Burning Proof

by Janice Cantore

  “What is wrong with me, Bandit? There’s no reason for anyone to be following me.”

  It was late when she pulled off the highway onto the Lake Creek cutoff. Her aunt lived in a rural setting to be sure. The Lake Creek grange building followed by the historical society and a general store across the street constituted the downtown. A huge, thirteen thousand–acre private ranch took up much of Lake Creek, but there were smaller parcels dotting the unincorporated area. Dede’s place was about four miles away, close to a historic covered bridge, and she presided over a forty-acre spread. Abby yawned as she turned onto the gravel driveway that led to her aunt’s house.

  Aunt Dede had raised Abby from age ten. The driveway, the shadows of trees in the darkness, took Abby back to that time. Coming here after living in foster care in Los Angeles was like dying and going to heaven. Lake Creek was as far removed from Long Beach as possible. Dede’s two-story Craftsman-style home sat overlooking a creek-fed pond that had year-round water.

  Lights were on in the kitchen, and she knew her aunt had waited up for her. The driveway circled around, passing the house, coming to a vintage barn Dede had remodeled into a guesthouse. As she made the circle around the barn, she passed the chicken coop and the livestock pens. Dede had a couple of horses, a few head of cattle, some goats, and a few chickens.

  Abby completed the circle and parked under the carport next to her aunt’s Jeep. She remembered the first morning she’d woken up in her new bedroom. When she looked out the window, she saw deer feeding on vegetation near the pond. She thought she’d found paradise.

  Warm feelings filled her as she yawned and turned off the ignition, but the oppression didn’t lift. Could she really be healed and refreshed here? She and Bandit climbed out as Dede and her Australian shepherd, Scout, came out the kitchen door.

  For a minute Abby worried about how Scout and Bandit would get along. Her fears were allayed when the two dogs began circling and sniffing each other with wagging tails.

  Abby sighed, so happy to be home, she hoped she didn’t start crying.

  Dede hurried to her and enveloped her in a tight hug. “It’s good to see you, Abby.”

  “Ditto.” Abby closed her eyes and smiled, not wanting the warm hug to end too soon. She could smell the fresh night air and her aunt’s perfume, and the warm feeling of being home, in a safe place, calmed her angst, for a moment masking the darkness. Yes, she’d made the right decision to come home.

  “Are you hungry?” Dede asked, pulling back and then linking her arm in Abby’s to draw her into the house. “I’ve got a pot of venison stew on the stove.”

  Abby smiled and let her aunt pull her toward the house, mouth watering at the thought of a meal she’d not enjoyed in years. The shadowy car stayed in the back of her mind, but she was still hard-pressed to think of any reason anyone would have to follow her.

  Abby forgot about the shadow car as the next day unfolded. She was too tired. Sleep had eluded her as flashbacks of the shooting invaded her thoughts, keeping her from winding down and shutting off. From the nightstand she retrieved her phone and saw two messages from Ethan waiting. She wrote back that she was tired; she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not even Ethan at the moment.

  Bright Oregon sunshine pouring through the upstairs window hurt her eyes. The familiar surroundings did have a minuscule calming effect. Her aunt had kept her room here for her all these years. Dede had spent years overseas as a missionary, and she knew it was important to have a place to come back to. She wanted to be certain Abby knew she had that place here in Lake Creek.

  Bandit wagged his tail as she stretched, and Abby knew that the little dog wanted to go out. She pulled on some sweats and then the two of them went downstairs. In the kitchen Abby found a note on the coffeemaker.

  Had some things to take care of in town. Coffee is ready to go; just press Start. Bacon and eggs in the fridge, or granola fresh from the mill. There are Oreos in the cookie jar, but eat breakfast first! Be back around noon. Dede.

  The Oreo comment brought a wry smile to her lips because that was exactly what she felt like eating. The tasty cookie was her one big vice, her ultimate comfort food. I don’t feel like eating breakfast first, she thought as she picked up the granola. There was a historic flour mill nearby and they made the best granola, but she set the cereal down. She pressed the Start button on the coffee, then walked to the back door to let Bandit out. The house had a wraparound porch, and Abby stepped outside with the dog, shivering a bit as the morning air hit. It was much cooler here than at home. Fall was unequivocally in the air.

  Abby walked around the porch as Bandit sniffed here and there. There were a couple new rocking chairs and a large swinging bench overlooking the pond. Abby noted them, but a yawn brought with it the desire to eat and then lie down. After a few minutes Bandit trotted back inside. She bet it was just a little too chilly for him.

  Last night it had felt so good to be home, but now the angst had returned and a nagging thought had her mind in a vise: I can’t stay here forever and run away from what’s waiting for me in Long Beach. What if I can’t put the shooting behind me and go back to work?

  Abby fed the dog, then poured a cup of coffee and took a container of yogurt from the fridge. After a couple of bites her hunger was sated and she almost put the half-eaten container back. Bad form, she thought and forced herself to finish. She tossed the empty carton away to concentrate on the coffee. Her favorite beverage didn’t taste very good this morning, and she gave up after a half cup, pouring the rest down the drain. She grabbed a handful of Oreos and marched upstairs again, Bandit at her heels.

