“Need some caffeine.”
“Great idea.” His mood perked up and he actually sounded civil.
Katie pulled up in front of a small coffee bar. McGaven got out of the car and then hesitated, looking back at her.
“I have to make a quick call—I’ll be right there,” she said.
She watched him until he was inside and in the queue facing away from her before she made a break for it. How long she would have, she didn’t know, but she wanted to stay motivated and get some answers from the brothers without any distractions. She clearly wasn’t getting through to the deputy. His agitation while checking his gun had made her nervous and unable to focus clearly. She would apologize later. She knew she would receive a reprimand for her behavior, but the priority was still the same—find Chelsea’s killer.
While she drove, she pondered what Mrs. Stanley had told her. Why did the woman initially tell Templeton that she had seen Chelsea that day? What was she hiding? Was it something to do with Chelsea, or her own secrets? It was another piece of the puzzle. Katie wasn’t sure where it actually fit into the investigation, but she knew that things would begin to fall into place and eventually lead to the killer.
The Darren property wasn’t exactly how Katie had pictured it. It appeared to be more of a junkyard than a carpenter’s workplace. Cars, refrigerators, air conditioners, small household appliances, and other things that Katie couldn’t readily identify littered the front area leading to a huge metal barn.
She took a few moments to search the backgrounds of Malcolm and Frederick Darren. Both brothers had quite a number of drunk and disorderly, petty theft, and disturbing the peace citations. It was clear that Malcolm was more of a troublemaker than his brother.
She noted the highlights in her small field notebook and made a shorthand notation of how she would proceed. Then she exited the car and walked to the back, popping open the trunk and retrieving a stun gun from her police duffle bag. She secured it underneath her suit jacket.
The afternoon was becoming warmer, and under any other circumstances she would have shed her jacket, but she wanted her firearm and Taser to be hidden from immediate view. She felt conspicuous in her dark-gray pant suit, crisp white blouse, and dressy boots. Not her usual army attire, which was not only more comfortable, but practical when working in unknown conditions.
She surveyed the immediate area; it appeared quiet and deserted. Nothing stirred. Not even a dog barked. An oversized pickup truck with hefty tires was parked near the metal building. The large toolbox lid was open and the lift gate was down. Someone had to be around.
A twinge of anxious energy revealed itself. Katie chose to ignore it and walked through the front yard, zigzagging around the junk to make her way to the barn and glancing at each piece of dumpster material to make sure that no one was hiding from view and could get the jump on her.
Muffled voices emanated from the barn. Listening closer, it sounded more like talk radio or a news station than a conversation.
Katie decided to make her presence known.
“Sheriff’s office, Detective Scott here,” she announced. “Hello? Anyone here?”
She unsnapped her holster just as a precaution.
“Hello, Mr. Darren?” she said. “Frederick, Malcolm? Anyone here?”
Any time a police officer walked into an unknown situation, no matter where it was, nerves and instincts became heightened.
Katie passed the truck, taking notice of the contents inside and along the bed: various tools and small boxes identifying parts for a car. She moved at a slower pace, acutely alert for unusual sound or movement. She realized that maybe she’d been hasty ditching McGaven. It had been more about her feelings than safety. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
She moved steadily into the entrance of the metal building. She expected to see a carpentry workshop, but was surprised to find it was more of an auto garage, with two vehicles in the middle being repaired. Both had their hoods up, though she didn’t see anyone bent over the engine compartment or lying underneath. Deeper inside the workshop, there was an area for cabinetry work and assorted carpenter specialties. She deduced that each brother had a different job; most likely their father was the original carpenter and the sons had turned the business into both types of work.
A tool dropped to the ground, causing a high-pitched metallic sound that echoed inside the structure.
Katie spun around and saw a grayish tiger-striped cat slink underneath a worktable and move away from her as fast as it could to disappear into a dark corner.
Along one wall there were three boxes filled with receipts and file folders. Compared to the disarray of junk scattered at the front of the property, the metal workshop was surprisingly clean and organized. Meticulous care had been taken to make sure tools and supplies were kept in specific areas.
A gunshot blast followed by whooping and hollering interrupted Katie’s search. Several more gunshots followed.
She retrieved her semi-automatic sidearm, prepared for trouble, and hurried to the area where the gunshots had originated. When she saw the man responsible, she retreated but still didn’t completely relax, not sure yet that there weren’t others involved or that things wouldn’t turn ugly fast.
The man was in his mid to late forties, dressed in blue jeans and no shirt, with scraggly hair, an unshaven face, and bare feet. He was clearly under the influence of alcohol. He sat on a crate, surrounded by a dozen or so empty beer cans. A .45 revolver was held in his right hand down at his side. The target, which was nothing more than a chunk of plywood and some scattered pieces of recycling, was thirty yards away next to a crumbling fence.
“Mr. Darren, put down the gun,” stated Katie. It was an order and not a request. She kept her weapon targeted on the man.
