Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Jennifer Chase

  “Just following some leads and instincts.” Katie didn’t know what else to say. She quickly changed the topic. “Any signs of sexual assault?”

  “No.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Asphyxia. Generalized hypoxia evident throughout the organs and body. Her eyes show a slight redness and petechial hemorrhage consistent with strangulation and asphyxia.”

  “Why was there so little decomposition?”

  “That bothered me too, at first, until I found distinct traces of formaldehyde and methanol in her system.”

  “Was she embalmed?”

  “No, just injected with the solutions without the standard process of removing the organs.”

  “That’s why she looks so well preserved,” Katie mused as she stared at the small body.

  “Well, it’s part of it. It’s my professional opinion that the airtight coffin played a major role in preservation as well, even though there’s no real research to support that theory.” He walked around the body. “Lack of oxygen stops the bacteria from doing their work; however, the temperature inside the coffin wasn’t controlled. It would have become hotter in the summer and of course cooler in the winter. But either way, the body was kept as well preserved as possible.”

  Katie took a couple of notes and pondered for a moment. “Could she have been kept alive longer, like months, and then murdered?”

  “I will be doing more tests, but right now my belief is that she died within a few days or weeks of her abduction.” He moved to peel back more of the sheet. “You can see that her torso and legs have quite a bit more decomposition than her face.”

  Katie grimaced. She was glad the deputy had left the room. “I take it there was no forensic evidence from her fingernails?”

  “Nothing. But forensics are still working on the clothing and the teddy bears.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Katie asked.

  “Every case is a little bit different. Of course, I’ve seen bodies buried in the earth, and in boxes. But no, I can’t say I’ve seen anything like this before.”

  It was the first time since Katie had met the doctor that he seemed to become melancholy, rather than filled with his seemingly usual positive attitude.

  “Anything else about the condition of the body that could help with the investigation? Stomach contents? Potential poisons? Anything really.”

  “Nothing at this point. If I find anything, no matter how small, I will alert you immediately.” The doctor began to pull the sheet back over the body. “Do you need to see anything else?”

  Katie shook her head. “What about the identification made on the other girl?”

  “Preliminary. We’re checking dental records before alerting her parents.” He sighed. “We want to make doubly sure after an incorrect identification we had about a year ago. Trust me, it wasn’t good.”

  Katie thought how horrifying it would be to come and identify the wrong body.

  “Did you receive information about the missing girl from Denise in records? The timeline seemed to match.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Can you tell me your preliminary ID?” she asked, though her gut already knew the answer.

  Dean moved to the next gurney and opened a file folder. “Tammie Elizabeth Myers,” he read.

  Katie felt a chill as she remembered the gravesite. It was her computer searches and her instincts that had brought the girl to their attention.

  Dr. Dean continued, “She was nine years old; went missing after leaving her aunt’s house to go to the store.” He pulled back the sheet and stepped away.

  Katie briefly examined the body and realized immediately that decomposition was far more advanced than with Chelsea.

  “How long has she been dead?” she asked.

  “Not as long as the Compton girl,” the doctor replied.

  “But—” Katie began.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupted. He gestured to the dead girl’s limbs. “This is how decomposition looks after being buried for two to three years.”

  “How can you explain the difference between the two?” she asked.

  “Quite simply, I can’t.”

  Katie gave him a questioning look.

  He smiled. “You have to understand that the process of decomposition isn’t an exact science. Lots of things affect it: the temperature of the environment, the condition of the body when buried, how long the victim was deceased before burying, and so on.”

  “I see,” she replied.

  “I like your questions,” the doctor said. “I can tell we’re going to work well together. Most detectives hear what I have to say and then they’re gone. And some don’t even set foot in here.”

  “I admit, I wanted to run away fifteen minutes ago,” she said.

  “Just hang in there.” He smiled. His relaxed and open demeanor made the experience of being in the morgue a little more tolerable.

  “So what you’re saying is you have to ask plenty of questions and you just might learn something of value.”

  “Maybe I should have that written on the wall in here. What do you think?”

  “I think I shouldn’t worry so much at this point about the exact time of death and concentrate on how and why these two girls were murdered.”

  Dr. Dean covered Tammie Myers’ body and turned to look at Katie. “Detective Scott,” he said, “I think you’re going to make a first-rate detective. You’ve got a fantastic career ahead of you.”

  “You tell fortunes too?”

  “Sometimes. A word of advice?”

  “And what would that be?” Katie smiled.

  “Don’t let bullying detectives affect your mind, your drive, or your natural ability to find the killer. I have confidence in you and I know you’ll figure out this case.”

  Katie was taken aback for a moment. Her mind spun in confusion and gratitude. Not many people had been nice or even cordial to her after she returned to town. Her suspicious nature thought that maybe the doctor wanted something from her—perhaps to cover up a mistake or procedural improprieties when the time called for it. She stared at him trying to get a handle on his motivation. Nothing came to mind.