  Feelings of failure seemed to weigh her down, and after she finished the cookies, Abby crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  CHAPTER

  -22-

  KELSEY COX GOT THE CALL early Thursday morning—but she hadn’t been asleep, so it didn’t bother her.

  “She did go home, if home is some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere. Not much is anywhere near.”

  Kelsey sighed and bit her lip before responding. “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “A fast-food place in an area that vaguely resembles civilization. You don’t want me to stay with her, do you?”

  The tone of his voice bugged her. He was being paid enough to do whatever she asked without whining.

  “No, she’s not a threat there. But I do have a couple more errands for you regarding Hart.” She carefully outlined what she wanted from him. “Be discreet. Understood?”

  “My middle name. Anything else?”

  “You need to check up on the other one, Murphy.” Kelsey had a good idea about Murphy because of his association with Woody. She kept tabs on police department gossip through a friend still working, and that friend also knew Woody. But her hired guy could specifically pin the man down, and she needed that.

  Briefly she told him what she knew about Murphy’s current situation and what to watch for. The man’s attitude improved.

  “Ah, back to civilization. I’m on my way. I’ll take care of the first thing. Then give me a day to be in position for the other.”

  “Not a problem. Just call me when you are.”

  She ended the call and walked across the room to look out the window of her hotel. They were in San Francisco for a fund-raiser. She missed Gavin. It was an ache that never went away. She reflected on the fact that it was Abby Hart and her family who had squashed any and every chance of happiness she and Gavin might have shared. Twenty-seven years ago Buck and Patricia Morgan, by their stubbornness, caused the cancellation of the wedding she and Gavin planned. Gavin’s involvement in the Triple Seven fire had changed their relationship, damaged it almost beyond repair, because at the time Kelsey was still idealistic and appalled that a law enforcement officer could have been involved in anything shady.

  It took years for the idea of “nice guys finish last” to soak in and for Kelsey to realize that she didn’t care about methods or in
volvements; it didn’t matter what Gavin had done. And just when they were reconnecting, rebuilding their lives together, Abby ruined everything by forcing Gavin to take his own life. Ironically, in death Gavin had helped Kelsey more than he had while alive. The dream job she now enjoyed and the place of importance to which she’d ascended were hers now only because he was dead. It was with a bittersweet heart she whispered, “Thank you, Gavin.”

  Lowell Rollins would be elected to the senate, she was certain. Then he would go to Washington, DC, and so would she. She smiled at the thought of the power, the prestige.

  Her phone chimed, interrupting the dream, and she frowned when she saw who it was. Her boss would want a report about Hart and Murphy and would press to make sure Kelsey was doing her job. This was one fly in the ointment Kelsey wanted to be rid of. She would figure out a way to stomp this fly, but it would take time. Right now she needed to be patient.

  Sighing, she answered the phone and in a professional tone gave the report.

  After she hung up, she relaxed and began another daydream, this one about ridding herself of the fly and stepping into place at the governor’s side as his equal, not just his employee.

  CHAPTER

  -23-

  FRIDAY MORNING Luke and Woody headed to Lancaster to review the Molly Cavanaugh case. They’d gotten the call late the night before that the case information was assembled, and they had an appointment with Faye Fallon’s contact, a sheriff’s deputy assigned to the Lancaster office. He promised to walk them through the boxes of evidence and reports pertaining to Molly’s case and answer any questions he could. The drive would take them around two hours, so Luke picked Woody up while it was still dark.

  They’d been on the road for about twenty minutes when Woody spoke up.

  “Abby’s been in Oregon for a couple of days now.”

  “Hmph,” Luke said, not sure where to go with that. He was worried about Abby but certain he had no right to be. The shooting coming so close on the heels of no real answers regarding the Triple Seven was definitely messing with her head, and Luke wondered if Abby was suffering from PTSD. That thought brought him to Faye Fallon, and his mind went meandering, wondering how much time they’d spend working together and if that was a good thing.

  Realizing Woody had gone quiet, Luke shifted gears back to Abby. “You think she’s still having a hard time about the shooting?”

  “I don’t know. She shouldn’t. It was in policy and downright awesome she reacted as quickly as she did. Women—I don’t understand them. Probably why I was married three times and couldn’t make any stick.”

  Luke chuckled at that. For the rest of the drive Woody told him about all his marriages and the women who had broken his heart.

  By the time they reached the sheriff’s station in Lancaster, Luke was shaking his head in wonder. He’d never known Woody to talk so much and was amazed at the amount of information he’d received in the two-hour drive.

  Detective Steve Jones met them in the lobby. “So you two are going to help Faye with this case.”

  “That’s the plan,” Luke said as he shook the outstretched hand.

  “I wish I could have done more for her,” Jones said, his tone regretful. “Unfortunately the resources just aren’t here right now.”

  “Well, I hope we can help,” Woody said.

  Jones took them to a conference room, where one wall was stacked with document boxes. “Here you go, gentlemen.” He swept his arm toward the boxes. “That’s all the evidence and reports we have on the Molly Cavanaugh case.”

