by Alexa Grace
It was then that he heard a sound. He rushed to the room where above him the trapdoor had been installed long ago. Barely breathing, he listened intently until a floorboard squeaked in protest. He heard voices in the house, mumbled words he could not make out. Someone was in the house! Hurrying to the small room where he kept the duffle bag filled with weapons, he pulled out a handgun, and then returned to stand under the trapdoor, his weapon poised and ready.
Shit, whoever was in the house was going from room-to-room. Who the fuck was up there? Was it the old biddies from the county historical association? If so, he wasn't worried they'd find the trapdoor. They hadn't found it before; why would they find it now?
Was it law enforcement? If it was, how carefully would they search the house?
<><><>
Standing in the downstairs living room, Carly said, "There are no signs that anyone has been living here. There are fireplaces in most of the rooms. Let's check each of them for loose bricks and other signs it may be hiding some sort of entrance to the area beneath the house."
"Did you see a door to a basement?"
Placing her gun back in the holster at her waist, Carly said, "No. Why?"
"I find it odd that a house built in Indiana, even one over a hundred years old, would not have a basement to keep the family safe in inclement weather, like a tornado."
"Maybe there is an underground storm shelter in the backyard."
"I didn't see a shelter on the survey, but we'll look for one later."
"Besides the fireplaces, let's look closely at the floors. Look for anything that strikes you as odd. Maybe there is a trapdoor. It just makes sense that if the Smith family hid the slaves that came to them for help, the rumors may be true, and they hid them in rooms beneath the house."
"Let's get started."
One by one they checked each room for loose bricks in the fireplace, and examined the flooring for oddities. They had just entered the last room to inspect, when they heard footsteps coming from the front of the house. Both women withdrew their weapons and pressed against the wall on either side of the door. Carly sucked in a breath. The footfalls became louder, as the intruder came down the hall toward the room they were in. A man burst into the room and Carly yelled, "Freeze!"
Holding his hands in the air, an annoyed Brody Chase turned to face her.
Carly shoved her gun back into its holster. "Brody! You scared us to death. What are you doing here?"
"No, what are you doing here?"
Just then, Gabe walked into the room, sent Kaitlyn a fierce glare, and stood next to his brother.
"Gabe? You're here, too. Were you following us?" asked Kaitlyn.
"As luck would have it, I was in Brody's office telling him a curious thing I learned in the library where you said you and Carly were meeting with Mrs. Willoughby, librarian and county historian," Gabe began, clearly displeased. "It seems that Mrs. Willoughby left work at noon, and obviously had no meetings scheduled for the afternoon."
Brody interrupted, "Here's the rest of the story, and we're sticking to it. Gabe was in my office worried as to where Kaitlyn might be, when dispatch notified me that one of our deputies had spotted one of our vehicles parked in the driveway of the Smith-Cedar House. The dispatcher called me because the license plate number matched the vehicle that you'd checked out, Carly."
"I see," Carly nodded, her arms crossed defensively.
Brody looked around the room, and then back at Carly. "So what are you doing here? Why didn't you tell anyone where you would be?"
"We're checking the house for any signs of Jim Ryder. I still say this is the perfect place for him to hide. Mrs. Willoughby said there have been rumors for years that there are places in or beneath the house or in the surrounding woods where fugitive slaves were hidden by the Smith family."
"No kidding?" Brody's expression held a hint of a grin as he gazed at her. "If you don't mind some help, Gabe and I can go through the house and grounds with you. There is no one who would be more delighted to find Mr. Ryder and slap his ass back in jail than yours truly."
Brody followed Carly out of the room, while Gabe grasped Kaitlyn's hand to hold her back. "Please tell me you realize the danger you are in from the Gamers."
"Of course I do."
"Then why did you tell me a lie about what you were doing today?"
"I have a bad case of cabin fever. I had to get out of hiding, even for just an afternoon, before I went crazy. You had no reason to worry about me. Besides the fact I'm armed," she said as she showed him her Glock. "Carly is a former federal agent. Did you really think she wouldn't know how to protect me?"
Gabe pulled her into his arms. "Sorry, Cat. I know I'm being overprotective, and I can't seem to stop myself. But that doesn't excuse you from lying to me."
Several hours later, the four met at Carly's vehicle. They'd searched every room of the house, examining the fireplaces for loose bricks, and the floors for any indication of a trapdoor, and had found nothing. Next, they'd canvassed the perimeter of the grounds, including the woods, and came up with the same. They were headed toward an old shed on the property to search it when Brody got a call from Bradley Lucas, reminding him he was to give the Commission an update on the Gamer murders in an hour. They left convinced Jim Ryder wasn't on the property, and he probably never had been.
<><><>
The next day, Gabe sat with Cam in Brody's conference room, munching on a turkey sandwich and chips. Carly entered the room, plopped some file folders on the table, and then retrieved a cardboard lunch box along with a bottle of sweet tea, and then joined them.
