people would be busy having fun and wouldn’t pay attention to anyone else—especially a little girl getting into a truck that didn’t have anything unusual about it.

  She retrieved her cell phone and snapped some photos of three places of interest. One well-shaded area had several large trees growing close together and an abstract statue. It was a place with ample shade and several benches to sit down and rest. It was possible Chelsea had sat in this exact spot to cool off. One of the many drinking fountains in the park was barely ten feet away.

  Another area was at a sharp left curve in the path, heading north, where there was a generous grove of dense bushes on both sides. Flowers bloomed year round here. In the summertime, there would have been roses, cosmos, and marigolds.

  The third possible blind spot was a popular area with the largest trees in the park clustered together in a tight circle. It was almost like a magical outdoor room, with several benches in the middle where people could sit and enjoy the solitude and shade.

  Katie thought she had better be thorough—even a bit obsessive. A gut instinct told her to take photos of the three obstructed locations in a panoramic sweeping motion. Cisco sat down in a cool spot, watching her curiously.

  As she moved the cell phone screen carefully in a slow circle, she realized that there was only one area where a truck could drive close and where most people wouldn’t have seen Chelsea: the shady benches beneath the trees near the statue. She would have walked past the flowers, but would most likely have been seen if she’d been taken there.

  Did she make it this far?

  Something else troubled her: Detective Templeton’s disregard for Terrance Price’s account. Although it was true that someone mentally incapacitated and under the influence of drugs or alcohol would have been a problem in a court of law, his statement should at least have been considered.

  He had claimed: I had been sleeping in the corner by the statue and I saw the Compton girl. Then I went to sleep, and when I woke again, I saw the little girl get into a truck and drive away.

  When he was pressured about his account, the statement fragmented each time. What the little girl looked like and what she was wearing differed, while other times he hadn’t seen her at all. More troubling was that Price had done some minor repairs to the Comptons’ house—fixing rain gutters and painting some trim—a year prior to her abduction.

  Katie stood for a moment considering everything as she studied her surroundings. Birds chirped loudly above her in the dense trees; she could hear them clearly, but it was difficult to see them. Laughter filled the playgrounds. A car passed by every couple of minutes to find a parking place. A large group of people were gathering at the baseball field. There were layers of sounds, conflicting to a person who already had a mental disorder.

  She walked to the area where the statue stood and moved to where a homeless person might take a nap. It was obvious that the best view of Chelsea and the truck would have been where the benches were located, even if the flowers and bushes were denser then than they were at present.

  She believed that Chelsea was taken—lured, perhaps—from the park. And that meant that there was some truth to Price’s statement, unless of course he had had something to do with the abduction. Maybe he knew more than what he’d told the police?

  But her speculation was just that—a theory. Chelsea could have been snatched a couple of houses away from her friend’s place, or just before she arrived home.

  Still, everything seemed to direct Katie to the park area as the abduction location. It gave her little to go on, but it would help to support a preliminary profile if the body was recovered.

  As she led Cisco back to her car, heaviness filled her, almost weighing down her stride. She kept seeing in her mind’s eye Jenny’s smiling face the last time she saw her at camp. It was as though her murdered friend rode shotgun, as if she were Katie’s steadfast subconscious, making sure she did everything possible to find Chelsea.

  Nine

  An assertive knock sounded on Sheriff Scott’s office door.

  “Come in,” the sheriff called, not looking up from his large pile of paperwork.

  The door opened and Detective Templeton stood there awkwardly before entering the office. His body tensed as his stride became stilted and unsure, not knowing whether to sit or remain standing. It was clear he had something weighing heavily on his mind as he kept shifting his bulk from side to side.

  “What can I do for you?” asked the sheriff.

  “Sir, we’ve known each other for a long time,” began the detective, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  Sheriff Scott stopped writing, set down his special gold pen, and looked directly at the detective. “Of course, it’s been quite some time. We were patrol officers together,” he reflected.

  “Well, I’ve always been straightforward with you, right?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  “I wanted to bring something to your attention that I think is important.” Templeton’s eyes shifted to the framed photographs on the office credenza. There was a picture of Katie when she’d graduated from the police academy, smiling brightly, eyes fixed and serious, her hair twisted up in a stylish bun.

  “I think I know where this is going, Detective,” the sheriff interjected. “Let’s get this out in the open now, because I’m not one to gather my facts from idle gossip going around the office.”

  “It’s ju
st… it’s just that I wanted you to know that your niece, Ms. Scott, has questioned me about my cases.”

  “What cases?” countered the sheriff. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the detective as he waited for an answer.

  Detective Templeton chose his words carefully. “She came to me and asked about the Chelsea Compton case.”

  “And?”

  The detective licked his lips nervously. “She questioned my investigation.”

  “How?”

  “Well, she wanted to know why the neighbors weren’t followed up on, and why Terrance Price’s statement was ruled out—”

  “Let me stop you right there.” The sheriff held up his hand. “Did Ms. Scott accuse you of anything?”

  “Well no, not exactly, but—”

  “Did she behave in a way that you would deem unprofessional or unbecoming of an officer or employee?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m trying—”

  “Do you have a real, viable complaint?” the sheriff pushed.

  The detective let out a sigh. “I just don’t think that a temporary employee should be going through cases.”

  The sheriff remained quiet for a moment. He appeared to have a heavy load weighing on his mind. “Let me ask you this. What’s our department’s clearance rate?”

  “I don’t know the exact number…”

  “Ballpark.”

  “It’s about sixty-seven percent. A little higher than the state average.”

  “Sixty-seven percent. Do you think that’s satisfactory?”

  “Well…” the detective stammered.

  The sheriff leaned forward, pressing his forearms on his desk. “Let me tell you something: sixty-seven percent is unacceptable. I don’t care what the state’s average is; that percentage shows we aren’t doing everything we can to close cases.”

  Detective Templeton was about to object, but decided to stay silent.

  “This isn’t about politics; it’s about solving cases, giving closure to families, making sure the community has trust in us. That’s why every three months I go through a stack of cold cases. Ms. Scott probably saw the missing girl’s file on my desk.”