Flowers on Her Grave

by Jennifer Chase

  Katie listened with interest, comparing Teagen’s account to her uncle’s of him.

  “Well, the Andrews case was the last one we worked together and it was difficult. I was trying to run for sheriff in the next election. We both had different opinions on the case: I thought the family needed a closer look and he thought that it was possibly the work of a serial killer.”

  “He told me that, but he didn’t seem like he held a grudge against you or anything.”

  “You had to have known Teagen in those days. He was ruthless, often combative with other officers who didn’t agree with him. There were a few times he acted like a bully. He was clever about making himself look good in a bad situation, like he was the hero.”

  “Wow,” Katie said.

  “Don’t let his weak condition fool you,” he said like he had heard her thoughts. “His body may be failing, but his mind is always working the angle and he’s still that ruthless guy.”

  “So, what about the case? You two had different angles, but couldn’t you check out both?”

  “We kept running down leads, but nothing panned out.”

  “What about the friend, Brandon Wills?”

  “The friend? Supposedly the best friend? We spoke with other students and many said that Brandon was very jealous and he would say mean things about her when she wasn’t around. Typical immature kid stuff.”

  Katie remembered how Dr. Wills referred to Cynthia Andrews as “Cindy” as if it was an endearing name for a close friend. But if he did kill his friend, why would he also kill Claire?

  “I can tell that you have a lot on your mind,” he said.

  “Just balancing two cases at once,” she said. “Let me ask you a question: How would you approach the Andrews case today?”

  “Besides re-examining everything—the evidence, the statements, and finding out what friends and family had been doing since the murder—I would study the killer, like you do with your profiles, and then talk to the closest people to the victim.”

  “Would you search for similar cases in other jurisdictions?”

  “Sure. To cover all bases if nothing is turning up. But that’s a lot of work.”

  “That’s what McGaven does best.”

  “I know that I can’t stop you from doing your job—but I can’t stress enough to be careful. Take extra precautions even if it seems silly, okay?”

  “I will, I promise. I have another question and I don’t want you to be mad, okay?”

  He sighed, obviously bracing for the worst.

  “I did a bit of a background check on anyone who had threatened you publicly and swore revenge. I don’t know what Detective Hamilton is doing about that—but I thought it was important to widen the suspect pool.”

  He laughed. “That’s probably a long list.”

  “That’s not funny,” she said. “There were more than I thought, but the name that stands out is Clarence Warner.”

  Her uncle leaned back and he nodded. “He was certainly angry and he threatened to end my days in every way possible, but like so many criminals, after they get out of jail they have so many other things that they are focused on—”

  “Still, I think this guy is worth looking into. He’s been paroled. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Well…”

  “I know what you’re thinking… and, Katie, I forbid you to go after this guy.”

  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Katie, I’m not kidding. Take all the extra precautions. Understand?”

  “I know. I hear you loud and clear. I will be careful.”

  Thirty

  Saturday 1330 hours

  Clarence Warner hated Sheriff Scott and hadn’t learned his lesson from perpetrating crimes—he spent most of his life in and out of prison. He had committed almost every type of crime except for murder. He was angry, and was considered a felon that would reoffend by the criminal justice standards. It was clear he wanted to make someone pay for everything he had had to go through.

  The unmarked police car Katie had taken home was retrofitted with a back door release and internal fan system for police dogs. It had proved extremely helpful in the past, so she was glad it was available. Cisco was happy too, panting and circling in the back seat.

  “Easy there, Cisco, you’re just the backup. All eyes and ears.”

  As Katie drove, she knew that she was breaking protocol, but the way everything was escalating, she felt she had to do something. It seemed that her uncle was going to wait and see what was going to happen to him, and that wasn’t good enough. She needed to be proactive for him.

  Dressed in jeans, black T-shirt and lightweight leather jacket, she had her backup gun, a Beretta, concealed in her ankle holster. She’d told her uncle that she needed to get out and run some errands. She hated lying to him, but she had little choice. She had to find out more about Clarence Warner, the man who had vowed to get even with Sheriff Scott at all costs.

  According to police parole records, he had been released from prison two weeks ago to a transition residence, nothing more than a halfway house, until he could obtain a job and rent an apartment. The address indicated that the building was near the old train station and it had been some type of boarding house from the 1920s.

  Katie entered the old train yard and drove around to get a feel for the area. A few people loitered around but no one seemed to pay her much attention. Cisco watched the people move about, eyes and ears alert. He didn’t make a sound as his excitement evolved into his serious training mode.

  The area was known for a lot of drugs and prostitution, but the statistics at the police department had shown a decrease over the past two years due to diligent police sweeps and busts. Katie kept driving around and decided to park near the building where Clarence lived—or was supposed to be residing, at least according to the court papers from the parole board. Before she had left her house, she made sure that she had an up-to-date photo of him, so she glanced at it now on her cell phone; his dark features and deep-set scowl made his face unforgettable.

