Little Girls Sleeping: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Jennifer Chase

  He picked it up and looked around. There was nothing indicating what the key was used for. He looked at the walls and spotted a small gouge at around shoulder height. Slowly he inserted the key. It fit. When he turned it, a locking mechanism clicked and released the door.

  He instinctively pushed it inward. It was pitch dark and difficult to ascertain if this was a closet or another room. He fumbled around inside until he found a light switch.

  A low motorized noise engaged and set off a well-tuned reaction.

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  Four fluorescent lights clicked on overhead and brightened the room. Every corner was illuminated brightly to reveal an organized compartmentalized room.

  One area was a stocked craftsman’s workshop where rectangular wooden boxes and bolts of fabric waited. Several small plastic containers containing thread, needles, and ribbon were stacked in the corner. He noticed specially cut lengths of ribbon in all colors and the fabric to make teddy bears like the ones at the crime scenes.

  His stomach dropped and his nerves tingled as if he had been stunned with electricity. But it was the stainless-steel gurney that stopped him short. On it, secured with heavy straps, lay a motionless, dark-haired little girl. He sucked in a breath, allowing his mind to catch up with what he was seeing.

  “Sheriff,” called Chad from upstairs. “What’s going on?” His voice moved closer.

  The sheriff was careful not to touch anything, but went quickly to the little girl to see if she was alive. There was a weak pulse, but she remained unconscious. He recognized her as the missing girl, Dena Matthews. He immediately loosened the straps from her chest, arms, and legs. Picking up her limp body, he headed out of the killer’s lair.

  “No…” Chad’s voice was choked. He stood in the doorway, his face deathly pale. “How could…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “Is she still alive?”

  “She’s still breathing. We have to get her to the hospital as soon as possible. Don’t touch anything,” said the sheriff. He was in charge and had to act like it, no matter how upset and horrified he felt.

  “Should I call an ambulance?”

  Carrying Dena, the sheriff led Chad to the front door without another word. “No, it will take too long for them to get here. I’m going to drive her directly to the hospital.”

  After he’d secured Dena in the backseat, he took out his cell phone and quickly placed a call requesting forensics and one of the detectives on duty to come to the ranch.

  “Sheriff,” said Chad. “What about… what about…”

  The sheriff finished the call and turned to him. “What are you saying?”

  “Is Katie in danger?”

  The enemy waits for the perfect moment to attack, when you least expect it.

  * * *

  The counting helped to calm Katie’s nerves, and her recollection began to come into focus. She remembered watching Cisco barking like crazy at the front window as she slowly approached the house. She had been worried that the person who had left the messages might be back, hiding somewhere waiting to attack her.

  She quickly assessed the profile list for the serial killer. He would be between thirty and fifty, wearing a size twelve shoe, and trained in tech work. Everything seemed personal, organized, with a repeated signature. Her gut told her that it was an older man who had some impulse control. When she got too close, he’d had to do something drastic. He had used a stun gun, which had slammed into her, causing her to pass out and hit her head. The pain was still evident on her chest, where the tiny hooks had attached themselves.

  She reached behind her head and felt a wet substance seeping through her fingers from the fall. She estimated she would need a few stitches.

  She knew that he’d stripped her down to her underwear in case she had a weapon or means of communication. But there was always something a killer didn’t completely count on, a slip-up, or a hasty decision that caused a lapse in judgment. There was always something that could be done to escape; it was a matter of finding out what the killer’s weakness was.

  “I will never give up,” she whispered.

  Fifty

  Katie’s spirits rose as her heart rate returned to normal. She managed to take her mind through her army training and all the people who had made it possible for her to excel. She told herself that her current situation was just another hazard of the job that she needed to get through. She had been in many predicaments that seemed hopeless, but there was always a way out.

  She estimated that she had been travelling for roughly forty-five minutes on mostly uneven roads, but that meant she could be anywhere. Her instincts told her they were headed into the countryside, due to the fact that most serial killers didn’t like to deviate from their MO and comfort zone. It was also a perfect place to get rid of a body.

  Instant shivers pimpled her arms and down the back of her neck.

  Stay focused.

  Her hands and feet weren’t bound, which meant she could move freely.

  She wasn’t gagged, so she could scream.

  She knew that being stripped down to her undergarments made her more vulnerable, but he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that she had been in the army, where you had no privacy. Modesty didn’t play any part in the military.

  There wasn’t enough time to try and work on prying the lid open or making a hole in the wood. But she had noticed that the coffin was rough and haphazardly put together, which might mean that there was some weak point to the construction.

  She estimated that another five minutes had passed. There had been so many left and right turns that she had lost count, but one thing was definite: she was deep in the mountains and no one would ever hear her screams.

  She moved her raw fingers in a systematic way, beginning with the area behind her head and searching clockwise. She realized straight away that the coffin was wider than necessary. She took the time to feel for anything that seemed weak or unstable. When she couldn’t search with her hands, she had to rely on her feet to feel the lower end of the coffin.