"Who else are we expecting?" asked Carly.
Washing his food down with a gulp of tea, Gabe answered, "Wayne Griffin from Indy will be here, along with Robynn Burton from the state police."
It was the first meeting of the Gamers Task Force, and Gabe was impatient to get started. If the postscript on their last email was true, the Gamers were targeting Kaitlyn as their next victim. She continued to dress in disguise, alternating between auburn and raven-colored wigs whenever she appeared in public. Each time he picked her up from school, he canvassed the area looking for a white van. So far, he'd seen nothing. That didn't mean the killers weren't there on foot, or watching from another vehicle. The Gamers weren't afraid of risk, as evident by the way they abducted Destiny Cooke outside the church where her state trooper fiancé waited inside. Gabe had no understanding how anyone could kill another human being for the thrill of it. He hoped Carly would provide more information on the psychology of what she called "thrill killers."
Detective Wayne Griffin entered the room with Brody and slid a plastic evidence bag across the table to Cameron. "Here's the locket for your evidence room. Every time I look at that thing, I think of Sharon Maud's mother when she opened it and saw her own photo inside. The woman broke down, and I couldn't calm her for at least twenty minutes."
"I'm so sorry she had to go through that," said Carly. Her dark eyes were gentle and understanding. She couldn't imagine having the gift of a daughter, only to lose her to a killer.
"Mrs. Maud and Sharon's three small children motivate me to do all I can to help you find these bastards."
It may have been wishful thinking, but Cameron imagined that Robynn Burton's dark green eyes searched for him as she entered the conference room, carrying a black leather briefcase. Her ebony hair pulled back into a long, sleek ponytail, she wore a gray suit that fit her curves like a glove. Her eyes narrowing on his face, Robynn smiled at him, and it was all he could do to hide his immediate arousal. What the hell was wrong with him?
Cameron held out the chair next to him, inhaling her sweet scent as she sat down. After he introduced her to the others, he led her to the food table, where she retrieved a boxed lunch and a bottle of water.
As soon as they sat down, Brody started the meeting. "Welcome to the first meeting of the Gamer Task Force. Our obvious end goal is identification and arrest of the killers of both Abby Reece and Dest
iny Cooke."
Wayne Griffin leaned forward and interrupted, "In addition, the same killers are linked to the murders of five prostitutes, all of whom frequented truck stops in Indianapolis."
"How did you come to that conclusion?" asked Robynn.
"The shoe found on Abby Reece belonged to one of my five victims, Sara Cassity. The locket placed on Destiny Cooke was owned by my victim Sharon Maud, whose mother had given it to her."
"Any DNA or fingerprints from the killers on these items?" Robynn leaned forward placing her elbows on the table.
"Unfortunately, not with the Indianapolis murders."
"But we were able to lift a print from a piece of the duct tape used on Destiny Cooke," added Cameron. "We ran the print through IAFIS, the FBI's integrated automated fingerprint identifier, but got no hits. Which means this particular perp doesn't have a criminal record. It does match the partial print we found on Abby Reece."
"Don't forget about the white van. I think it is an important link between the prostitute murders and the two in Shawnee County," Gabe quickly added.
Wayne threw his empty lunch box into the trash can and returned to his seat. “We noticed a 2012 Chevrolet 1500 utility van in a couple of our surveillance tapes of the truck stops. On the side of the van was a magnetic sign advertising a bakery. Unfortunately, the bakery listed on the sign had one of their magnetic signs stolen, and we couldn't make out the license plate in the tape."
"That doesn't sound like much of a lead, let alone a connection," Robynn remarked. There were skeptical lines at the corners of her mouth.
Before Wayne could speak, Gabe pointed out, "I saw the same year and model of van in the surveillance taping of the parking lot of the Hoosier Bar and Grill where Abby Reece was last seen. Two men climbed into the van."
"We talked to the truck stop clerk working that day and showed him the surveillance tape. He remembered two men got out of the van wearing baker's uniforms underneath black hoodies. They came inside and bought Cokes. He didn't offer much of an I.D. He only got a quick look at one of the men. He said the one who paid for their items looked young, maybe even a teenager."
Robynn shook her head. "I'm still not seeing much of a connection."
Cameron pulled two pencil sketches out of one of his folders, but didn't share them with the others yet. "I met with the Hoosier Bar and Grill bartender who was on duty the last night Abby Reece was seen. When I showed him the surveillance tape, he immediately identified the two men heading toward the white van as the two who had fixed their attention on Abby that night. He confirmed they left the bar about thirty minutes prior to Abby."
"That still doesn't—"
"Let me finish," said Cameron to Robynn. "The bartender also identified the men in baker's uniforms and black hoodies in the truck stop surveillance tape as being the same two men."
Carly pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and leaned forward in her seat. "What did he guess to be their ages?"