  Outside it was overcast with a light drizzle breaking through the fog common in Pine Valley and throughout Sequoia County. Katie ruffled her hair, keeping it loose and messy to try to fit in to her surroundings. She definitely didn’t want to look like a cop. As an extra precaution, she secured a small retractable police baton inside her jacket.

  She had parked near an old drainage area where she could see her vehicle from the housing units and Cisco would be safe and comfortable with the interior fans set to a thermostat. Feeling a twinge of guilt leaving Cisco behind, she didn’t look at him before she stepped out of the vehicle. The damp breeze pushed against her skin. She squinted as the drops of moisture blew into her eyes.

  Two men were leaving the building. One tall man was smoking a cigarette, and the other, short and stocky, was looking back and forth as if he expected someone to jump out at him at any moment. They both hesitated, pulling their jackets tighter, and then decided to move on down the road.

  Katie made her move, crossing the street. She knew that Cisco watched her every move. She opened the door and the old wood plank floor creaked under her boots. Two older men sat in folding chairs playing cards at a small table. Each looked up from their hands curiously, but must’ve decided that Katie wasn’t that interesting, as they went back to their game.

  Bookcases covered each side of the room behind two small green-colored sofas facing each other. They were so old that there were permanent indentions where people often sat. A large door to the right was most likely the kitchen and laundry area. Straight ahead was an old dark wooden staircase that went up to the second and third floors.

  Katie turned to the men at the card table and said, “Hey, I’m lookin’ for Clarence.” She made sure that she sounded relaxed and informal.

  One of the men, face creased beyond recognition, answered, “Up the stairs, second floor, to the right.” He nodded his head in the direction of t
he staircase and then went back to his game.

  “Thanks.”

  Katie climbed the staircase and nonchalantly checked to make sure that she had the car release button attached to her belt underneath her jacket. On the top landing the narrow hallway went to the left and the right, so she went to the right towards an open window and what looked like a fire escape.

  The doors were labeled with what she assumed were the first three letters of each occupant’s last name. She saw “WAR” for Clarence Warner and a shiver ran down her spine. She knew she shouldn’t be here alone, but her stubbornness and fear about something happening to her uncle pushed her to continue.

  A door opened behind her from the other end of the hallway and a heavyset man with a towel in his hand made his way to the bathroom. “Hey, baby, maybe you can do me next.” He grunted as he passed and laughed all the way into the next room.

  She rolled her eyes, relieved when he was gone. Alone again, she touched the doorknob and gently turned it, surprised to find it was unlocked. She looked back and forth again before she slowly pushed the door open. “Hello?” she said softly. A twin bed, battered dresser, wooden chair, and a small table with a lamp were the only things in the room. A closet with a wooden sliding door was open; a few items of clothing were hanging inside on old wire hangers.

  Katie stood at the threshold, shocked by what she saw. Clicking the door shut quietly behind she tiptoed over to the closet where articles from the newspaper and printed from the Internet were tacked to the wood with push pins. All were local stories about Pine Valley, and all of them featured Sheriff Scott.

  Glancing back at the door, Katie pulled her cell phone and took several photos, making sure she got every article. Most were ones she had seen before, but there were a few that she didn’t know about that must have taken place before she returned to Pine Valley. There were several photographs of her uncle giving press conferences and entering the sheriff’s department.

  Tough on Crime Sheriff Scott Wins Election for Second Term.

  Keeping Reoffending Criminals off the Streets

  Sheriff Scott Testifies in Clarence Warner Burglary Case

  Niece of Local Sheriff Receives Commendation for Solving Toymaker Serial Case

  Katie briefly skimmed the articles and looked closely at the photograph of Warner being led away by deputies after the guilty verdict was read; his face contorted, mouth forming hateful words, and the look in his eyes that of a wild animal.

  Katie tore her eyes away and began to look around the room for anything that might connect Warner to her aunt’s crime scene. A duffle bag, camping equipment, blood; anything that would be suspicious or an outright admission of guilt. She slipped on a pair of thin crime scene gloves from her pocket before opening drawers; patting down clothes; looking at the bottom of a pair of shoes; slipping her hands underneath the mattress, under the bed and lamp. She checked everything she could think of, then looked up, trying to see anything that didn’t look like it was part of the room—a secret hiding spot. There was nothing unusual except for the newspaper articles, which though incriminating, didn’t prove anything.

  Damn…

  Stepping closer to the wall inside the closet, she looked at the condition of the articles; some had been folded and others had been printed recently from an inkjet printer. There were also some heavy black smudged fingerprints with some red mixed in.

  Blood?

  Blood from her aunt?

  Katie couldn’t take the chance that the articles could be thrown away, lost, or destroyed before she could get the police to investigate. There were two areas with the red stains, so Katie made a rash move and carefully tore off a few small pieces of the article. She didn’t have CSI bags or containers, so she decided to put the pieces into one of her gloves and rolled the end to seal it, and then put it in her pocket.

  She was just walking back towards the door when the doorknob turned. There was no way she could hide or explain why she was in his room, so took a couple of hurried steps toward the bed, sat down, and waited for the inevitable.