  Another ten minutes or so had passed.

  Without warning, the vehicle abruptly stopped, causing her to slide and hit the end of the coffin.

  Her head was higher than it had been before; she appeared to be at a slight angle, as though the vehicle was no longer on flat ground.

  She had to make a conscious effort to breathe quietly as she strained to listen. The low hum had not stopped. The distinct opening and closing of a heavy car door sounded next to her head.

  No voices.

  No audible footsteps.

  The minute of waiting seemed to morph into an hour.

  There were no other distinguishing sounds.

  Suddenly, the startling crash of a tailgate slamming open reverberated around her. Katie knew what would happen next, and she was still no closer to a plan than when she had first found herself in the coffin.

  Her nervousness escalated, her head pounding as her blood pressure steadily rose, which made her body and limbs buzz with a strange energy.

  There was a high-pitched screech, and she realized that the coffin was being slowly pulled from its current location. The sound of raw wood scraping against the metal of an SUV or truck continued, causing her to grit her teeth and ball her hands into fists. As the horrendous noise stopped, the coffin hit something hard, smashing her head against the top of the box.

  She was on solid ground.

  Fifty-One

  Katie had tensed as the coffin fell. The impact was sudden and violent, slamming and contorting her body. The pain in her head heightened as an unrelenting stabbing discomfort gripped her forehead, blurring her vision, while her elbows were battered and her hips bruised from the force.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the next assault.

  After a minute, she opened her eyes, still unable to see anything clearly except for the pinprick of light from the lower left corner. Otherw
ise, darkness abounded and kept her company, though it could do nothing to repel the impending threat.

  Perspiration dappled her skin, causing her to shudder uncontrollably, rattling her bones. Fighting the urge to cry out, she kept silent, gritting down on her teeth and maintaining her position as best she could. Her nerves spiked, warning her body and mind what was about to happen, as the familiar sounds and the smell of dust ignited her memory of the battlefield.

  Voices behind her yelled of the threat up ahead. The sour taste never left her mouth. The never-ending jangling of large-caliber gunfire rang in her ears. Her ribcage and skull took the brunt of the reverberation. Heat from the foreign climate turned up the escalating inferno inside her heavy uniform. A large explosion slammed her to the ground as dirt blasted her face. Her thoughts were pity and helplessness. Throughout her momentary misery, a wet nose against her face resuscitated her enough to give her the energy needed to crawl. She felt the lean canine next to her wriggling forward, mimicking her position and movements.

  An ear-piercing screeching noise interrupted her memory, tossing her back to reality with a shock as she gripped her fists and held her breath. The noise continued around the perimeter of the coffin, and she realized that someone was removing the screws with an electric screwdriver. She placed her hands in front of her in a shaky fighting stance, ready for anything.

  The top of the coffin was ripped away, causing a bright light to temporarily blind her. She couldn’t see anything, only a lightning whirlwind of white accompanied by a sharp pain behind her eyes. Unclenching her fists, she covered her face with her hands. Her pulse rate heightened erratically and she could hear her own rapid breathing, but she was paralyzed.

  It seemed like minutes but was barely thirty seconds before her vision began to clear. She looked up and the first thing she saw was the blue sky accompanied by a few wispy clouds. A couple of birds flew over. Outdoor colors began to darken and she saw immense green trees towering above her, leaves blowing gently in the wind and branches swaying in unison.

  She dropped her hands to her sides and focused on the dark figure standing above her. At first, it was difficult to focus, but as her vision came crashing back, she gasped, remembering where she had seen the red roses.

  Charles Rey stood there with a shotgun pointed at her head.

  Fifty-Two

  “Everyone listen up. We have a code red involving one of our own.” Sheriff Scott was standing in front of a huge computer screen showing an aerial view of the two counties surrounding Pine Valley. It was in a special room at the police department that was primarily used for Homeland Security emergencies or any type of national or state-wide disaster.

  All available police officers, volunteer officers, recruits, search-and-rescue personnel, and administrative volunteers were present, including Deputy McGaven and Chad. More volunteers were being co-opted from other departments as the sheriff gave instructions.

  “Every second counts, so I’m going to make this brief,” he continued, swallowing hard so as not to show his emotions. “Here’s what we know. At approximately 1300 hours today, Charles Rey kidnapped Detective Katie Scott from her residence.” He cleared his throat. “Rey is believed to be driving his late-model Ford truck, license RWX 32J7. He is six foot one, fifty-six years old, one hundred eighty-nine pounds, and knows his way round various types of weapons. At this time, we have found Dena Matthews, who is in a stable condition, and have enough evidence to connect Rey to all three unsolved murders. Forensic services will be searching and documenting his residence.”

  One of the deputies asked, “What types of evidence were found?”

