“Lizzy?” she said and pushed the door open wider. “Lizzy,” she said again.
No answer.
As Katie entered, a familiar icy shiver ran up her spine. Solid cop instincts told her to be vigilant and careful. She saw that the double bed was unmade; the white sheets were folded back and there was a nice outfit laid out—a pair of black pants and a cream blouse. A pair of black pumps was neatly placed on the floor.
She could smell a slight fragrance of Lizzy’s favorite perfume. It was light with an undertone of roses.
“Lizzy?” she said again.
There was a blue suitcase in the corner. Several textbooks were lying on the TV console next to her purse, keys, and sunglasses. Walking toward the bathroom, Katie saw a white towel lying on the floor near the shower, which was still damp. Her toiletries and makeup were spread out on the counter.
Katie thought maybe she’d gone to get some ice and waited a moment. But Lizzy wasn’t there and wasn’t returning soon. All of Katie’s instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong—very wrong.
“Where are you, Lizzy?” she whispered. Deciding to wait another ten minutes just in case it was a silly misunderstanding with a perfectly logical explanation, Katie paced in the room. Her breath shortened and remained shallow. Heat rose up in her chest and flushed her face.
No, don’t even try it…
The anxiety symptoms had a way of showing up at the least opportune time. Katie quietly berated herself, she had been doing so well and keeping the PTSD monster at bay. She knew that when stress crept up, so did the usual symptoms.
With no sign of Lizzy returning, and Katie’s anxiety building, she knew that she had to take action. Trying to figure out where Lizzy might be, Katie decided to call John, hoping that he was still at work.
“John Blackburn,” he answered to her relief.
“John, it’s Katie.”
“Katie, what’s up? You sound stressed.”
“Have you heard from Lizzy?”
“No, why?”
“When did you last talk to her?”
“Katie, what’s going on? I talked to her yesterday. Why?” His voice became strained. “Katie?”
“Thanks, John. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Katie what’s—”
She ended the call. As she walked out of the motel room, she closed the door.
Her cell phone chimed, alerting her that she had a text.
The message was from Lizzy’s number.
Welcome to your crime scene. If you don’t play, Lizzy dies. If you call anyone, Lizzy dies. You have ten minutes to get to the Trenton crime scene. Yes, this is real. Tick Tock.
Chapter Forty-Five
Friday 2115 hours
If you don’t play, Lizzy dies.
Katie had no doubt that the text message was real—everything in her gut told her so. She had no other choice but to get into her Jeep and drive as fast as she could to Jeanine Trenton’s house—or what was left of it after the fire. Katie knew that whoever had cloned or spoofed her phone could use the GPS to see where she was going. Her every move was being closely scrutinized and she wondered if her new Jeep with all the latest technologies was being monitored as well.
As she sped as fast as she dared to Raven Woods, she thought about who was behind this façade. It was definitely someone connected to law enforcement or military—maybe both. Everything teetered on the fact that the women who had been targeted were in the military as K9 handlers. Everything came back to this one thread connecting them all to each other—and it led to her.
If you call anyone, Lizzy dies.
Katie took the turn into Raven Woods too fast and the Jeep fishtailed, but she fought to keep it on the road, gripping the steering wheel harder. Tires squealed. Her body slammed into the door. An oncoming car blasted its high beams at her and honked the horn, speeding past.
“Think, Katie! Think!” The thought of Lizzy being in the snare of this killer made Katie want to break down.
The victims were all connected by military K9, and by the fact that they were all women. Each one was a pawn, presented in an outlandish crime scene. The crime scene characteristics were amateurish and planned, with planted evidence that didn’t mean anything—or did it? The jewelry. The makeup. The presentation of the victims was designed to humiliate them, mock them… making them pay. But pay for what? What was the horrible defining moment in the killer’s life? Why the production?
You have ten minutes to get to the Trenton crime scene.
Katie finally turned onto Fox Hunt Road, barely reducing her speed. She looked at the clock on the dashboard. Two minutes left and counting…
Screeching to a stop, flinging open the car door, Katie jumped out. Realizing she was still wearing high heels, she pulled them off and tossed them into the car. Grabbing her cell phone, she slipped it into her bra. Taking her gun and a flashlight, she was on the move.
Katie ran as fast as she could in her snug-fitting dress between the burned-out Trenton house and Sadie’s darkened home. The weeds, sticks, and rocks pressed hard against her bare feet, but it didn’t slow her down.
“Lizzy!” she yelled.
The area was dark and eerily quiet.
Katie stopped. She tried to calm her heavy breathing so she could listen. Her senses strained to hear… A snap of twig. Movement through the trees. The unsettling silence enveloped her.
She ran toward the backyard, flashing the light beam from end to end. Nothing. There was no sign of anyone on the property.
“No,” she lamented.
Not knowing what to do next, she walked around the land, frantically searching—for her friend, for clues, for anything.
Her phone chimed with a text message from Lizzy’s phone.