  He returned the file to the work counter and turned to Katie one more time. “I’ve been known to have a nice bedside manner in my job, but I’ve also been known to tell it exactly how it is.” He paused. “Have a good day, Detective.”

  He walked out of the room, leaving her alone to ponder everything she had just heard and seen. It seemed to indicate the killer was more adept than she had previously thought.

  Twenty-Seven

  The early-morning air and lack of traffic made the run that much more satisfying. It was more than a feeling. It was an emotion so strong that it filled Katie’s entire body with positivity and hope. She vowed that every morning when her schedule permitted she would run.

  The two homicides filtered through her mind, backwards and forwards. She had memorized every detail from the interviews and the information she had received on the case.

  Since she didn’t have an office at the department, she continued to use her spare room at home. It was actually quite effective, with no interruptions or employee interaction. Just a quiet space to consider the investigation. It suited her needs perfectly.

  The case continued to run its course in her mind.

  Hand-made caskets. Woodworkers? Artisans? Locals?

  The sun rose higher on the horizon and peeked through the trees; weak rays cascaded between leaves and branches. It was a shame the fog was closing in and would soon smother the sunlight.

  Lonely rural places ending up as well-researched gravesites.

  Crisp morning air nipped at her face.

  Frustration. Hunting for the perfect prey. Abduction. Murder.

  Her fingertips became numb as her arms pumped harder, increasing her speed.

  Final resting places.

  Cold cases.

  Her feet pounded
the ground and her pace quickened with strength and determination. Her footfall was a steady beat on the roadway and dirt paths.

  Mrs. Stanley: subtle sexuality and her relationship with the Comptons. Improprieties. Perversions?

  Her heart rate increased.

  Brothers Malcolm and Rick Darren. Malcolm: lack of impulse control. Rick: stoic, steady, calculating, and strong. Protecting his brother—but at what cost?

  Her lungs filled fully with oxygen and then exhaled out all the air. The cool outdoors stung her throat as she watched her breath swirl directly out in front of her.

  She ran down a trail that would eventually lead her out onto the road again. Her legs never tired from carrying her to the next level.

  The faces of everyone Katie had spoken to and interacted with sped through her mind in a logical stream. There were subtle details she hadn’t noticed at the time, but now she reflected on them. Everything played a part in the investigation, no matter how small and insignificant.

  The case was an intricate, living, breathing puzzle. It was not the usual kind of puzzle where you knew that every piece would eventually fit somewhere. In a homicide, it was up to the detective to figure out which pieces were not of importance and which pieces meant everything, eventually solving the mystery.

  The sound of a revving engine stalled her repetitive thoughts about the case. A car was approaching from behind. She adjusted her position on the roadway, veering closer to the side to allow the driver to see her in the foggy atmosphere and drive around her if necessary.

  But instead of slowing, the car increased its speed and continued to approach.

  Katie turned and looked behind her, but she still couldn’t see the vehicle. It didn’t have any headlights ignited and it was difficult to make out its shape through the haze.

  She slowed her pace and jogged in place.

  The heavy fog, which had come in much quicker than she had anticipated, seemed to suffocate the morning light. Her view became muddled. Then a shapeless vehicle burst through the murk and revealed itself to be a dark truck accelerating at high speed. It was headed directly for her.

  “Hey!” she yelled, trying to get the driver’s attention. She assumed they couldn’t see her. “Hey!” she yelled again, waving her arms.

  The dark truck, which she now saw had no front license plate, jumped the side of the road, driving with one wheel on the pavement and the other in the soft dirt. It didn’t swerve, but continued its course heading straight for Katie.

  She glanced to her right, but there was nothing there but low-lying shrubs and trees. No paths or open areas to allow her to easily get out of the way. In any case, she guessed the vehicle would follow her if she tried to avoid it. There was only one option, and she hoped it would work.

  She took a fighter’s stance and stood her ground as the one-ton truck barreled directly at her. She couldn’t see who was driving. There was no way of knowing if it was a man or a woman, or even a teenager, behind the wheel. It wasn’t out of control; it appeared to be navigated by someone intent on one thing—running Katie down. She prayed she had made the correct decision.

  Three seconds…

  Her body trembled, but she stood her ground.

  Two seconds…

  She sucked in her breath and fought the fight-or-flight response.

  One second…

  She mustered every ounce of strength along with the determination of an army soldier and catapulted herself to the side of the road just before the truck reached her. She smashed through the low-lying brush, sharp branches scratching her body, and fell down a hillside studded with protruding rocks. Pain radiated up and down her body, compounding her previous scrapes with fierce discomfort. With a few moans and groans, she hit the bottom.

  She waited, listening.

  The truck hadn’t slowed down, and now it was gone.

  Silence kept her company. She sat for a few minutes to catch her breath and run through everything that had happened so she could relay it back at the police station.

  Then she stood up, wobbly at first, and made the easy climb back up to the road.

