The Sleeping Girls

by James Hunt

  It took a few minutes before Susan could set the file down. She then turned back to the filing cabinet and immediately opened all the drawers and scanned the archives for names that started with Ginny.

  Susan scanned the pages quickly. She found five files that could be her girl. One Jen, one Jennifer, one Jenny, and one Ginny. But only one girl had the flaming red hair that the homeless man had described to her at Box Town.

  Ginny Burtz.

  Susan stared at the picture of a stoic redhead when the door quickly opened, and Marsh stepped into the office.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Kevin’s face reddened when he saw all the files on the ground. “You can’t be in here, you—hey!”

  Kevin was paralyzed from the shock of Susan moving so quickly, but by the time that she reached for the handcuffs, he started to resist.

  Susan used the leverage she had on Kevin’s arm to keep him pinned, twisting his right arm at an angle that caused him to cry out, and she quickly snagged one cuff on the wrist. But when she tried to muscle the other hand together, he flung his head back, knocking her in the face.

  The pain was hot and quick, but Susan didn’t let go of Kevin. She kicked her foot as hard as she could near his groin. She didn’t make a direct hit, but she got close enough to knock the fight out of him, and he fell forward, Susan landing on top of his back, and she worked the second wrist into the cuff.

  “What the fuck, bitch?” Kevin screamed, wallowing in pain.

  “Stay down!” Susan ordered, then called for backup. “This is Officer Susan Quinton. I need backup at Ancient Oaks. Possible suspect in the Katy Matthews murder.”

  “What?” Kevin screamed. “I didn’t kill anyone! This is insane!”

  “Suspect is restrained but still considered dangerous.” Susan kept her foot on his back as she stood up. “We didn’t have to do this the hard way.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Susan gently touched her upper lip. She was bleeding, but it wasn’t bad and was already starting to clot. When she had confirmation on backup, she called Palmer.

  “Susan, what’s going—”

  “Ginny Burtz,” Susan said. “That’s the girl that was taken.”

  Palmer was quiet for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’m heading to the parents’ address listed on her file, which surprise, was at Ancient Oaks.” Susan pulled the phone away from her mouth as she heard a pair of officers identify themselves down the hall. “In here!” She returned to Palmer. “We need a judge to get us a warrant for Shawn Foster’s house. And we need to do that now.”

  “Okay, okay, just hold on,” Palmer said. “I’ll contact the judge. You said you’re heading over to the parents’ house now?”

  “Yeah.” As morbid as it felt, Susan had a feeling that the girl was already dead. However, if they could get to the house, sit on it, then they might catch the bastard who would take her there, but she needed to move quickly.

  “All right,” Palmer said. “I’ll meet you there, but don’t do anything until I show up, all right?”

  “Sure.” Susan hung up and then handed Marsh off to the officers before she sprinted down the hallway, hoping that they could get a warrant for Foster’s place before he dropped another dead girl back home.

  20

  The Burtz house wasn’t far from Ancient Oaks, and Susan was the first on the scene. She turned off the lights and sirens before she got close to the neighborhood, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Once she found the house, she circled around, looking for any sign of a van, and then parked a few lawns down from the Burtz home, waiting.

  Susan bounced her leg up and down, hating that she just couldn’t barge into the place and get the answers she needed. But she had already pressed her luck with Kevin Marsh, and she knew that there would be backlash for the way she apprehended the suspect. But if they could catch the bastard behind this, if they could stop another life from ending, then Susan would gladly take whatever punishment they gave her.

  She glanced around, wondering what was taking Palmer so long. She knew that he had said to wait, but she was growing more anxious by the minute, and that desire to do something, to do anything but sit still became so overwhelming that she opened the car door and walked toward the house.

  Keeping her eyes peeled, one hand on the butt of her pistol, Susan approached the house with caution. At first glance, the sleepy neighborhood provided no indication that a predator was lurking in the shadows, but Susan knew better than anyone that monsters enjoyed hiding in plain sight. Monsters like Shawn Foster.

  While they still needed the smoking gun, Susan was confident that they’d find everything they needed once they searched Foster’s house. And she couldn’t wait to watch him burn in the interrogation room. She bet that Marsh was involved somehow, covering it up. Maybe even Winger too. But they’d turn on one another faster than a firecracker pop to save their own skin.

  Susan stepped through the short, waist-high fence. The neighborhood was similar to the suburban area of the Matthews family, though it was a bit more run-down and rough around the edges.

  There were no lights on in the house, and Susan raised her hand to knock on the door when she noticed that the front door was cracked open.

  Susan entered swiftly and quietly. It was dark inside the house and the front door emptied into a living room, sparsely decorated with furniture as she quickly scanned the area.

  The living room and kitchen were one open area, and Susan saw three doors along the left wall leading to the back of the house, but only one of them was open.

  Susan crept toward the open door, thankful for the carpet that was spread throughout the house that helped mask her steps. She slowed her pace as she approached the door, her heart pounding harder than it ever had on any time during her undercover stint. Fearful that she was too late, that the killer was still inside, that she wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.

