When he saw Katie get out of her vehicle, he leaned inside the truck and retrieved a cup of coffee. “I thought you might need this,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip.
“No Cisco?”
“He’s protecting the house.”
“So, going back to the scene of the crime.” Chad gave his signature smile.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m at a standstill in the investigation, and waiting for some of the tests to come in from forensics. I’m not sure if that’s going to help either.”
“What about the other detective? Templeton.”
“What about him?”
“Does he have anything to contribute?”
Katie smiled in spite of herself. “Let’s just say we aren’t on the same page.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Don’t get me wrong. He’s fairly competent. It’s just that he doesn’t follow through, he cuts his interviews too short.” Katie stopped herself; she didn’t want to discuss the homicide cases with anyone outside the department. “I’m sorry. I really can’t say much.”
“Of course.”
There was a moment of awkwardness. Katie now thought it would have been easier for her to go alone, but it was too late to rescind the invitation.
Chad was the first to speak. “Well, you ready to go?”
“Absolutely,” she said, trying to put some positive energy into her voice.
She climbed into the truck and they drove out of the park.
Katie was hypnotized by the landscape streaming by her window, but her thoughts were never very far from the case. She rehashed her interviews, forensics, and what the medical examiner had told her.
“You’re very quiet,” said Chad. “What is it you hope to find at the crime scene?”
Katie pondered his question for a moment. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for. “I guess I’ve always handled problems I can’t solve by going back to the beginning.”
Chad took a sharp turn onto a more rural roadway. “That’s good advice. It’s like infinity.”
“What do you mean?” she asked curiously.
“Well, it’s the beginning and the end. Infinite. Everything comes back around to the beginning.”
“I like that,” Katie said. “That’s a great way to look at an investigation.”
They talked about mundane things. Usually Katie hated idle chat about the weather and who would win the World Series, but today it was relaxing and she found herself enjoying the drive.
Her phone buzzed with a message. She quickly retrieved it and found the text was from John. It was short and extremely interesting: The ABO test came back from Cisco’s swab. It was type O negative blood. Someone has a dog bite.
She thought about what that meant, her jaw tensed as she rubbed her slightly chapped lips. Was the person who had broken into her house, leaving a message on her wall as well as the letter on her window, the serial killer?
“Everything okay?” asked Chad.
She snapped back into the moment. “Oh, yes. One of the tests came back. Nothing new.” She wanted to keep the evidence to herself and include it in the report to her uncle.
She watched Chad as he took the next right turn. His demeanor was relaxed and he seemed genuinely upbeat.
“How’s firefighting?” she asked.
“They’ve been driving me pretty hard during the drills. I wish the budget would come through and they would add me to the full-time roster before they kill me,” he laughed.
Katie studied the view through the windshield. The trees seemed more menacing than before. The day was darker and colder than the last time she’d been there, easing into winter with sparse leaves and barbed-looking branches.
“Okay, the second road to the right,” she directed. “I know it looks more like a bike path, but you can still see all the tire impressions from the department’s emergency vehicles.”
Chad eased the truck to the top and parked just a couple of feet from the edge of the cliff. Loose dust floated upwards as he cut the engine.
A chilling feeling permeated Katie’s body. She shivered in her jacket but it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had worn heavier gear. Something seemed off at the location. Maybe it was just because she knew what had happened there.
The wind gusted outside, rocking the truck slightly.
“Is this it?” asked Chad as he opened the driver’s door, allowing a breeze to blow into the cab, swirling around and exiting again.
Katie stepped out and shut the passenger door.
The sun was now hidden behind heavy clouds as the gusts whistled through the trees around them. There was a part of Katie that wanted to get back into the truck and leave. She still had some things to do at the station—namely asking Denise if she was able to run down some information from the three fabric locations. It was a long shot, but she wasn’t going to give up and would keep pursuing every clue.
“I’ll follow you,” said Chad. He made an “after you” gesture with his arm and let Katie lead the way.
Still with the flight feeling, Katie moved toward the tunnel entrance, which was now cut back and heavily trampled. The pathway had been made much bigger, allowing for the easy removal of the two coffins.
The same questions plagued her.
Why here?
What’s the significance?
How long did it take the killer to create the graveyard of horror?
Why did he wait so long between murders? Or did he?
She looked up at the sky and wondered how it would look at night-time, with the infinite number of stars.
Infinite.
Staring down, she remembered every second of finding the graves. Those ticking moments of discovery. The horror. Her relief mixed with the tragedy and reality.
She felt the cold gripping her extremities, travelling up her legs and arms, as she walked through the crime-scene memory. She wondered if there was another gravesite carefully planned and tended like this one.
