Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3

by Vickie McKeehan

“What does that do?”

  “It dissolves the bone and collagen and releases the DNA into the mixture. We spin fifteen minutes and the spinning produces PCR to amplify that single piece of DNA we want.”

  “PCR stands for polymerase chain reaction. I read up this morning in preparation for coming here.”

  “That makes up the first attempt.”

  “The first?”

  “We repeat this process up to five times. And it may take as many as that to get anything at all. When we’re done we hope to have a pellet-sized concentrate we use to extract the DNA.”

  “I’m pretty sure you just simplified that for me. You’re a smart guy, Dr. Hennings. I appreciate what you do here.”

  Dawson adjusted his glasses, shifted his feet. He went on as if he didn’t know how to handle the praise. “When this bone gives up what I need, I’ll move on to the silica extraction where the DNA molecules bind to the silica. I run it through a microchannel where I can remove the DNA.”

  Now Skye was positive her assessment embarrassed him so she diverted to her own pending case. “But when do you get to the bones Bayliss gave you? Right now, those are the ones I need analyzed. Seattle has a killer out there who likes to dismember.”

  As they stood there, Dawson fidgeted with his test tube, as if more ill at ease than before. “There’s something I want you to know. Before we get to your case, you should know I’ve read about you. Extensively. You’re an amazing woman, Miss Cree.” He stared at her. “I can see by that statement I’ve made you self-conscious. I don’t mean to. I just felt like I needed to tell you. We’ll be working together.”

  “The thing is I don’t feel amazing or extraordinary.”

  “I know. But that’s what makes you all the more exceptional. You have terrific instincts. You really should be in law enforcement.”

  “Thank you. I think what we have here is mutual respect for one another. But I’m afraid I’m not cut out for the restrictions placed on cops.”

  “Ah. Well. A pity. I suppose I put my foot in my mouth. But then, I often say too much.”

  “Not at all. I think we can be friends though, don’t you?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Your email did indicate you ran an initial test you wanted me to know about. Why don’t you just tell me what you found?”

  “Sure. The test I ran on the mummified hand indicates your second victim has been dead less than five years.”

  “Really? Okay. So we have one that’s been in the ground for a long time versus another more recent.”

  “In addition to that, I found bruising under the soft tissue which makes me think this victim was tortured.”

  Skye pondered that development for about five seconds. “Hmm, he’s all about getting off on the physical violence, the suffering of the victim rather than about the sex. You know, Bundy started out bashing their heads in once he got them into his vehicle. Then he’d take them to an undisclosed location where he had plenty of time to do despicable things to the body so that he could have sex with the corpse again and again. I wonder if that’s what’s going on with this guy.”

  Dawson swallowed hard. “You think he somehow gets them into his car, whisks them away from the area, and then goes to a place where he brutalizes them without detection.”

  “That’s exactly what I think. Right now I have a missing waitress named Willa Dover. She worked at the same restaurant where I worked as a kid. I’m thinking this guy has done his research.”

  “Willa Dover,” Dawson repeated. “I heard that name on the news this morning driving to work. You think he abducted her to make a point with you?”

  “Yes. And it might be a giant leap on my part, but I’m thinking he took her so I’d know he could. Wherever Willa is, she’s still alive, probably in bad shape but alive. If we move on this fast enough maybe we could find her before it ends up too late.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Make those bones the killer sent me a priority.” Skye looked around Dawson’s lab. “Start with anything you think might give me a leg up on this guy. You mentioned taking samples of the dirt. Anything would help. Is that even possible?”

  “Possible and doable. But not me. That’s for a forensic geologist to examine the soil to see if it contains anything unique that makes it identifiable to a certain, specific location.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know one by any chance?”

  Dawson grinned again. “As a matter of fact, I do. Kevin Holt. He works upstairs in his own state-run lab. Around here, he’s the go-to guy. He can usually break down the mineral particles, determine the soil content, color, and come up with a source. He’s actually testified in murder trials. He’s very good at pinpointing where soil samples come from. It’s his specialty.”

  “Sounds like just the man we need. You’ll share the dirt found on the skull and bones with him, right?”

  “I will.”

  “Then let’s hope he’s able to reveal something distinctive, something from the general area where this guy buries his victims. Otherwise, we’re just flapping in the wind.”

  Chapter 10 Book 3

  Skye wasn’t sure why but she just couldn’t let go of her studio apartment. When she’d left Dawson Hennings huddled in his lab surrounded by his specimens whirling around in that little machine, she’d made a point to stop by her former home.

  Even having taken down the serial killer, Frank De Palo, in this exact spot where she stood now, the place could still tug at her heartstrings. Maybe it was because it had been her very first real home. Maybe it was because here in this place she had first come to the realization that she could make a life for herself doing what she wanted to do.

  It was here—for the first time since the accident had taken her parents when she was just thirteen—that she’d felt she had a purpose. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t let a stranger move inside these four walls and take up residence in the place she still considered her personal space. She didn’t want just anyone living here, cooking here, or sleeping here. She couldn’t handle subletting it.

  She knew Josh wondered about why. But these past few months, he’d come to accept her decision to keep this part separate from everything else.