“Well hello there…” he said, swaying from side to side. “What do ya got there?”
“I’m Detective Scott from the sheriff’s department. Can I talk to you?”
“A detective? Pretty one too,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know detectives could be pretty.” He laughed, still not relinquishing his weapon.
“Mr. Darren, put down the gun,” she ordered again.
“I was just having some fun,” he replied, turning in the direction of the targets. He readied himself and took a stance.
“Put down the weapon. Now!” Katie inched closer to him.
He glanced at her, slurring his words. “Well maybe I don’t want to.”
“Malcolm, put the gun down now or I’ll shoot you myself.” Another man had appeared, presumably the other brother.
Katie backed up and kept a watch on both of them. The two men were similar-looking, though Frederick was far neater, with cropped hair, clean jeans and shirt, and steel-toed work boots.
“Mal, c’mon, put it down now,” he said. He walked directly up to his brother and swiped the gun out of his hand. Immediately he emptied the weapon and put it down on the crate. Turning to Katie, he said, “I’m Rick, and this idiot is my brother Malcolm. What can we do for you?” He was matter-of-fact and had an almost reserved demeanor. To his brother he said, “Go inside and clean up.”
Malcolm obeyed and headed to the house without looking at Katie again.
Katie lowered her weapon and returned it to her holster. Gathering her authority, she said, “I’m Detective Scott, from the sheriff’s office. I’m working the Chelsea Compton homicide and I have a few questions for you both, since you were working near the Compton residence before Chelsea disappeared.”
“Oh, I heard the news that they found her. It’s unconscionable what happened.” Rick moved closer to her. “What would you like to know?”
“Were you both working for the neighbors at that time?” she asked.
“Yeah, we were remodeling a kitchen. It was a three-week job.”
“Did you know the Comptons?”
“No, not really. Saw them on a few occasions.”
“Anything se
em out of place? Anything you might remember?” Katie stood in the same position so that she could observe him and keep an eye out for the brother coming back.
Rick went to the crate and began picking up the empty beer cans. “What do you mean? Like arguing or abuse or something?”
“Anything,” she repeated.
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Although their habits were something else.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at her as if sizing her up. It made Katie uncomfortable, but she remained steadfast in her position and her authority for asking questions.
“I’m not one to judge, but they were rather promiscuous, and they weren’t afraid to experiment.”
“Promiscuous meaning sexual relations with other people outside their marriage? Did one of them have an affair?”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. I meant swingers; you know, wife swapping.”
“The Comptons?”
“The Comptons and the Stanleys. I think that was their name,” he said.
Katie remembered the way Mrs. Stanley had spoken of Mr. Compton. “And you know this because…” she pushed.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, alerting her that there was a text message waiting.
“Everyone knew. Look, it wasn’t a secret. They liked to act out with the curtains open. You can ask any of the neighbors,” he suggested.
“What about Chelsea?” asked Katie, still trying to push away the image of the two couples dancing around in the front living room for all the neighbors to witness.
He shrugged. “I only saw her a couple of times, leaving the house and walking somewhere.”
“One more thing. Did you ever see anyone hanging around or taking a particular interest in the Compton house or Chelsea?” She waited patiently and studied him as he answered.
“I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t notice anything like that.”
“Okay, Mr. Darren. Thank you for your time.” She turned to leave the way she’d entered. “Just a friendly reminder. No discharging of weapons in the town’s limits. It’s best to be at least one hundred and fifty yards from a roadway, building, or large body of water if you don’t want deputies dispatched out here.”
“Will do,” he said with a smile.
Katie nodded at him and walked briskly back to her car, though not before noticing that Rick drove an oversized tan truck.
Once she was behind the wheel, she looked at her phone. The message was from Denise in the records division, and it read: Good news. Confirmation ID on second body. More information at morgue.
Twenty-Six
Katie hated the morgue; a stainless-steel tomb with spotless polished floors. It emitted a specific scent from the cleaning fluid used, and nothing positive could be said about it. It fouled the mood of any detective, but it was a place to find answers.
She shuddered.
She had seen her fair share of dead bodies from her two years on patrol at the Sacramento Police Department, and in Afghanistan. More than one was too many.
She knew from Denise that Detective Templeton had already been to the morgue and left again. The preliminary autopsy report was sent to all the detectives working the case, but Katie wanted to hear the findings direct from the person who’d examined the body: the medical examiner, Dr. Jeffrey Dean. Though she didn’t know much about him, and had never been introduced to him, she hoped he wouldn’t treat her any differently from any other homicide detective in the department.
As she walked through the main entrance carrying her small notebook, her boots with their two-and-a-half-inch heels clipped the tile flooring. She didn’t see anyone at first, and she felt conspicuous with her noisy footsteps echoing. The deserted area oozed an extra creepy vibe, so she tried to keep her mind on what the findings from the bodies might be.
Where was everybody?
As she rounded a hallway corner, she found herself face to face with Deputy McGaven. He towered over her and intentionally blocked her path. It was easy to see that he was angry.