"That's where it gets tricky. I asked the bartender what age he thought the two men were. He said he couldn't tell. He was obviously hedging, and getting more uncomfortable by the second. So I asked him if he carded the men. He was way too defensive when he told me he had."
"Which could mean he thought they were underage, but accepted their identification cards as real anyway."
Robynn pulled the sketch closer with her fingernail. "Are these your sketches of the two men?" Sliding them to the center of the table so the others could see, she turned to Cameron.
"They are the results of the descriptions he gave to our sketch artist."
"You sound skeptical."
"I am, Gabe. I'm not sure I trust that bartender to give the artist accurate impressions."
Carly glanced at the sketches. "Are you thinking he may have given the artist information to age each one?"
"Exactly. He was paranoid about getting caught serving minors."
"But regardless, does anyone else think the two men look alike?" Carly looked around the table.
"I do." Robynn said and the others nodded in agreement.
"Well, I've got something to add to that." Wayne Griffin pulled a sketch out of his briefcase. "I compared your two drawings to the one our artist made after talking to the truck stop clerk. Keep in mind, the clerk only got a good look at one of the men. See what you think." He carefully positioned his drawing next to Cameron's in the center of the table.
"I wish the perp wasn't wearing the hoodie in your sketch," Gabe examined Wayne's sketch carefully. "We could get a better look at him."
"Wait." Carly pointed to the sketches. "Look at them closely. The bone structure is the same, as is the downward slant of the eyes, and thinness of the lips. See the high cheekbones in both sketches?"
"I agree." Wayne continued to compare the three drawings. "The only difference between the sketches is that in the ones provided by the bartender, the men look slightly older."
Brody looked at Cameron, his mouth thinning with displeasure. "Have one of your detectives visit this bartender, and ask him if he'd like to spend some time in the county jail for causing an unreasonable delay in our investigation by providing our sketch artist with false information. See if he'd like a second chance to work with the sketch artist again."
"Will do," promised Cameron, who began to type a text on his cell.
"Going back to the van," Robynn began. "Do you have anything else that ties the van to the murders here in Shawnee County?"
Searching his file folder for a moment, Wayne withdrew two photographs and slid them across the table to Robynn. "Our crime scene techs were able to cast tire prints from the areas where we found the bodies of Darla Green and Val Staley. As you can see from the two photos, the tire prints are identical. They're Goodyear Tracker 2 all-season tire P245/70R17. These types of tires are commonly used on utility vans."
"May I see those?" Cameron asked as he took out two photos which he placed next to the ones Wayne provided. He turned all four photos around so the others could see them. "As you can see, the tire prints we found at the church parking lot where Destiny Cooke was abducted, and the tire prints discovered near Kaitlyn Reece's home are a perfect match to the ones from Wayne's murders."
"Kaitlyn Reece is dead?" Robynn's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"No." Gabe shook his head. "Her house was shot at by someone with an AK-47 and those are the tire prints we found on a dirt road where I saw a white van fleeing the scene."
"Wouldn't you agree, Detective Burton, that the murders are linked?" asked Brody.
Robynn shrugged. "The tire prints may or may not link the two cases. Is it safe to assume this type of tire is used on other types of vehicles?"
"Unfortunately," Cameron responded. He rose from his seat and headed for the food table, where he poured himself a cup of hot coffee. Returning to the conference table, he asked, "Robynn, do you have any DNA results from the evidence I sent you for the state police crime lab?"
"I have a good friend at the lab who was able to rush your evidence through for me. You sent me the hair that was found on Abby Reece's body. It did not belong to her. You also sent the hair stuck to the duct tape that bound Destiny Cooke's wrists."
"Any DNA found?"
"Yes, each hair you sent was from a different male. The good thing is we now have DNA profiles for two different individuals. The bad thing is we ran them through CODIS, the FBI's DNA database, and got no hits, so we still don't know who these males are."
"Damn it." Gabe cursed with frustration as he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "I had really hoped—"
"Wait," Robynn interrupted. "There's more, and it's very interesting."
"You did find something?" She had Brody's full attention.
"Realizing that we have two possible killers, my friend ran it again using what is called PCR technology."
"What's that?" Cam lifted an eyebrow.
"PCR technology is DNA analysis that is usually applied to determine genetic family relationship s
uch as maternity, paternity, sibling-ship, etc." Robynn said. "Our two males are siblings. Your killers are brothers."
<><><>
In his bedroom, Devan worked intently on his laptop.
Evan, sitting on his bed, asked, "What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for another target since your precious Kaitlyn Reece has disappeared like a fucking ghost."
"Can't we give it a little more time?"
"Hell, no. It's been weeks, and I'm sick of trying to trail someone we can't find. We're focusing someone else." Reading the disappointed expression on his twin's face, Devan added, "Listen, if she turns up, we'll get her. But for now, let's move on. We don't want our favorite sheriff to get lazy, do we?"
"I guess not."