Find the key in the rubble. If you don’t play, Lizzy dies. Tick Tock.
Chapter Forty-Six
Friday 2010 hours
McGaven was about to leave after a long evening reading through more names and backgrounds. He’d reread Katie’s theories, suspect list, and killer profile. He would have left earlier, but he had an early dinner break with Denise. Full now and getting sleepy, he still wanted to skim through the articles she’d brought them.
McGaven picked up the pieces about the fairs and circuses. He shuffled through them and also the articles about new exhibits. There was one in particular showing realistic mannequins with an uncanny resemblance to the crime scene victims—the broken pose of the body, slumped torsos with the arms and legs bent in difficult positions resembling a broken doll. It was an advertisement for a fun house which had been advertised and proved to be one of the biggest attractions that year until there was a tragedy. Something piqued his interest. He continued to read more articles about the mannequins with renewed energy.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Friday 2145 hours
Katie tore the remains of the house apart looking for the key, not sure if it was a regular house key or something more substantial. She kept looking. She looked under everything, moving the burned-out two-by-fours. Soot covered her dress and the lingering smoky smell got into her lungs, making her cough.
“Where’s the damn key?” she said aloud out of frustration and fear.
Katie kept looking desperately, lifting every piece of lumber. She looked along the outside of the foundations. Inside. Up high. Underneath. Nothing.
She stopped, knowing that her phone would soon chime with another incoming text. She couldn’t call or text the police, McGaven, or her uncle. The killer would know it and she couldn’t risk Lizzy’s life.
Think…
Looking out at the densely forested property, she thought about how the killer liked to display and hang jewelry. And…
“That has to be it,” she said and ran toward the back of the property.
Trying not to cry out in pain from the rocks and sharp brush underfoot, she made it to the back fence. Looking along the line until she got to the area where Jeanine’s body was found,
Katie shone the light up and down. Nothing. But then something flashed in the light; the key was dangling by a yellow ribbon on the lower part of the fence. She almost missed it.
Katie grabbed the key.
She limped back through the forest until she reached the house.
The text arrived like clockwork.
Find the circus place that we like to play up high. If you don’t, Lizzy will die. Tick Tock.
“Crap! I hate rhymes and riddles. Play up high? Circus?” She thought about it. “Of course, the fairgrounds.”
She ran as fast as she could back to the Jeep, jumping inside and revving the engine, and sped off back down the street.
The finale.
Katie prayed that Lizzy was still alive—she would never forgive herself if something happened to her.
Her heart sped up to a scary level. Her hands and feet felt sweaty. The road ahead looked peculiar to her—her vision became fuzzy and the lane seemed to be rolling like incoming waves. She boosted her high beams, to help her see the road. Her chest was heavy, as if a huge weight was pressing against it, making it difficult to breathe.
No, please no.
Swerving on the road as oncoming lights blasted what was left of her vision, she began hyperventilating. Katie couldn’t drive anymore and pulled over to the side of the rural road. With the engine still running, she lowered the windows to feel the cool air whipping across the front seat.
It seemed that she was losing everything and everyone in her life that she cared about. She couldn’t make her breathing normal. It was out of control—the pressure against her chest felt like a heart attack. Was she dying?
Her memory was bombarded with every gunfire shot and firefight she had endured. The smell of expelled gunfire wafted into her Jeep. She knew it was only in her imagination, but that wasn’t comforting at the moment.
Dr. Carver’s voice came to her mind, reminding her that when she was having trouble she should go to a time in her memory that was happy and uplifting.
She would say, “Cling to someone that you love, whose love makes you happy.”
Chad’s smiling face came to mind and all the places they had been together, whether it was hiking on the many wonderful trails in Sequoia County or staying at the beach in a motel. So many memories engulfed her mind once she calmed a little and let them flood in. Sitting on her porch watching the sunset. Playing ball with Cisco. The memories flooded on.
Katie’s breathing began to slow and normalize. All she could smell now was the fragrance of the pine trees just outside her window. Her sweaty hands and bare feet were cold and she shivered in her sleeveless dress.
As she looked down the deserted road, she could see the lane clearly and everything had returned to normal. Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, clutching it tight. She closed her eyes and counted down in slow breaths from ten to one.
Suddenly her phone buzzed with a new text.
“No,” she said, terrified about what it would say. Instead, she saw it was an email from Sergeant Serrano from the army K9 training facility.
Katie snapped back into investigative mode with her typical curiosity. She clicked on the email to find a list of eight names from the videos:
R. Rodriguez, S. Davis, D. Haley, R. Ramos, G. Simpson, J. Trenton, A. Crowley, and P. Frear. Note: Yes, D. Winchell was trained here during the same time as J. Trenton.
Katie studied the names. She couldn’t concentrate and the only name that meant anything to her at that moment was Jeanine Trenton’s name. She put away her phone, took another breath, and mustered all her focus to concentrate on the safety of her friend Lizzy.