She stopped abruptly in front of him. She knew she had to deal with the consequences of ditching him at the coffee house, but she didn’t want to engage in that conversation here.
“Surprised to see me?” he said in a low, serious voice. His eyes bored through her, accompanied by a sour expression that made him appear much older. His slightly freckled skin, clean-shaven face, and red hair generally gave him the appearance of a big kid, but now his demeanor was cold, hard, and intimidating.
“Look,” Katie said. “I may not have handled the situation in the best way, but I’m not getting any cooperation from you. I apologize; I let my anger dictate my act.”
“Meaning?” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Meaning we’re both police officers, and whether you like me or not, or whether you like this detail or not, we’re stuck with it for now.”
He sighed loudly and cocked his head as if thinking about the situation.
“I won’t ask you this again. Do you have my back?” She stood her ground, even though she was a good eight inches shorter than the deputy.
“Of course.” He lowered his voice. “What kind of question is that?”
“An important one.”
McGaven took a step back, looking down and nodding his head in agreement.
“Do I have your word?” she pushed.
“Yes of course, Detective.”
Katie tried to hide a smile. She could see herself getting to like the deputy. “Call me Katie,” she said.
“Well now, I’m glad that’s settled,” said a man at the end of the hall. He wore Bermuda shorts, dark sneakers without socks, and a loose Hawaiian shirt that helped to hide the extra twenty pounds packed on around his midsection. He appeared to be ready for a vacation on a tropical island somewhere.
“Excuse me?” Katie said, taken aback.
“Detective Scott, I presume.”
“Yes,” she said warily.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Dr. Dean, Jeff to most.” He moved toward one of the exam rooms.
Katie tried not to show her surprise at his appearance or his introduction. All she’d known about him prior to this was that he was thorough and dedicated—one of the best.
The doctor stuck his head out the door. “I assume you want to know my findings on the girls?”
“Yes,” Katie said and hurried to the room, McGaven following closely behind her.
The exam room was separate from the autopsy rooms. It was familiar to Katie and she immediately acquired a lump in her throat that restricted her breathing. Her pulse quickened as the flashback rushed into her mind—the moment when she’d had to identify her parents’ bodies—causing her vision to skew and making everything in the room move strangely in a dizzying instant.
She took a concentrated breath and focused on the two gurneys, each covered by a single sheet. Flipping open her field notebook, she noticed that both of her hands trembled slightly. She dropped them to her sides and waited for the doctor’s report, hoping that her unsteadiness would subside.
Dr. Dean moved to the first gurney and peeled back the sheet to expose the frail body of Chelsea Compton. Her face resembled that of a china doll rather than a rambunctious fourth-grader with her entire life ahead of her.
An image of Jenny flashed across Katie’s memory.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed at camp, Katie and Jenny both had their journals open and were sharing stories as well as likes and dislikes.
“No way,” Jenny said. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Favorite cereal?”
Katie had to think a moment. She was torn between plain Os and a fruity cereal. Both were super-delicious. “It depends,” she said.
“You have to pick one. I did.”
Both girls laughed.
“Okay, the fruity cereal.”
“I knew it. You’re so like me,” said Jenny. “Now, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She sat up str
aight as if it were something of great importance. “What boy do you like here?”
“No,” said Katie. “I’m not saying.”
“You have to.”
“No way.”
“I bet it’s Travis.”
“No.”
“Travis.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Jenny laughed and threw herself back on the bed, chanting, “Katie likes Travis. Katie likes Travis.”
Katie stared at Chelsea lying on the steel gurney and couldn’t help but compare her to her friend. It felt almost as if she had spoken with Jenny barely a week ago. She wondered if Jenny’s family had stood where she stood now, staring at the once vital, happy girl.
“Detective Scott, I have to say that I’m impressed you were able to find the bodies with so little to go on. You have single-handedly brought closure to the grieving families. I’m sure they are forever in your debt.”
“Have the Comptons been here to identify the body?” Katie managed to say, trying not to sound like a frightened little girl.
“Mrs. Compton has. Mr. Compton is still in Idaho and won’t be viewing the body.”
“How did she seem to you?” asked Katie.
The doctor turned and picked up a file from the counter. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Genuinely upset, showing all the typical signs of grief, if that’s what you mean.”
Katie nodded. She noticed that the deputy was staring at the little girl’s body as though unable to avert his eyes, almost mesmerized at the sight. It was obvious that he hadn’t seen many dead bodies, and children were the most difficult to process.
She leaned toward him and suggested softly, “You don’t need to be here. I can fill you in with the details.”
“You sure?” he asked, trying to keep some semblance of control. “It’s not a problem.”
“It shouldn’t take too long.”
McGaven swiftly left the room.
“Well, now it’s just the two of us,” said Dean with a hint of sarcasm, “I have to say, you’re not at all what I expected. Police officer, army veteran, and rogue investigator. I’m honored to be in your presence.”
Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 13