  One thing she knew for sure: someone didn’t like her digging up new information on Chelsea Compton—or any of the missing girls’ cases.

  Twenty-Eight

  Katie sat in the back of an ambulance while the attending paramedic checked her cuts and abrasions and took her vital signs. The more she thought about the incident, the more infuriated she became. Not because she’d been the target, but because she couldn’t give any decent information about the truck.

  No license plate. No identifying characteristics. No description of the driver. No video cameras in the vicinity to show the incident. Nothing to help identify this person who was intent on harming her—or at the very least, trying to scare her.

  The only thing she could think of was obtaining evidence from the tire marks. There were several feet of precise and perfectly preserved indentations. It would help facilitate the investigation only when there were other tire marks to compare, but Katie thought it was best to have crime-scene technicians photograph them and create impressions.

  “Hey,” said Deputy McGaven, coming up to the back of the ambulance. “You okay?” He sounded concerned.

  Katie smiled. “Yeah, just some bumps and bruises.”

  “Did you see the driver, or a license plate?”

  She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. And believe me, it’s going to haunt me.”

  He gestured to the forensic technicians hovering over the evidence. “Great instincts to get the tire-mark impressions.”

  “McGaven?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You feeling okay this morning?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Katie smiled. “Never mind.”

  The paramedic took the Velcro blood-pressure armband off her right bicep area and continued to wrap bandages around her forearms, which had seemed to take the brunt of her fall.

  Katie began to feel the pulsating pain now, as her adrenalin had had plenty of time to cool off.

  “That about does it,” said the paramedic. “You should get checked out at the hospital.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Katie stressed. “I’ve taken worse, that’s for sure.” She stood up. “McGaven, can you drive me to my house so that I can change?” she asked. Her legs felt fatigued and strangely rubbery. As she walked toward the crime-scene area, it was as if she was trudging through drying cement.

  “You’re not coming to work today,” said the sheriff as he walked up behind her and the deputy.

  He had heard about the truck incident from the police scanner. Most of the department had probably heard about it.

  “I’m fine,” Katie repeated.

  “Take the day off, that’s a direct order,” he said. His voice softened a bit. “Just go home and rest. Forensics haven’t completed their examinations of the caskets and clothing. And there might be more to come from Dr. Dean.”

  “Maybe I will rest for a couple of hours,” she conceded. “I’ll have my report to you as soon as—”

  “The entire day,” Sheriff Scott reminded her. Then, to McGaven, “Please take her home and make sure she stays there… and doesn’t ditch you this time.” He smiled, but the authority in his voice and posture was more like a warning to the deputy.

  “Fine,” stated Katie. The more she argued, the more tired she became. “Let’s go,” she ordered McGaven.

  This was exactly what the killer wanted: for Katie to be out of the game. She knew this meant she was getting closer to solving the case.

  Twenty-Nine

  Once Deputy McGaven was sure Katie wouldn’t pull a runner on him, and he’d played some high-energy ball with Cisco, he finally left her house. Katie studied the investigation notes on her wall one more time, trying to connect the leads. She decided to add the truck incident to the mix and see if it meant anything or pointed to someone—the Darren brothers, Mrs. Stanley, or even Detective Templeton. It
was another puzzle piece that might prove to be helpful, a missing clue, or it might be one more thing for the trash. What was the motive? Was there a connection to Chelsea? Tammie Myers?

  Cisco was stretched out on the kitchen floor, cooling off after his morning of fetching ball with the deputy. Within minutes, he was softly snoring and recharging his battery.

  Katie had changed into warmer sweats and sipped some water with lemon. She’d thought she would be edgy and anxious after getting home, but to her surprise, she was tired and relaxed. She stretched out on the couch, and before she could run through the investigation in her mind, she fell asleep.

  Cisco’s barking and a loud knocking rattled her awake. She sat up and saw Chad standing at her door peering through the small upper window, while Cisco ran in circles demanding to meet the visitor.

  Crap.

  Katie knew that she looked like hell after her run and then taking another fall down a hillside.

  “Quiet,” she said to Cisco. The dog backed away and went to his down position.

  She opened the door slowly.

  “Hi,” Chad said, holding up two bags. “I’m sorry, I realize now that I should have called you first.”

  “No, don’t worry about it.” She opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Oh, just the usual first official week as a detective. You know, taking insults from colleagues, interviewing lying witnesses, and having a truck try and run me down.”

  Chad laughed showing his appealing charm. “So you’re saying I caught you on a good day?”

  “You want some coffee?” she asked, walking toward the kitchen.

  Chad took a step to follow and Cisco gave a low grumble. “Uh, maybe I should meet him first?”

  “Cisco, here,” Katie ordered.

  The dog obediently circled around her and sat at her left side. She rubbed his head and scratched his ears, then made a gesture with her left hand in Chad’s direction. Cisco made a circle around the visitor and caught an intriguing scent from one of the bags.