She theorized that the killer had wanted to save the little girls from something. But what? He’d tended them carefully, kept them in the best condition he could, like a garden. Had he planned to dig them up? He’d changed his MO after the first bodies were found. He was angry, no doubt, which was why he’d come after Katie. She was interrupting his carefully laid plans.
“Everything okay?” interrupted Chad. He stood at the entrance to the tunnel, watching her with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. His concerned expression clearly showed his deep sorrow for such a heinous crime.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Searching for inspiration.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” he said.
“The killer’s inspiration, not mine,” she explained. “What must he have felt here? Why did he choose this location?”
Chad stiffened as he glanced around the area. “Isn’t that what psychopaths do? They become what they want you to see. At least that’s the way I understand it.”
Katie turned and faced him, suddenly seeing him differently. Not just the boy she’d grown up with, but someone who perceived life a certain way. “You’re right. He wants us to see only what he wants us to see.” She gazed out at the vast view. It had always been beautiful to her, but now it appeared endless, repetitive, isolating, and a bit hopeless.
After a few minutes, she turned to leave. It was clear that Chad was happy to go; he’d been fidgeting with his hands and trying to find something—anything—to focus on. For some, seeing the reality of what a killer did to his victims wasn’t something they wanted to acknowledge, much less visit.
He’d become a bit aloof, different from before. Something had changed between the two of them. Maybe it was Katie and her signals. She didn’t know what she wanted in a relationship, and everything seemed to indicate that she needed to keep things platonic between her and Chad—at least for now.
She led the way out of the tree tunnel and walked briskly
back to the waiting truck. The wind was ratcheting up its speed. Her cell phone rang. She retrieved it from her jacket pocket and answered. Deputy McGaven’s voice was rapid and excited.
“There’s been a change in the investigation from Detective Templeton’s camp,” he began.
“What’s up?” Katie suspected that the detective had decided to make some bold move.
“I don’t know how, but Templeton managed to get a search warrant for the Compton residence and the Haven farm. He wants to close the cases.”
“How? Who was the judge?” She felt her pulse rate increase and her chest squeeze like a vice.
“Jeffries.”
“Oh,” was the only word Katie could muster.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Well, things are going to be different now. I’ll meet you at the department in about an hour, an hour and a half. I have to go home first and change.”
“Where are you?”
“Just had an errand to do. I’ll see you soon.” She ended the call.
“Everything okay?” asked Chad.
“I have to get back. Everything has changed.”
Forty-Three
Police cars arrived at the Haven farm. Detective Templeton exited his vehicle first and headed to the shed where Terrance Price had stayed while he’d worked there. Two other detectives went to the main working area to check out various storage buildings.
Templeton began swiftly tearing the shed apart. He flipped the mattress, dumped out boxes, and kicked around various personal items. In a box filled with basic banking information, he finally found a small piece of paper with the names and addresses of various places Price had worked.
“Got it!” he shouted.
The piece of paper proved that Terrance Price had had contact with the Comptons.
“Let’s go,” he ordered, and hurried back to the car.
* * *
Detective Templeton sped up to the Comptons’ residence and parked his dark police sedan half in the street and half in the driveway. Two patrol cars parked in a more respectful manner. A few neighbors came out of their homes to see what the commotion was about.
The detective flung open his car door and immediately barked orders to the neighbors. “Nothing to see, go back inside your homes.”
He marched up to the Comptons’ front door, followed by another detective, Romano. He shoved his hand in and out of his pocket but didn’t pull anything out. Once he reached the door, he knocked loudly four times.
It didn’t take long before a slight woman answered. “Yes?” she said.
“Beth-Ann Compton?” stated Templeton, though he knew her already.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly.
Reaching into his upper jacket pocket, he said, “I have a warrant to search your home.” He handed her the official paperwork.
“I don’t understand,” she said faintly. It was evident from her frightened expression that she had no idea why the police would want to search her house.
Another patrol car drove up and parked.
Templeton forged into her home, followed by Romano and a couple of deputies. One of the deputies made a gesture for her to wait at the entrance.
The detective went upstairs as the rest of his crew began searching through drawers and closets, working their way to the kitchen. He found one of the bedrooms doubling as a guest room and craft area. Glancing behind him to make sure no one had followed him, he opened a small drawer at the work table, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie containing a piece of pink fabric with a tiny drop of blood on it. Without hesitating, he dropped the fabric into the drawer with other scraps of material.
“Up here,” he yelled.
Within seconds, Romano and the two deputies arrived. Templeton pointed into the drawer. After everyone was satisfied, one of the deputies brought Mrs. Compton upstairs.