  “The investigation is under way and I’m not at liberty to discuss this part of the case right now. The main objective is to find Rey as soon as possible. It is unclear what he will do with Detective Scott, but we will not take any chances.”

  “Sir, do we have any other information as to where he could have gone?” asked one of the volunteers.

  Sheriff Scott felt sick to his stomach, his heart skipping a beat, as his imagination took many twisted turns thinking about what might happen to Katie and what she was going through at that exact moment. He pushed onward. “We will divide our teams to search all these vicinities.” He gestured to the map behind him. “Rey is attracted to rural areas that are less travelled and could be at any of these locations. I’ve assigned team captains who will further brief you. In addition, we have secured every available resource to expedite the search, including four-wheel-drive vehicles, motorcycles, ATVs, and other equipment.”

  Chad studied the maps as he listened intently to the sheriff’s instructions. “Sir, I have a request,” he said. “I would like your permission to take Cisco and search some of the other remote areas you haven’t immediately identified. I know some of these areas are more inaccessible, but I’m capable of making the hike. I will be able to cover more ground with the dog and I have a heavy-duty Jeep that can handle any trail or off-road area.”

  Sheriff Scott thought for a moment, then agreed. “Okay, but you have to stay in touch with the closest team leader by radio and with me by cell phone. Understand?” He reached into his pocket and took out a key ring. “Here’s the key to her house.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Be very careful and check in every hour, understand? I don’t have enough manpower to send someone with you.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Chad said, and left the room.

  Fifty-Three

  The search teams assembled at three strategic locations along the trails and rugged roadways leading into the more rural areas of the county. They had accumulated more than one hundred volunteers and would concentrate mostly on the vast unincorporated state-park areas and other uninhabitable regions. Every person had been briefed with the most up-to-date information available.

  The first team took off in heavy-duty SUVs and trucks, with motorcycles packed in available cargo areas. They fanned out and worked in a grid system. Each vehicle kept in contact with the others and would provide any assistance necessary. Deputy McGaven was included in the group and was determined to find Katie.

  The second team was the largest and consisted of many individual volunteers who were used to searching for missing people, lost hikers, and livestock. They set out on foot in small groups to conduct a slow, meticulous search. A few bloodhounds were also included to follow any scent track that was picked up.

  The third team was deployed with ATVs to the forestry areas that had flatter roads. They followed the same protocols as the other two teams and worked in more of a circular grid beginning in a central area. No area would remain unsearched until they found Katie.

  Chad loaded up Cisco in his Jeep, making sure he had everything he might need, including rescue climbing gear, the police-issue radio the sheriff had given him, his cell phone, battery-operated lights, emergency flares, a shotgun, a Glock handgun, and a first-aid kit—plus a few more odds and ends.

  Cisco obeyed his commands, and the dog’s low, distressed whines showed that he appeared to have a sixth canine sense that it was an emergency.

  Chad took one last look inside Katie’s house before leaving. Picking up her hoodie that was draped over a chair, he decided to bring it with him as it had her scent on it. He kept his emotions in check and didn’t want to think about what might have happened to her. His prayers were never more real than at that moment.

  He found Katie’s field notebook on the counter, and after reading some of her entries, he realized that she had systematically described her original searches for Chelsea Compton in painstaking detail. He took several precious moments to study her notes and graphs before slipping the notebook into his pocket.

  He now had a revised plan.

  He worked out search details as he drove to the area where he and Katie had recently had lunch. According to the maps, many of the trails wound around to other areas with vehicle access. He would use Katie’s techniques and search parameters to assist in finding her. />
  Once he reached the picnic area, he continued on westward and then took a road going north that was known only to locals. The police search parties were at different locations, southwest, which was fine with him. He would work a different type of search, straight out of Katie’s own handbook, parking the Jeep and doing a perimeter sweep in a line-strip formation. He wanted to get through the largest amount of ground he could before moving on.

  He found a good place to park, and got out of the car carrying just the essentials in order to keep his backpack light.

  Cisco leaped out next to him, shook himself, and waited for a command while maintaining his ears alert and forward. He caught wind of something immediately, keeping his nose high and inhaling deeply, but then seemed to lose interest in whatever he had scented.

  Chad powered up his cell phone and pulled up an aerial view of the region he was going to search. He divided it up into sections—eight in total. He’d work through them systematically.

  “C’mon, boy,” he said.

  With Cisco at his heels, he hiked down the narrow road, keeping in mind the time and the direction they were travelling. For added security, he set his phone GPS to keep him on target.

  As he walked, he remembered the technique that Katie used for her searches. She’d briefly explained it to him at the gravesite, telling him how she used all of her senses. He stopped, closed his eyes, and listened intently. After a few minutes, he opened them again, amazed at how vivid and detailed everything seemed. He then took a slow three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, studying his surroundings. He would use this technique every so often during the search to look for anything out of place, anything that moved, or anything that appeared to have been recently disturbed.