Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Jennifer Chase

  She ignored the looks and instead gazed up at the pine trees, recently so stoic and magnificent but now polluted and disconcerting. They loomed along the roadway like a warning to stay away. The wind, which had been breezy, was now calm.

  It was true that in an instant everything could change.

  Nineteen

  Countless news vans with giant antennae and overzealous reporters from various California areas crowded the parking lot of every police substation in the county. They roamed every possible public area to secure comments from any local resident who would give an opinion, and everyone seemed happy to comply.

  The usual media outlets had already posted the breaking story with different slants:

  Bodies of Two Missing Girls Found in Specially Constructed Graves.

  The Toymaker Fulfills Fantasy by Killing Local Girls and Making Teddy Bears.

  The story was in every newspaper and on every news site. Anticipation rattled through the networks whenever there was anything involving dead children and serial killers. Pine Valley had been descended upon and there was no sign of interest in the case easing anytime soon.

  The detail about the teddy bears and the coffins had leaked and spread like wildfire, much to the dismay of the sheriff’s office and the investigative team.

  “Everyone please settle down. This is going to be quick and painless. I’m going to make a few in-house announcements before I go outside and make an official statement to the press,” stated Sheriff Scott. His steely stare and ability to use his authority to quiet a room was unprecedented.

  Mayor Stan Miller stood quietly behind the sheriff.

  Katie sat and watched her uncle prepare to tell his staff about how the Chelsea Compton investigation was going to play out. She had spent hours the previous evening explaining in detail everything leading up to her discovery of Chelsea’s body, presenting her lists, notes, maps, and personal field notebook. She explained that she had photocopied Chelsea’s file from his office. He was not pleased with her rash decision, but accepted that it was justified by the outcome.

  Glancing around the training room, she observed the usual personnel, including Detective Templeton, two other detectives whose names she didn’t know, several deputies and forensic personnel, Denise, and some other women from the administrative staff.

  Her uncle was dressed in his sheriff’s uniform, adorned with more brass emblems than anyone else. He looked serious as he stood firm and spoke directly to his staff.

  “I don’t have to tell you that this case has reached national status, and that means no talking to any news agency, in person or otherwise. No posting of anything remotely related to the case on your social-media accounts. Understood? Unfortunately, it will be a while before the news interest dwindles. In the meantime, there are going to be a few changes.”

  Some low voices murmured from the crowd.

  “The Chelsea Compton case has been officially upgraded to a homicide, along with the as-yet-unidentified girl discovered next to her. Detective Templeton will be running the investigation, reporting to me on a daily basis. I have full confidence that we will find the person who committed these heinous crimes. I will let Detective Templeton update the task force on how he wants to proceed after this meeting.”

  More noise from the gathered detectives and deputies.

  “I have another important announcement before we all adjourn to our duties. I will have Mayor Miller explain the change in personnel.”

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” The mayor cleared his throat and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, keeping eye contact with everyone in the room. “I have received an official confirmation that Sheriff Scott is within his sworn rights as sheriff of Sequoia County to deputize Katherine Ann Scott.”

  A strange awkward silence filled the room.

  “Katherine Ann Scott is now a fully sworn police officer for Sequoia County Sheriff’s Office, and temporarily acting as a detective with the department to investigate and assist on this case until otherwise noted. You will now refer to her as Detective Scott.”

  Katie looked toward the detectives. Their frozen stares of disbelief were priceless, except for the fact that she had to work with them. She would need all the strength and courage she could muster to move forward working the case.

  “Excuse me, Sheriff Scott,” said Templeton.

  “Yes?” the sheriff responded. His poker face never gave away what he felt at any given moment.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Scott doesn’t have the required experience for this role. She was a patrol officer for Sacramento PD for what, two years?” The detective was trying to keep his tone civil and even.

  The sheriff bristled and his shoulders stiffened. “Detective, remind me again who found the graves?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And remind me why we wouldn’t use someone with great skill and doggedness who happens to be a police officer and a military veteran?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Perhaps you would like to explain to Chelsea Compton’s parents why you don’t want to use the best resources you have at your disposal to find who murdered their child?”

  The room hushed to silence—an uncomfortable quiet. The mayor stood side by side with the sheriff and it was clear there was no changing their minds on the matter.

  Katie felt the light hairs on her arms and neck stand up. She kept looking straight ahead, and not to her right, where she knew the other detectives remained suspicious and Detective Templeton was staring daggers at her. Her uncle had told her about deputizing her and she was absolutely delighted, if a bit terrified, and couldn’t wait to get started officially on the case. To be a part of the investigation was something that felt right to her.

  “One more thing,” said Templeton. “We all know about Ms. Scott’s amazing skill in hunting down victims…”

  Katie could hear the contempt in his voice, but it was clear he wanted everyone else to buy his kind words.