  Because of that, she still had plants and herbs here, growing, thriving, though it was still winter. Despite the gradual change in temperature from February to March, her small balcony garden flourished. The lavender had survived the winter. The little blooming buds proved that. Of course, she’d moved a few of the smaller containers over to Josh’s place—the rosemary and basil, the sage and oregano had found a new home at the loft. Josh had offered to cart more over but so far, she’d dragged her feet on doing it.

  Today, she was there to water, spritz, and deadhead. Maybe replant those that needed it into bigger pots. The spider plants were okay the way they were, but the rootbound monstera had to graduate to a much larger container. When she’d finished with that chore, she pruned and snipped brown leaves off the dianthus and coreopsis. While she was at it, she cut a mix of both to use as a table centerpiece. She harvested the mint, did the same with the chives.

  Sitting back on her haunches to survey her work, she realized the little terrace was crowded. She really did need more space. In the not so distant past, she’d dreamed about having an actual garden one day with rows and rows of veggies or flowers growing directly out of the ground.

  She decided they should get more serious about making the decision to get a house. Maybe settle on the Tudor Revival in Ballard with a view of Shilshole Bay or the farmhouse on ten acres in the rolling hills of Bainbridge Island.

  The 1935 Tudor had plenty of room—three bedrooms, two baths—with a brand-new deck. Plus, it had been remodeled with all the latest upgrades.

  But something about its counterpart—the rambling country house on Bainbridge—pulled at her. Its age was a factor. The fact it had been built in 1909 just meant it had withstood the test of time. Its size was a definite deterrent f
or two people. With four bedrooms and three bathrooms, what on earth would they do with all that space?

  The gabled windows and wraparound porch were huge draws for her though. The cherry orchard was a bonus. There were rows and rows of trees already budding with aromatic blossoms. It was like a picture postcard, a precursor to spring. The land offered plenty of space for planting and growing a vegetable garden or whatever else she decided to put in the ground.

  She suddenly realized how much she wanted that old house. She took out her phone to text Josh. What do you think about becoming farmers?

  Across town when his cell phone dinged, Josh had just finished up with the programmers. Sitting in his office with time to spare before his next meeting, he grinned at the readout and keyed in a response. Didn’t you know? I’m a regular Old MacDonald.

  A couple minutes later Skye texted back. Good. B/c I think I want that farmhouse.

  When will you know for sure?

  Smartass. Let’s go for it. Now.

  Harry Drummond showed signs of fatigue as he knocked on the door of Skye’s apartment. Not only had he trudged up four flights of stairs, he hadn’t slept much the night before.

  As soon as she flung the door back, he didn’t wait for preamble. “Joggers found the body of a young woman this morning dumped in the park.”

  “Come on in.”

  “I need to know if you recognize her.” He handed Skye a crime scene photo.

  It was hard to look at what once had been a young, attractive female with such a youthful, pretty face. But she forced herself to study the picture of the nude woman and the details it gave up. Skye noted she’d had gorgeous red hair and deep brown eyes with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But in death, her hair had been left in disarray, matted with blood and bunched in knots. Deep slashes across both breasts and the open wound to her throat told Skye the woman had suffered greatly.

  “Jesus, this guy really likes to use a knife. How long do you suppose she’d been there, do you think? In the park?”

  “At least twenty-four hours, maybe longer. Right now, I’m waiting on Bayliss to give me anything more concrete.”

  She handed the photo back to him. “I don’t recognize her, Harry. I mean, she looks somewhat familiar but I can’t place her. What about a missing person report?”

  “Well, it doesn’t match the twenty-four-year-old hooker I have who disappeared from Tacoma. That much I’m certain.”

  “Another person who went missing besides Willa? What’s her name?”

  “Andrea Harkness disappeared last Friday night, last seen climbing into a Jeep.”

  “A Jeep? I’ll make coffee while you bring me up to speed and I’ll do the same.”

  “That psychic thing you and Josh have going for you?”

  “Right now, sad to say, it’s all we have. Any word yet on Willa?”

  “Not a thing. It’s like she vanished into thin air. Pour that coffee and I’ll tell you what I have so far.”

  That night at the loft, Skye deliberated over her decision. Buying a house was a big step. Since she’d never done it before, she was standing at the fringes about to get cold feet. As they relaxed after dinner, both were stretched out on the sofa, her legs propped up in Josh’s lap. While second thoughts nagged at her, she finally said, “It’s a really old house, maybe too old.”

  “Don’t try to talk yourself out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it shows we’re on the same page. Don’t think about its age but about how happy we’ll be there together. The present owners added a few nice upgrades. They put in all new appliances in the kitchen, a new hardwood floor in the dining room, and added a new roof last summer. Plus, it’s located right on the water. The view alone is a nice benefit that you don’t normally get with a farmhouse. I love the surrounding land, did from that first Saturday we looked at it. I was hoping you’d come around.”

  “You could’ve just said something. It’s a big house, Josh, too big for the two of us.”

  “Nah, we’ll fill it up with friends and…what about getting a dog? Maybe two?”

