Chapter Twenty-One
Thursday 0835 hours
Katie had received word that Mrs. Mayfield's body had arrived at their morgue, and the evidence collected from the crime scene was safe in John's lab. After interviewing the mother of the murdered girls only the previous day, yesterday had been shocking—and thrown up more questions than answers.
Katie stood at her whiteboard and moved around maps to make space to think. She cocked her head to the side and considered the killer as she wrote.
Stepping back, her mind spinning, she considered the previous day and the many strange clues—all revolving around Rock Creek. Just thinking about the town made her turn cold. But why? What wasn't she seeing?
Katie leaned against the side of her desk, thinking about everything they knew. The clues seemed to be telling her something, and that something was from Rock Creek. It was where everything had started, with the abduction of the girls—and now everything seemed to be unraveling there.
With a thought, Katie picked up the phone and pushed an extension.
"Records, Denise," said her friend after two rings.
"Hey there."
"Katie, hi."
"Are you swamped with work?"
"Just the usual. What do you need?" she said.
"I have a fun assignment for you."
"Bring it on."
Katie smiled. She really liked Denise and her spunky enthusiasm. "Yesterday, Gav and I went to Rock Creek, and we found numbers carved into a pine tree on the side of the road—3 7 2."
"I'm with you so far."
"We were about three miles from entering into the main part of town on Highway 9 going northbound."
"Okay."
"Someone seemed to have carved those numbers early yesterday morning. The tree shavings weren't wet from the overnight storm. And I have a sneaky suspicion that person drove a big black pick-up truck."
"Let me guess… you want to know if anyone saw that truck within the vicinity."
"You got it. And…" continued Katie, "I want to find out anything you can about Rock Creek, people who live there, strange things that have happened, or anything that doesn't seem right. I know it's a big ask, but it's a small town and we need to get to know its secrets."
"I can get on that Neighborhood program for the area and poke around. I'll use names of local folk on there to search social media and see what else I can find. As for the tree, let me check the aerial maps online. They update every four to eight hours or so—maybe we'll get lucky. I can also see if there are any CCTV traffic cameras in the vicinity."
"Great, thanks, Denise. That would be great. Oh, beers Saturday with Gav and Chad at Third Watch Bistro?"
"Wouldn't miss it!"
Denise hung up and Katie listened to the high-pitched buzz of the disconnected line. Slowly replacing the receiver to the cradle, Katie's mind returned to the numbers tattooed on Tessa's scalp. It was horrifying, yet she was convinced it was the key to the investigation.
Reading her lists on her notepads and glancing at her boards, Katie ran ideas. She decided to search the Internet to find out if there was any research into the psychology behind people who tattoo themselves and others excessively. Maybe there was some terminology for this, or a condition she wasn't aware of—that would give her something to go on.
Several results came up, but nothing that pinpointed what she needed. Katie made a tighter search using the words: tattoo, compulsive, identification, people, trafficking, children. A couple of researchers came up, including a Dr. Simone Halverson, an adjunct professor at the local university, who was published on the topics of excessive tattooing and branding of others.
Katie made an appointment for the next morning, which was the only time Dr. Halverson had available. Immediately after, her cell phone buzzed.
Preliminary results on Mayfield cases are in.
Katie hurried to the forensic lab, leaving her notes spread out all over her desk and part of McGaven's too. She hoped he would arrive soon to hear what John had to say firsthand.
She slowed her pace and took a breath before entering John's exam lab. He was at the far corner, on one of the new computers with a screen as large as a TV.
"Have you been avoiding me lately?" said John, never averting his eyes from the computer.
That stopped Katie dead, rattled her a bit. "Not at all," she said.
He looked at her and smiled, which was unusual for such a serious guy. "Sorry I had to leave your party early. I had quite a bit still to do here."
"It was nice of you to come."
"I love your place. It reminds me of my folks' house growing up in Tennessee."
Katie was taken aback—that was the most personal information that John had ever expressed about himself. She didn't know how to respond.
"Looks like you've been busy. We received a lot of stuff for processing from Rock Creek PD last night. I was wondering if you would check this list to make sure," he said.
"I know it's a bit sketchy how they handle things." Katie walked over to his workstation.
John grabbed a couple of papers and turned on his stool. "Here you go."
Katie began to read down the list. Everything appeared correct, except...
"What's the matter?" said John.
"This small photo album."
"What about it?"
"It wasn't at the house when we searched and documented everything. I saw this album when I visited with Mrs. Mayfield the day before. It was in the girls' room. But it wasn't there yesterday. I remember noticing as I'd asked her to ID the people in it… What do the notes on it say?"
John found the evidence bag. "It says it was photographed and collected from the top of the desk in the living room."