“Mrs. Compton, is this your sewing table?” the detective asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Everything in here belongs to you?” he insisted.
“Yes,” she said again.
Templeton made a gesture for one of the deputies to document and properly retrieve the fabric. “Search the entire room and gather any evidence. Keep the chain of custody intact.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Compton said.
“Don’t understand what? Why you hid evidence? Or why you killed your daughter?”
“No! I didn’t kill my daughter. She was taken. I did not kill her…” She turned to run down the stairs but was stopped by the second deputy.
“Mrs. Beth-Ann Compton,” he began. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“No,” she said. “No, you’re wrong. Whatever you found… can’t be…”
“Do you understand your rights?” he demanded.
“No, no, please no, please, I didn’t kill my daughter…”
“Do you understand your rights?” he said more loudly.
“Yes,” she said in a barely audible whisper.
Forty-Four
The more Katie wrestled with everything that had happened during the course of the investigation, the suspects, and the evidence, the more convoluted everything became. She had become sidetracked by trying to prove forensic evidence, but there was nothing pointing to any specific suspect yet. In her gut, she knew that the evidence would prove who the killer was only when they had one.
She struggled with the emotion festering throughout her body and gripped the steering wheel harder, trying to will away any bad feelings or sensations trying to control her.
The search warrant acquired by Templeton for the Comptons’ house and the Haven farm made her angry. It was wrong. The detective had jumped to a conclusion to try and close the cases. Some might say it was appropriate in order to clear or implicate the Comptons once and for all, but it didn’t make sense that they would kill the other girl—unless Templeton was somehow using Terrance Price’s involvement to connect the two cases.
There was one killer—Katie would bet her career on that single fact. One killer, three murders. A serial killer; that was where the investigation stood.
Pressing the accelerator as hard as she dared, she sped around the familiar corners along the road leading to her house. She veered too close to the opposite lane and an oncoming driver blew their horn at her. She didn’t care. Her first priority was to get home, take care of Cisco and change back into her work clothes. The second priority was to prove Templeton wrong—and to set things straight.
Her cell phone rang.
Taking her foot from the accelerator, she glanced at the screen. It was an incoming call from McGaven. Her stomach churned as she answered.
“Bad news,” McGaven said.
Katie didn’t respond, but instead braced herself for the worst.
“Templeton arrested Mrs. Compton and they’ve already transferred her to the jail. She’s at booking right now.”
“On what charge?”
“Premeditated murder.”
Katie shook her head adamantly, her fists clenched. “On what evidence?”
“Apparently they found material from the coffin in her home, and some paperwork that proved she knew Price.”
“That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t fit. This is a disaster.” She paused. “What about the Matthews girl? She’s still missing.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I’m just about to get to my house right now. I’ll meet you at the department in a half-hour.”
“See you then,” he said.
Katie disconnected the call. This was her fault for not being thorough in her job. There could have been something she had missed, and if she hadn’t, things wouldn’t be in this mess. It was almost impossible to undo the mistakes once the cas
e began to go through the criminal-justice system.
Damn it.
She took several deep breaths and drove her Jeep slowly up the driveway, noticing that her roses were beginning to bloom. She would be no use if she became emotional—a pitfall of the job. She parked and stepped out, glancing at the roses again. Even though they were yellow, it still made her think about the remnants of red roses in the coffins. She tried to remember where she’d seen some in bloom.
Roses.
Her attention was distracted by her briefcase, which had fallen into the backseat. She stopped and leaned in to retrieve it. As she placed it on the passenger seat to take back to the sheriff’s office, Cisco suddenly began barking. It wasn’t his happy play greeting; it was a rapid bark that indicated someone was near. It was a warning. Katie could see him at the front window, standing on his hind legs, front paws raised, his nails scraping the glass with a horrible high-pitched sound.
She stood still, stunned by Cisco’s behavior, then jogged towards the front door, reaching for her holstered gun underneath her sweatshirt. As she readied herself, she heard a voice behind her say, “Katie.”
A shocking blast of electricity hit her torso and reverberated throughout her body, buckling her legs beneath her. She dropped her gun. A strange buzzing sound filled her head, scrambling her rational thoughts. It was the last thing she remembered before hitting the ground.
Forty-Five
Deputy McGaven was growing impatient waiting for Katie to meet him at the department. He fidgeted and paced around; nothing kept his attention. He hadn’t known her to be late to anything since he had met her; it wasn’t in her personality, especially given the current status of the investigation.
“C’mon, Katie, hurry up,” he muttered under his breath.
Glancing at his watch again, he realized that more than an hour had passed since he had last spoken with her. Something wasn’t right. He called her, but she didn’t pick up.
Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 22