  “I haven’t had a dog since…well, a dozen years or more.” Not since her parents had died.

  “What kind? What was his name?”

  “Her. Binky. A little apricot bundle of pug that followed me around everywhere.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died of renal failure two months after I got out of the hospital.”

  “Jesus, Skye. You had a lot to deal with back then and you were so young.”

  She looked away and changed the subject. “I do like the hiking trails and bike trails in the area. You’re right. You wouldn’t normally get those kinds of amenities with a farmhouse.”

  “Then it’s a go?”

  “It’s a go. If nothing else we can use it for a weekend getaway.”

  “What about going out every night?”

  “Like you said, I can always take in volunteers at the Foundation. Maybe start making my rounds during daylight hours. Who knows, maybe settle into a normal existence?”

  “You’d do that?” He lifted a hand to her hair, twirled his fingers through several strands.

  “Yes, I would. What’s bothering you? Something’s wrong. I saw it tonight at supper.”

  “One of my employees didn’t show up for work on Monday. She didn’t bother to call in either. When she wasn’t at her desk by four that afternoon to start her shift, her manager sent someone over to her apartment to check on her. Turns out, they couldn’t get anyone to answer the door so they called the cops.”

  Her gut tightened, her instincts kicked into overdrive. She peppered Josh for more info. “Who? What did you do about it? What did they find? How come you didn’t mention it until now?”

  “Down girl. The who? A junior at UDub named Maggie Bennett, hired as a part-time tester. She worked twenty to twenty-five hours a week, depending on her schedule. I just learned about it this afternoon myself between meetings. And I’m briefing you mere hours after I was told about it. I suspect Maggie and Tate have been seeing each other, hot and heavy, for the last several months. He was pretty upset about her not showing up and not being able to locate her.”

  Since Tate Brock was the brother of his late wife, Annabelle, Skye knew Josh still considered the man family. “So tell me what happened.”

  “It was Tate who couldn’t get Maggie to answer the door. He’s the one who decided to place a call to the police. But when they got inside the girl’s apartment, there was no sign of Maggie. None. Personal items were still there, her purse, her cell phone, but no sign of a break-in, nothing looked out of place.”

  Chills ran up Skye’s spine. She tried to remember if she’d ever met Maggie. But she couldn’t put a face to the name. “Hmm. Where was she last seen and with whom?”

  “Tate said he dropped her off Saturday night around ten-thirty. Said she seemed to be upset about something. They’d spent the day together and agreed to meet for lunch the next day but when she didn’t return his phone calls on Sunday, he thought she’d blown him off for some reason. He didn’t think any more about it until she didn’t show up for work on Monday. That’s when he got worried, began calling their mutual friends to see if she’d been to class. She was a no-show for Monday and Tuesday morning classes.”

  “Josh, what did Maggie look like? By any chance did she have red hair?”

  Josh wrinkled his brow. “I think so. Why do you ask?”

  “Harry dropped by the apartment this afternoon. I was there watering the plants. We compared notes. He has one missing woman from Tacoma that hasn’t turned up yet. A hooker named Andrea Harkness, last seen by her friends hopping into one of her john’s vehicles. Wanna guess what he was driving?”

  Josh sat up straighter. “A Jeep Cherokee?”

  “You got it. And get this. I knew Andrea Harkness through Dee Dee and Lucy Border. Remember Dee Dee and Lucy?”

  Josh nodded. “They worked Sixth
and Wheeler Streets here in Seattle as I recall.”

  “At one time so did Andrea. She was roommates with both girls during tough times. Had some disagreement with them and ended up turning tricks in Tacoma.”

  “So our guy resorts to hookers in a pinch?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first serial killer to do so, that’s for sure.”

  “Okay, so what does Andrea have to do with my tester, Maggie Bennett?”

  “As of this morning, Harry also has one new murder investigation. Joggers found a girl’s body dumped in the park. She had ligature marks around her wrists. And Josh, she had red hair.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Positive, a natural redhead, I saw the crime scene photos myself. Harry wanted to know if I knew her, if I recognized her or had a connection to her in some way. If this is your Maggie, your tester, he dumped her there, nude and battered. To me, the girl looked to be no older than twenty-one.”

  “Damn it. You don’t think…?” Josh took out his iPhone, punched in a series of numbers. “I need to find out one way or the other if it’s Maggie. Her family’s been frantic for news, tearing their hearts out with worry for two days. Harry needs to get on this.”

  “Then get him on it.”

  It took several minutes but Josh finally got Harry to pick up. Josh could tell a detailed explanation about Maggie’s disappearance piqued Harry’s interest right up front. “A missing person report was filed Monday. She missed her classes at UDub now for three days in a row, which Tate assures me is unusual for her.”

  “Okay, I’ll contact my office and give them an update. Sometimes these missing person reports fall through the cracks and we don’t make comparisons as quickly as we should. I’ll make up for it though. After I get the desk sergeant to fax me a copy, I’ll call you back.”

  At the click in his ear, Josh hung up. “It’s amazing to me how many times information doesn’t get to the right person, falls through the cracks. It’s like two ships passing in the night and each one has no idea they were in the same general vicinity.”