"That's not possible," said Katie.
"What's the timestamp?" he asked.
"It says it's at the same time everything else was collected." Katie reread the list carefully. "I don't understand. That's not true. It wasn't there when I looked around the crime scene."
"Who collected the evidence?"
"The local police officers, but I directed them and I'm telling you, I know what was at the house." Katie looked around the room as if an answer would materialize. It didn't. "Someone must have put it in with the rest of the evidence. Either the morgue technician, one of the two police officers, or the chief."
"Anyone else have access?"
"No. Just me and McGaven."
John put his hand on her arm. "I know this is weird. Let's move forward for now and then come back to the photo album later, okay?"
Katie looked at John. He had always been a good friend and held her in high regard—they shared the fact they were military vets. There was some type of chemistry between them, but neither had acted on it. It was simple. Katie loved Chad. He was the love of her life.
"You okay, Katie?" he asked.
"Sorry. This case is taking some unexpected turns. That town, Rock Creek, is really bothering me. Things are strange…"
"Spooky," he said, and laughed.
"I know… something is off." Katie pulled herself together and focused on the evidence. "Okay, what do we have?"
John stared at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly rolled his stool to another workstation, pulling up what looked like a magnified photo of a rope. "This is a magnification of the photo of Tessa Mayfield wearing her necklace. Luckily, in terms of the comparison to the wound, it's a thick chain and has a distinct pattern."
Katie leaned in to get a better view. "It's a heavy 's' pattern."
"And look at this," he said, as he flipped to a split screen with a close-up of Tessa's neck wound. Even though her small neck was bruised, the skin partially missing, there was a clear and definite pattern.
"Wow, that's a perfect imprint of the chain."
"Just about perfect," he corrected.
"I know you can't say it's 100 percent, but that's remarkable," she said. "She was strangled with her own necklace, or it was ripped hard from her neck… It wasn't found anywhere at the crime scene. It's probably lost, but I can't help but think—"
"Think what?" said McGaven as he stood in the doorway, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Hey, Gav, glad you're here. I was saying… I can't help but think the killer might have taken it as a souvenir."
"It's possible," he said.
"I'm curious about the fabric in Tessa's hand," said Katie.
"Actually, it's not fabric. It's a heavier material that's consistent with something like a tarp—industrial strength. Sometimes you can find this type of fabric on all-weather gear made for skiing or extreme snow sports. Pricey stuff."
Katie's mind ran through a few different scenarios of tarps for cars, boats, the back of a flatbed truck, or pick-up trucks. Then an idea struck her on how the girls could have been transported.
"So you're saying it has more plastic qualities than regular fabrics, such as upholstery or faux leathers?"
John nodded.
"Would the plastic of a body bag fit that description?"
"It's possible, but the density is different."
"But it's possible?" she asked.
He nodded. "Definitely."
John quickly searched through his computer file folders and opened one with several chemical compounds. He enlarged the specimens. "From the fingernail scrapings from both girls, Tessa was the only one that had anything that could be studied." He angled the computer screen towards Katie and McGaven.
"What is it?" said Katie, scrutinizing the image.
"Dirt."
"Dirt?"
John laughed. "I'm sorry, that's a forensic joke."
Katie stared at him blankly. He wasn't usually one for witticisms.
"The local soil broke down into three major categories of pine trees: gray pine, foothill pine, and ponderosa pine."
"We're loaded with pine trees up around here," she said.
"True, but the gray and foothill pine trees are thirty-six to forty-five feet high and are located in the eastern part of the mountains. And the standard ponderosa pines are huge. They grow over a hundred feet, sometimes two hundred feet tall, and spread out significantly."
Katie thought about the trees and wasn't sure if it was significant. The dirt and debris could have been embedded underneath Tessa's fingernails from when she was at the swing, or even before. "Was there anything else on the girls, fluids, DNA, or anything that would guide us in the right direction?"
"Just the remnant of the pine trees, I'm afraid. I know you were hoping for more. Sorry."
"What about Tessa's identity through her DNA? We know that she wasn't Megan's biological sister."
"It's been difficult to track down—I've even made calls as well as emails. What we know is that she was reported missing when she was barely six months old. But since it was more than ten years ago, the information is vague. Jenni and Brad Homestead were the parents that filed the report from Austin, Texas from the First Memorial Hospital and Austin PD. But…"
"I knew there would be a but…"
"After a child stays missing for so long, the information goes into a larger database and updates the missing and abducted children computer catalog as well. And sometimes these large databanks don't get updated properly, which is why we weren't able to find any information until now."
"Okay," she said.
"The record for the parents, and the actual report, is missing."
"What do you mean, missing?" Katie couldn't believe it.
"Missing… gone… nowhere to be found."