  “… but I would suggest that for the sake of this high-profile case, she should have someone overseeing her investigative techniques—just until she has more experience under her belt.” He sat down with a smug smile on his face.

  “I concur. There are many leads to run down and new evidence to filter through. Plenty of work for everyone,” the sheriff said.

  What? Katie looked directly at her uncle, not believing what he had just consented to on her behalf. This wasn’t what she had agreed to the previous night after several hours of discussion. There had been no mention of a partner—or, more accurately, a babysitter.

  “I’ve already spoken to Deputy McGaven,” Sheriff Scott continued, gesturing toward the crowd.

  Katie turned her attention to the officer her uncle had indicated. The large red-haired deputy glanced away sheepishly. It was clear from his posture and lack of eye contact that he wasn’t happy with his assignment.

  “Deputy McGaven will be partnered with Detective Scott during this investigation until I deem otherwise.” The sheriff wrapped up the briefing. “No use wasting any more precious time. Let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  Katie entered the small meeting room as Detective Templeton was setting up at the podium. His crew took their seats, waiting to hear what the detective in charge had to say. She noticed that Deputy McGaven sat at a desk on the far side of the room and never gave her any acknowledgment.

  This is going to be fun.

  With nothing else to do, she took a seat and waited. She observed that the energy from the officers in the room was upbeat and happy, rather than serious and businesslike. Idle chatter seemed to be the first item on the agenda as the detectives laughed and joked about mundane things and a few senseless stories ensued.

  Katie glanced at her watch and noted that it was already eleven a.m. and counting. Her mind raced through all the things she could be investigating and searching. Obviously, speaking with Chelsea’s parents, neighbors, forensics, and the medical examiner would be the priorit
y. With all the clues and details from the gravesite indicating a ritualistic type of killer behavior— the carefully placed teddy bears and the premeditation without anger—it would appear they were looking for someone outside family and friends.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll make this quick,” said Templeton as he quieted the room. “First, this case is going to take some real manpower and due diligence at our end if we want to catch the killer. However, I have my suspicions. Murderers usually don’t venture too far from the people closest to them. We haven’t ruled out the second body being someone who knew the Compton family. Alternatively, the killer could be trying to throw us off the trail with a victim who had nothing to do with Chelsea. We will begin with the family and see where it takes us.”

  Katie thought at first he was kidding, but no, he seemed to believe that the first order of business was to find evidence that Chelsea’s family had killed her. She clenched her fists, trying not to say something rude despite her emotions.

  Templeton wrapped up his impromptu pep talk and gave out instructions to every detective, standard protocol for the start of an investigation. Everyone began leaving the room and he still hadn’t given Katie her assignment. She waited a bit longer, until she saw he was about to leave himself.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “What’s my assignment?” She moved closer to the detective and waited for an answer.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said sarcastically. “Ms. Scott.”

  “Detective.”

  “Yes, of course, Detective. I need you to collate all the incoming daily information and conduct searches for other detectives when necessary. And file anything that needs it.” He turned to leave.

  “Is that it? Really? That’s your big plan? I think my skills could be used—”

  He turned to her, his expression sour and his muscles tensed. “You’re the rookie, the untrained rookie, definitely not detective level, and that’s the assignment you’re going to get.”

  “Huh.”

  “What’s your problem—Detective?”

  “I just expected more from you,” she said.

  “If you have a problem, go cry to your uncle. There are men here who have earned their position as detective. And not by a fluke and special circumstances. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be here at all. Consider yourself lucky to have an assignment at all.”

  He left the room.

  The spokesperson for the sheriff’s office, Sergeant Timothy Grant, stood waiting next to the podium for the press conference to commence. The news reporters readied themselves, each wanting to hear the gruesome details and to be the first to report the information about “the Toymaker” to their faithful readers.

  Sheriff Scott opened the door and stepped outside toward the onslaught of reporters. He never missed a step or changed his demeanor, and was ready for anything fired at him. Two deputies followed and stood in the background, scanning the people in the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. At 1620 hours yesterday, the body of Chelsea Lynn Compton, who had been missing for a little over four years, was discovered inside a coffin that had been buried in a rural location. At the present time the cause of death is not known. Another victim, currently unidentified, was also found; cause of death is unknown for this victim too. I have assigned a special task force to work this case and we will update you when information becomes available, as long as it does not impede the ongoing investigation in any way.”

  “Is it true that there were teddy bears in the coffins?” yelled a reporter.

  “I have no comment,” stated the sheriff.

  “Who discovered the bodies?” asked another reporter.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at this time.”

  “Sheriff, has the killer contacted you directly?”

  “No. We have not knowingly been in contact with the killer.” The sheriff was beginning to lose his patience. “That’s all the information we have for now. Thank you.”