  Woody whistled and for a minute Luke lost his voice. He knew there’d be a lot to go through, but he wasn’t prepared for all this. They’d be sifting through documents for a week.

  “It’s stacked with the most recent paperwork closest to us. We did a due diligence review every year. I did the last one, so I can bring you up to speed.”

  “Thanks,” Luke said as he took a seat at the table. “That would be great. You said on the phone that you worked the case ten years ago.”

  Jones nodded and sat across from Woody and Luke. “Yep, I was in uniform then. I talked to a lot of people, followed up on tip line leads. We had a dedicated tip line running for two months. But when tips began to dry up, so did the department’s interest. Phones stop ringing, and there was no reason to have people sitting on their butts waiting.” He clicked his teeth. “We really thought we’d catch the guy. I can’t believe it’s been ten years without a peep from him.”

  “You don’t think it was his first rodeo, do you?” Woody asked.

  Jones shook his head. “Molly told us he was prepared with tape and rope. He wasn’t hesitant or unsure; he knew exactly what he was doing. Like I said, I did the due diligence review on the ten-year anniversary.”

  He got up, walked to a box, took out a file, and brought it back to the table. “You guys know as well as I do that teenagers, especially teenage girls, go missing all the time.”

  “You bet,” Luke said with a nod.

  “Well, Molly was victimized in May of 2005. Back then we pulled all missing reports for the year in order to find any similarities—you know, did anyone else go missing from the mall? Stuff like that.”

  He opened the file and took out three missing reports. “At the time, we had a lot more than three, but nearly all of them have been resolved in one way or another, except for these three. Two are from 2005, February and March, while one is from December 2004. All the girls were sixteen at the time of disappearance, and all of them were supposed to be taking a bus home.”

  “You don’t say,” Woody said as Jones slid the reports toward him.

  “You’ll notice that the girls disappeared from different areas in the county—Palmdale, Agua Dulce, and Acton. And all three of them had running away in their past. One was thought to have been taken by her father out of the country, but that was eventually disproved. The only connecting item is the bus angle. They may not be connected at all—” he threw his hands up—“but I decided I’d toss it in the mix.”

  “Nothing recently?” Luke asked.

  “Lots of missings and runaways, but none that I’d categorize as close enough. Bottom line, I think the guy picked girls up before Molly, and they weren’t as lucky as she was. As to why he stopped, well, that’s anyone’s guess. We have DNA. Molly’s description was very clear and corroborated by another girl at the mall who says the guy tried to pick her up as well. But we never caught him.”

  Luke and Woody studied the missing posters. Luke was struck by how all three girls were similar in description to each other and to Molly.

  He looked up at Jones, who was watching them. “Thanks. I appreciate all your hard work.”

  “You want to thank me? Catch him. I’ve got a daughter now. I don’t want this creep out there. And it would be nice to give Faye a victory. Her husband wanted to join the sheriff’s department. He called and talked to me about the job two days before he lost his life.”

  He left Luke and Woody to their work.

  As he sifted through documents, a thought popped into Luke’s head. “If he is a serial rapist and killer, why’d he stop?” he asked, half to himself.

  “He could be dead,” Woody said with a shrug. “To me that would be just. He could have moved elsewhere and is still active. But ten years is a long time. I can’t imagine a puke smart enough to be doing this kind of stuff that long without being caught.”

  “Look how long it took them to catch the Green River killer. He started killing in the eighties and wasn’t stopped until 2001.”

  “Yeah, but his victims of choice were prostitutes, women who lived transient lifestyles.”

  Luke started to protest about the value of everyone’s life, but Woody waved a hand at him. “Don’t get all bent out of shape over that. It’s just the way of the world. I’m not saying it’s right, but a lot of those girls had no one who cared enough to worry about them or push for a resolution to the crime. He kept killing—that’s why he was caug
ht.”

  “You’re saying that if this guy were still active, snatching young girls like Molly off the street, he’d have been stopped by now.”

  “I believe that, yeah.”

  “Do you think he killed these three missing girls?” Luke held up the flyers.

  “It’s a possibility. I’m not a psychologist—I don’t even play one on TV—but from what I’ve heard so far about this sick groundhog, I don’t believe Molly’s abduction was his first. And someone as deviant as our mutt would not be able to just stop.”

  Luke folded his arms and looked at the faces of the three missing girls. He looked back up at Woody and said, “Then where is he and what is he doing?”

  CHAPTER

  -24-

  ABBY WASN’T SURE how long she’d been in bed when she heard her aunt calling out to her.

  “I’m upstairs.”

  Dede poked her head into the room a few minutes later, a worried frown scrunching her brow. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  “No, I was just tired. I ate breakfast and went back to bed.”

  “Abby, you’ve been here for two days and in bed most of that time.”

  Abby just grunted, hoping her aunt would leave, but Dede didn’t take the hint.

  “Ethan called. He was going to come over for lunch, but I told him you were still asleep. It’s past lunchtime now. You’re not going to sleep the day away, are you?”

  The last thing Abby felt like was getting out of bed. But the look on her aunt’s face made her reconsider.

  “I guess I should get up and take a shower.”