Burning Proof (11 page)

KELSEY COX GOT THE CALL
early Thursday morning
 
—but she hadn’t been asleep, so it didn’t bother her.

“She did go home, if home is some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere. Not much is anywhere near.”

Kelsey sighed and bit her lip before responding. “Where are you now?” she asked.

“A fast-food place in an area that vaguely resembles civilization. You don’t want me to stay with her, do you?”

The tone of his voice bugged her. He was being paid enough to do whatever she asked without whining.

“No, she’s not a threat there. But I do have a couple more errands for you regarding Hart.” She carefully outlined what she wanted from him. “Be discreet. Understood?”

“My middle name. Anything else?”

“You need to check up on the other one, Murphy.” Kelsey had a good idea about Murphy because of his association with Woody. She kept tabs on police department gossip through a friend still working, and that friend also knew Woody. But her
hired guy could specifically pin the man down, and she needed that.

Briefly she told him what she knew about Murphy’s current situation and what to watch for. The man’s attitude improved.

“Ah, back to civilization. I’m on my way. I’ll take care of the first thing. Then give me a day to be in position for the other.”

“Not a problem. Just call me when you are.”

She ended the call and walked across the room to look out the window of her hotel. They were in San Francisco for a fund-raiser. She missed Gavin. It was an ache that never went away. She reflected on the fact that it was Abby Hart and her family who had squashed any and every chance of happiness she and Gavin might have shared. Twenty-seven years ago Buck and Patricia Morgan, by their stubbornness, caused the cancellation of the wedding she and Gavin planned. Gavin’s involvement in the Triple Seven fire had changed their relationship, damaged it almost beyond repair, because at the time Kelsey was still idealistic and appalled that a law enforcement officer could have been involved in anything shady.

It took years for the idea of “nice guys finish last” to soak in and for Kelsey to realize that she didn’t care about methods or involvements; it didn’t matter what Gavin had done. And just when they were reconnecting, rebuilding their lives together, Abby ruined everything by forcing Gavin to take his own life. Ironically, in death Gavin had helped Kelsey more than he had while alive. The dream job she now enjoyed and the place of importance to which she’d ascended were hers now only because he was dead. It was with a bittersweet heart she whispered, “Thank you, Gavin.”

Lowell Rollins would be elected to the senate, she was cer
tain. Then he would go to Washington, DC, and so would she. She smiled at the thought of the power, the prestige.

Her phone chimed, interrupting the dream, and she frowned when she saw who it was. Her boss would want a report about Hart and Murphy and would press to make sure Kelsey was doing her job. This was one fly in the ointment Kelsey wanted to be rid of. She would figure out a way to stomp this fly, but it would take time. Right now she needed to be patient.

Sighing, she answered the phone and in a professional tone gave the report.

After she hung up, she relaxed and began another daydream, this one about ridding herself of the fly and stepping into place at the governor’s side as his equal, not just his employee.

FRIDAY MORNING
Luke and Woody headed to Lancaster to review the Molly Cavanaugh case. They’d gotten the call late the night before that the case information was assembled, and they had an appointment with Faye Fallon’s contact, a sheriff’s deputy assigned to the Lancaster office. He promised to walk them through the boxes of evidence and reports pertaining to Molly’s case and answer any questions he could. The drive would take them around two hours, so Luke picked Woody up while it was still dark.

They’d been on the road for about twenty minutes when Woody spoke up.

“Abby’s been in Oregon for a couple of days now.”

“Hmph,” Luke said, not sure where to go with that. He was worried about Abby but certain he had no right to be. The shooting coming so close on the heels of no real answers regarding the Triple Seven was definitely messing with her head, and Luke wondered if Abby was suffering from PTSD. That thought brought him to Faye Fallon, and his mind went
meandering, wondering how much time they’d spend working together and if that was a good thing.

Realizing Woody had gone quiet, Luke shifted gears back to Abby. “You think she’s still having a hard time about the shooting?”

“I don’t know. She shouldn’t. It was in policy and downright awesome she reacted as quickly as she did. Women
 
—I don’t understand them. Probably why I was married three times and couldn’t make any stick.”

Luke chuckled at that. For the rest of the drive Woody told him about all his marriages and the women who had broken his heart.

By the time they reached the sheriff’s station in Lancaster, Luke was shaking his head in wonder. He’d never known Woody to talk so much and was amazed at the amount of information he’d received in the two-hour drive.