  As he left the podium and entered the building, several reporters shouted more questions after him.

  Twenty

  Katie sat at the same desk where she had entered data for crime statistics for the past couple of weeks. She stared at the computer monitor as if something of importance would speak to her and guide her through the next few troubled days and weeks. Everything she had fought for—finding the missing girl, ruffling some egos—had come down to this. She’d been sidelined to do routine work. It wasn’t her definition of a detective.

  She hit the keyboard space bar and the screen came to life. It waited for her to log into the mainframe, where she would enter data from the detectives. Still watching the cursor blinking, she couldn’t help but see Templeton’s face in her mind—rude, condescending, and hateful. It was highly unlikely to change throughout the investigation.

  “Hey, what’s weighing so heavy on you?” asked Denise. “Thought you’d be excited about the change in the case because of your efforts.” She was impeccably dressed in a smart dark-brown suit and she watched Katie with curiosity.

  Katie sighed. “I’ve been benched.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m supposed to input data from the investigation, which means I’m going to be sitting here twiddling my thumbs while I wait for updates.”

  Denise eyed the notes on the desk. “Are those about the unknown little girl?”

  “Yes. It’s believed from my research that it’s Tammie Myers. Nothing official yet.”

  “Oh.”

  Katie looked at Denise. “Just what I wanted for my first investigation. Maybe I can do some janitorial work while I wait…”

  Denise put down a stack of files on her desk. “I’ll do it.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll do it. Whatever you need. And when info comes in from the case, I’ll take care of it.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Katie said.

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m already right here and I can be working on other things until something needs to be updated.”

  Katie hadn’t thought about that and realized that she needed to learn to delegate. “That would be so helpful. Then I can run down some information from interviews. Thank you.”

  Denise laughed. “It’s my pleasure—it’s my job. Leave me the notes. Now go. I’ll text or call you with anything important.”

  “Do we need to okay it with superiors?”

  “No, I’m the supervisor for records. It’s part of my job.” She smiled.

  Katie jumped up. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

  * * *

  Katie sat in her unmarked police vehicle, trying to push away the memory of the conversation she’d had with Detective Templeton, and how unappreciated she felt. She opened her notebook and checked the names and addresses of people she wanted to speak with who Templeton hadn’t assigned any detectives to. She needed to clarify events and facts and to re-interview witnesses who might have more information than previously disclosed. Templeton and his crew were going directly to the Comptons’ residence and would most likely then wait around for any news from forensics.

  She scanned the last known address for Terrance Price. There were some things about his statement that she wanted to elucidate. She also wanted to verify exactly when he had performed work for the Comptons. He had been staying on a local farm in a bunkhouse doing some odd jobs around the property. The homeowners were Leonard and Elsie Haven and the farm was located on the outskirts of town on Apple Road. She estimated it would take her about twenty-five minutes to reach it.

  She turned over the engine and the car roared to life. She adjusted her seat and secured the seat belt before she put the car into drive.

  A hard triple-knock on the passenger window caught her attention. Deputy McGaven was peering in. He gestured to her to unlock the door.

  Katie hesitated. A part of her wanted to hit the accelerator, but she was a professional police detective now and didn’t want to fall victim t
o Templeton’s games or stoop to his level.

  The deputy stared at her and frowned.

  Katie disengaged the lock and he got in.

  “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with this gig,” she said immediately, “but I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Fine,” he said, without bothering to look at her. “I have a job to do and I’ll do it by the book.”

  Katie sighed. If she was going to make any friends at the police department she needed to at least try. “I’m Katie,” she said, extending her right hand.

  He hesitated, but finally shook her hand. “I’m Sean, but everyone calls me McGaven.”

  “Nice to meet you. I know what most of the deputies think of me—at least at this point. All I ask is that you make up your own mind. Deal?”

  Sean cracked a tiny smile. “I suppose.” He leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to be using the database?”

  “The very capable Denise is running the required programs for me. It’s ridiculous to have me sitting at a computer watching it search when someone from records can do it,” Katie replied. “It’s called multi-tasking.”

  She dropped the gear shift into drive and drove out of the police parking lot.

  There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence during the ride, but Katie had her mind on the case. It was possible that Price had been the only one to see what happened to Chelsea, and it was well worth a try to get more information from him.

  She remembered from one of her psychology classes that when dealing with people suffering from personality disorders, anxiety or depression, head traumas, or anything else that impaired judgment and logic, it was important to stay calm and let them rattle out what they needed to say. Never pressure them; it would only stress and inhibit them. She had some hope that the fact that she was a woman might make Price less defensive.

  The rural landscape sped by the windows. It had been more than ten minutes since they had seen a house. Katie slowed to see if there were any signs, landmarks, or mailboxes directing them to the Haven farm. The name seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t remember why.