  It was the first time that she was on the attack. And she didn’t want to waste it.

  Without further hesitation, Susan spun into the room, and the moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she lowered the pistol.

  Ginny Burtz lay on top of the covers of her neatly-made bed, her eyes closed and her hand folded gently on top of her chest. Her long red hair with its tight curls flowed over the pillow and down over her shoulders. She was dressed in the same flower print dress that Katy Matthews had worn, revealing all of the bruises and scars from her time on the street.

  Susan walked to the girl’s bedside, arms slack and shoulders slumped, a growing lump of grief in her throat. She had not wanted to find the girl here. She had hoped the bed was empty, and that they still had time to save her, but she had taken too long.

  A cold gust of air hit Susan in the face, and she realized that she was crying, the low temperature freezing the tears against her cheek. She wiped the tears off her skin, then looked toward the source of the cold and saw an open window.

  It took a moment for it to register in her head, but Susan realized that the killer might have just been inside, and he might have just left.

  Susan rushed to the window, which led into the back yard that was backed up against the other houses, and from her position Susan saw a back gate was open, swinging loosely from its hinges.

  Before she thought better of it, Susan jumped out the window, falling awkwardly on the cold, damp grass, but she managed to sit up immediately.

  She stumbled forward, picking up steam the closer she moved toward the back gate, and she shouldered it open, which dumped her into a grassy alley between two fences. She pivoted left, then she rotated right, finding no one. She glanced down at the grass, which was still damp from either the rain or sprinklers. But the dampness made the grass more impressionable, and Susan saw footprints leading to the left.

  Gun up, Susan glided effortlessly to the road, clearing the left side first, and then sweeping to the right where she thought she caught a glimpse of a person walking, tur
ning left at the intersection up ahead. She reached for the rover.

  “This is Officer Susan Quinton, I need air support, possible homicide suspect.” Susan kept her voice hushed, knowing that her voice could carry in the cold and quiet, and she squinted to see the crossroad up ahead. “Suspect is heading South on Mission Avenue.”

  “Copy that Susan, we have put in a request,” the voice answered. “Air is inbound in five.”

  Susan broke out into a jog, the gun dipping slightly from her hastened pace, turning the corner sharply, half expecting to find the suspect waiting for her, knife in hand with his arm raised and poised to strike her down before she could pull the trigger, but when she finally turned the corner, there was no one.

  Susan jogged up a few more houses, looking for any places that someone could hide, but she found nothing. It was like whoever she had seen had just vanished into thin air.

  “Susan, air support is one minute out, please advise suspect’s current position.” The radio squawked in her ear, but she just stood silent, dumbfounded.

  Had she imagined it? Was she chasing shadows like she had been when she was a girl? Trying to find her father, who was out wandering in the streets?

  “Susan, do you copy?”

  “This is Susan,” she answered, her voice harsh and raspy. “I have lost visual on the subject.” She released the talk button on her rover. Her breathing accelerated, and for a moment she thought that she was hyperventilating. She dropped to her knees, her chest tight.

  Susan shut her eyes, trying to regain control of her body. She gulped the cold air that burned her lungs, and her muscles seized up, cramps biting into every part of her body. She curled into herself, fists and jaw clenched tight, fighting against the force that wanted to cause her to implode on herself.

  21

  I couldn’t stop shaking, not even when I was running. My legs were so tired, but I knew that I couldn’t pause to rest, and after I heard the chopper blades in the air, I hastened my pace.

  How the hell had she known I was at the house? How did she know that I had taken Ginny? It was impossible, I had been so careful, I had made sure to—

  The blood. They had found the blood at Box Town. Someone must have complained and said something. And if they managed to track my blood down at Box Town, then it was possible they could have a description of the van.

  I skidded to a stop, spinning in a circle as my head whirled with more questions that I couldn’t answer. “Fuck!” I shouted, and then quickly covered my mouth when I heard the sound of dogs barking.

  No, I couldn’t lose my cool now, I couldn’t forget what helped me get here in the first place. I had planned for this, I just needed to keep my wits about me.

  They would be setting up roadblocks, and at this hour and with the air support flying overhead, I’d be a prime suspect. I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of this, the evidence would be too damning. Heading back to the van now was a mistake.

  I could leave the van. It had fake plates, and I had scratched the VIN off. I just needed to double check it, clear it of anything that I might have left behind. But I needed to hurry.

  The van was two blocks south of the house. I had carried the girl in my arms, wanting to feel her for as long as I could. And I was glad that I did because if I hadn’t, that woman would have seen me. She was such a meddlesome bitch. I knew that from the first time I met her.

  I reached the van, still upset, but I had to push it aside for now because the chopper blades were getting louder. I checked the glove box, grabbing a few of the papers I had stashed inside that had some of my handwriting on it and then grabbed any food wrappers and garbage.