  A tall man stepped inside, tattoos covering his arms and up the sides of his neck. He carried a sandwich and a bottle of Coke. It took a couple of seconds before he saw her sitting on the bed.

  “Hey,” she said, “I was looking for Brandon.” Katie stood up. “I can see that you’re not Brandon, are you?”

  “What do you want? Who are you?” he said, shutting the door.

  “Hey, it’s an honest mistake, baby,” she said. “Just lookin’ for Brandon.”

  “There are no Brandons here.” He moved closer to Katie. “You reek of a cop, bitch,” he said surprising her. “This is bullshit. You’re a liar.”

  “Hey, there’s no reason for name-calling, sweetie. Just here for a good time and I was told to see Brandon.” She tried to step past him, but he stood in her way.

  “Oh yeah?” he said, pushing her back against the bed. “You’re going to do what I want, bitch.”

  Katie stopped the cute girl routine and stared him right in the eye; she had to act quickly to defend herself. “Oh yeah…” she replied with sarcasm, trying to squirm out of his grip as she pulled her telescoping baton from inside her jacket and expertly swung it at his neck.

  Warner dropped to the floor, seething and spewing vile curse words at her.

  Katie didn’t wait another second, she ran for the door, flung it open and headed for the stairs, but the two men she’d seen leaving the building earlier had returned and were in her way.

  “Hey,” yelled Warner. “Stop that bitch!”

  The two men stood their ground. The only other choice was towards the window.

  She ran—at full speed.

  Warner had just managed to get up and out of his room to catch Katie, but just missed her as his fingertips grazed her jacket. She saw her destination, accelerated towards the end of the hallway, covering her face as she crashed through the window. She hit the fire escape landing hard, clambered to her feet, jumped down two steps and then dropped to the ground, jarring her teeth. Not waiting to find out if Clarence had followed her down, Katie ran around the alley and across the street until she reached her car.

  Cisco was barking wildly. Within seconds, Katie was inside and driving off down the street praying no one saw her leave the boarding house. She kept driving for ten minutes before, finally, pulling over into a shopping mall parking lot in a different neighborhood. Cisco, worried out of his mind, had managed to squeeze himself into the passenger seat and was trying to lick Katie in the face.

  “Take it easy, Cisco,” she said.

  Her pumping adrenalin was easing off, allowing her to calm down and realize that her forearms and the side of her face were burning. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and saw a trickle of blood. Her immediate thoughts were that she got what the case needed: a small piece of evidence to put him directly in the line of fire of the investigation and take the focus off her uncle.

  Katie got out of the car and ran to the nearby gas station. The light in the restroom was dim but when Katie looked at herself in the mirror she was somewhat shocked. Her face looked drawn, greyish, peppered all over with nicks and grazes. Her blood dripped into the dirty sink.

  She shed her jacket and assessed the wounds on her arms, which were sore but thankfully minimal. Cleaning her forearms and dabbing her face, she looked better within a few minutes. She picked some small glass shards from her jacket, dropping them into the trashcan.

  She let out a noisy breath, not realizing that she was holding it inside. Anxiety often held her breath hostage, allowing all the symptoms of fear and panic to trail along behind with sweaty hands, chest pressure, tingling extremities, dizziness.

  You are not welcome here…

  Go away now.

  NOW!

  Katie averted her stare from the mirror and splashed more water on her face, and then headed back to the car where she sat a moment in the driver’s seat with Cisco huddled at her side. She felt str
angely better and somewhat relaxed despite the circumstances.

  Katie turned the key and her vehicle roared to life just as her cell chimed for an incoming text from Chad:

  Missed you at the house. Can we meet in about an hour?

  Thirty-One

  Saturday 1645 hours

  Katie rushed home to take a shower, steady her nerves, and get ready before Chad arrived. She had been so wrapped up in the cases, her uncle, and trying to keep everything in line that she had forgotten about the most important person in her life. She knew that he understood that it was a rough patch, but she didn’t want to ruin a great thing.

  As the heat of the water cascaded down her body, she felt her cuts sting and was reassured that they were temporary and insignificant, not like the psychological wounds she hid, sometimes even from herself. Her mind wandered to her first encounter with Dr. Carver. Was this the answer? Would therapy heal all wounds? Katie knew she needed to give it another chance. It was difficult to be vulnerable and talk about raw emotions, but something would break if she kept things the way they were going.

  Katie saw movement in the bathroom and for an instant her senses went into high-alert. As the steam cleared from the glass door, she saw the black nose accompanied by tall ears of her best friend pressed against the glass. Cisco’s shiny coat and light brown wolf-like eyes peered at her, his tail wagging. She shut off the water and opened the shower door. “Cisco, you startled me,” she said, quietly impressed that the dog had somehow worked the door open.

  Since Chad didn’t tell her what they were doing, she dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater. She took the extra minutes to put some makeup concealer on her bruises. From everything on her mind and physical exertion from early in the day, she was exhausted. Hearing voices in the kitchen, she stepped into the hallway and listened. It was Chad and her uncle, but they were talking in soft tones, which was unusual. She strained to hear, but could only make out a few words.