Her mind was almost clear and her vitals were returning to normal, so she eased the Jeep onto the road again and raced toward the fairgrounds. She hoped that when she got there it would be clear which lock the key would open.
The journey would take her almost a half hour. She braced for another text message. Feeling like a pawn being moved around on a game board, Katie focused on who could be behind this escapade.
The more she relaxed, the more her mind cleared and she picked up back where she had left off, thinking about the identity of the killer. The killer had given her another clue; it was obvious they knew who Katie was and, more than likely, her background as a military K9 handler. Now they were toying with her.
Her thoughts sharpened and Agent Campbell came to mind again. He had been shadowing her and McGaven. He had asked for her on purpose. He had the means and the opportunity to have cloned her phone; he had even told her in a roundabout way she was bait. What the hell? And what about his theory that Gwen Sanderson had killed Nancy Day and that a copycat was now killing the other women? Was he manipulating the investigation? Could he be pulling the strings? And, crucially, he had been taken off these cases. So he didn’t have the authority to request Katie and McGaven’s assistance.
One thing about working in law enforcement was that you didn’t want to think that one of your own could be a killer, but Katie knew it happened.
Katie increased her speed as fast as she dared, and was coming up to the main road leading to the fairgrounds. She felt the prickly sensations warning of another anxiety attack and used her techniques of steadying her breathing and keeping positive thoughts in mind until she saw the billboard that read “Sequoia County Fairgrounds NEXT RIGHT.”
She drove past the main entrance and towards the east gate. Unless the key fit, it would remain locked, and she would have to scale the fence.
Pulling into the driveway, she parked the Jeep. Katie knew she was a mess. Her outfit was entirely unsuitable for climbing or running, and she felt vulnerable as it slowed her down. She didn’t have her gym bag in the car, so she had no clothes to change into.
The only thing on Katie’s mind was Lizzy’s safety. She pushed forward. She tried the key, just in case, but it was no use. Securing her gun and cell phone—underneath her armpit and inserted in her bra—she put the key between her teeth and climbed over the fence, tearing the hemline of her dress.
Hitting the ground running, she was aware that the killer could be watching her, and if so, she would be a perfect target. She ran as fast as she could. The pavement was brutal on her feet, scraping at her soles, but she only thought of her friend as the horrible images of the crime scenes rushed through her mind.
She got to a maintenance building and paused in the shadows to catch her breath and give her feet a rest. There was silence and no sign of anyone or anything happening. Was she in the right place?
Katie inched her way in the shadows along the buildings so that she wasn’t a bright target, undeniably aware that she was going in without knowing where the killer or Lizzy was. Not completely certain what she was looking for, she tried to make her way to the Ferris wheel.
Up ahead she saw something dark on the ground. As she inched closer with her gun directed out in front of her, she realized it was a body.
Not moving any faster, but maintaining a steady pace, in case it was a trap, Katie kept her cool and continued on. It was a man dressed in dark clothing. She could see he had white or blond hair. Finally close enough to see the man clearly, she realized it was a security guard. He was lying sprawled on his back with his arms out from his sides. His utility belt was empty, no baton, no flashlight, and no gun.
Katie rushed to his side and knelt down next to him. She could see that he was in his mid to late fifties. The side of his skull was bloody as if he had been hit with a sizable object, but it had stopped bleeding. Gently she picked up his wrist; there was a faint but steady pulse.
She leaned into him. “Can you hear me?” she whispered. “Sir, can you hear me?”
He moaned and moved his head.
“Who did this to you?”
He continued to moan and his words were incoherent.
Katie patted down his pockets looking for a cell phone and found nothing.
She noticed a nasty gash on the side of his forehead where he was kno
cked out. She inhaled deeply, calming her nerves and keeping her concentration.
If you don’t play, Lizzy dies. Tick Tock.
He moaned something unrecognizable.
“We need to get you out of the way—safe.”
Katie wrestled with him for a minute and managed to drag him near the maintenance area and out of immediate view. “Stay here. I’ll get you help. You understand?” she said.
He looked at her and nodded weakly.
Katie didn’t want to leave him and she needed to call an ambulance.
Suddenly breaking the silence and darkness, loud carnival music blared through speakers and the bright lights of the Ferris wheel lit up the area.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Friday 2130 hours
McGaven was still deeply engrossed in the articles, his instinct telling him that they might be key to the cases.
A knock at the door interrupted him.
“Hey,” said John poking his head in. “What are you still doing here?”
“Catching up on my reading and running endless reports.”
“Oh. Is Katie around?”
“No, she left at the regular time. Did you need something?”
John opened the door wider. “I just got a call from Katie a little bit ago looking for Lizzy. She seemed stressed and abruptly hung up.”
“What did she say?”
“Just that. She wanted to know if I had heard from Lizzy, which I haven’t.”
“Katie was supposed to be meeting Lizzy for dinner tonight.”
Pretty Broken Dolls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (Detective Katie Scott Book 6) Page 24