  It was too late to try and clean up everything, to do a thorough sweep for fibers. But if they found the blood, then they already had my DNA, so that was out the window. I grabbed the keys and then wiped down the wheel, the door handles, the dash, anything that I thought I could have touched to make it harder to pull a print.

  Finished, I pocketed the keys, locked the door, wiped down the handle one last time, and then sprinted south as fast as I could.

  I managed to keep up my pace for almost three miles, and it wasn’t until my calf cramped up that I finally stopped. Layered for the cold, the exertion had soaked my undershirt, and the sweat was causing my face to freeze.

  Hot streams of breath jettisoned from my lungs, the air so cold that I could see every breath. I hunched over, stopping for only a second to stretch the calf, and then continued to limp forward. The sound of the chopper had faded, and it made me less worried.

  But now I had to figure out what to do next. I had thought it would have taken the police longer to find out what I was doing, but now my window of opportunity was closing. And I had only been able to save two!

  It was maddening. I knew I had waited too long to start. I should have trusted my gut. I should have had the courage to start years ago. But I had been too afraid of being caught.

  And the girls had looked so beautiful when I returned them to their homes. And while their families might have been sad over the death of their child, at least they no longer had to worry about them, wondering what they were doing to themselves or what other people were doing to them.

  Now, it was all falling apart just as it was getting started. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. I just needed to get rid of that woman. I didn’t think it would be a difficult task, after all, the girl was young, troubled, and out of her league. I just needed to pull the right string and watch her unravel into nothing.

  22

  Having missed being on the scene for Katy Matthews, Susan experienced a different interaction with Ginny Burtz’s parents. The mother hadn’t stopped screaming when she saw her daughter’s body, and even with Susan outside, sitting on the curb, she could hear the mother’s grief.

  The combination of the helicopter, the police units, and the mother’s screaming had woken the entire neighborhood from their slumber.

  Neighbors had gathered on their lawns, whispering to one another as they tried to figure out just what was happening at the Burtz household.

  The body hadn’t been wheeled out yet, both forensics and the medical examiner's office still working the crime scene. Susan suspected that they’d be there for quite some time. Now that they had two dead girls, the case had just become everyone’s priority.

  Ginny had been displayed exactly like Katy had, dressed in the same gown and brought back to her own room in her own bed. Two girls in two days. He was working quickly.

  Susan was halfway through her third smoke when she saw Palmer approach from her peripheral view. He looked down at the growing pile of cigarette butts next to her shoe, some of them still smoldering, before he looked at her directly.

  “Parents didn’t hear anything,” Palmer said. “They didn’t even hear you until you climbed out of the window.”

  Susan didn’t look up. Her eyes were focused on one of the hubcaps of the cop cars that had pulled up to the house. “Chopper find anything?”

  “No one in the streets,” Palmer answered. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

  Susan still hadn’t figured out what she saw, or if it had been a figment of her imagination. But since she called in support saying that she did see a suspect, she decided to stick with her original story. “I’m sure.”

  Palmer nodded and was quiet for a minute before he finally added. “He ditched the van.”

  Susan stood, dropping her unfinished cigarette to the rest of the pile, and dusted her hands off. “I want to see it.”

  “Susan, you need to take a minute,” Palmer said, raising his hand to try and keep her from getting around him. “You’ve been through a lot tonight, and I want to make sure that you haven’t gotten ahead of yourself.”

  “She’s dead, Palmer,” Susan said, raising her voice loud enough to catch the attention of the police nearby, maybe even a few of the neighbors. “I’d say I was behind, wouldn’t you?”

  “Calm down.” Anger briefly flash
ed over Palmer’s face, and he stepped closer, trying to intimidate her. “You want to make a big deal about this? Just remember that the family is still here. People who really lost something.” He thrust a finger closer to her nose. “Don’t forget that.”

  But that was the problem. Susan couldn’t forget it. She couldn’t remember the last time that she was able to let something go. It was one of the reasons she had been top of her class at the academy, it was the reason she was the youngest female recruit to work Vice, and it was the reason why she had been asked to assist with the homicide investigation.

  “I remember everything,” Susan said, tapping her temple. “Even if I don’t want to.” She straightened up, lifting her chin so she was extended to her full height, which was still a foot shorter than Palmer. “Show me the van.”

  Palmer eventually acquiesced, but Susan figured that it was just because he wanted to get her away from the house and away from the parents.

  Susan would talk to them eventually, but with the mother still screaming, she couldn’t bring herself to go inside and face the parents. Maybe that made her a coward. She wasn’t sure yet.

  The van was parked two blocks south, far enough away for Susan to have missed it when she did a quick sweep before she approached the house.

  Susan and Palmer stepped beneath the yellow tape that kept back news reporters and interested neighbors, and neither Palmer nor Susan stopped to acknowledge any of their questions that were spit rapid fire on their walk past.

  “The van was wiped down,” Palmer said once they were out of earshot of the microphones. “Our team is checking for prints anyway, trying to pull anything off, but right now it’s not looking good.”

  “Registration?” Susan asked, though she wasn’t hopeful since Palmer hadn’t led with it.