Detective Steve Jones met them in the lobby. “So you two are going to help Faye with this case.”

“That’s the plan,” Luke said as he shook the outstretched hand.

“I wish I could have done more for her,” Jones said, his tone regretful. “Unfortunately the resources just aren’t here right now.”

“Well, I hope we can help,” Woody said.

Jones took them to a conference room, where one wall was stacked with document boxes. “Here you go, gentlemen.” He swept his arm toward the boxes. “That’s all the evidence and reports we have on the Molly Cavanaugh case.”

Woody whistled and for a minute Luke lost his voice. He knew there’d be a lot to go through, but he wasn’t prepared for all this. They’d be sifting through documents for a week.

“It’s stacked with the most recent paperwork closest to us. We did a due diligence review every year. I did the last one, so I can bring you up to speed.”

“Thanks,” Luke said as he took a seat at the table. “That would be great. You said on the phone that you worked the case ten years ago.”

Jones nodded and sat across from Woody and Luke. “Yep, I was in uniform then. I talked to a lot of people, followed up on tip line leads. We had a dedicated tip line running for two months. But when tips began to dry up, so did the department’s interest. Phones stop ringing, and there was no reason to have people sitting on their butts waiting.” He clicked his teeth. “We really thought we’d catch the guy. I can’t believe it’s been ten years without a peep from him.”

“You don’t think it was his first rodeo, do you?” Woody asked.

Jones shook his head. “Molly told us he was prepared with tape and rope. He wasn’t hesitant or unsure; he knew exactly what he was doing. Like I said, I did the due diligence review on the ten-year anniversary.”

He got up, walked to a box, took out a file, and brought it back to the table. “You guys know as well as I do that teenagers, especially teenage girls, go missing all the time.”

“You bet,” Luke said with a nod.

“Well, Molly was victimized in May of 2005. Back then we pulled all missing reports for the year in order to find any similarities
 
—you know, did anyone else go missing from the mall? Stuff like that.”

He opened the file and took out three missing reports. “At the time, we had a lot more than three, but nearly all of them have been resolved in one way or another, except for these three. Two
are from 2005, February and March, while one is from December 2004. All the girls were sixteen at the time of disappearance, and all of them were supposed to be taking a bus home.”

“You don’t say,” Woody said as Jones slid the reports toward him.

“You’ll notice that the girls disappeared from different areas in the county
 
—Palmdale, Agua Dulce, and Acton. And all three of them had running away in their past. One was thought to have been taken by her father out of the country, but that was eventually disproved. The only connecting item is the bus angle. They may not be connected at all
 
—” he threw his hands up
 
—“but I decided I’d toss it in the mix.”

“Nothing recently?” Luke asked.

“Lots of missings and runaways, but none that I’d categorize as close enough. Bottom line, I think the guy picked girls up before Molly, and they weren’t as lucky as she was. As to why he stopped, well, that’s anyone’s guess. We have DNA. Molly’s description was very clear and corroborated by another girl at the mall who says the guy tried to pick her up as well. But we never caught him.”

Luke and Woody studied the missing posters. Luke was struck by how all three girls were similar in description to each other and to Molly.

He looked up at Jones, who was watching them. “Thanks. I appreciate all your hard work.”

“You want to thank me? Catch him. I’ve got a daughter now. I don’t want this creep out there. And it would be nice to give Faye a victory. Her husband wanted to join the sheriff’s department. He called and talked to me about the job two days before he lost his life.”

He left Luke and Woody to their work.

As he sifted through documents, a thought popped into Luke’s head. “If he is a serial rapist and killer, why’d he stop?” he asked, half to himself.

“He could be dead,” Woody said with a shrug. “To me that would be just. He could have moved elsewhere and is still active. But ten years is a long time. I can’t imagine a puke smart enough to be doing this kind of stuff that long without being caught.”

“Look how long it took them to catch the Green River killer. He started killing in the eighties and wasn’t stopped until 2001.”

“Yeah, but his victims of choice were prostitutes, women who lived transient lifestyles.”

Luke started to protest about the value of everyone’s life, but Woody waved a hand at him. “Don’t get all bent out of shape over that. It’s just the way of the world. I’m not saying it’s right, but a lot of those girls had no one who cared enough to worry about them or push for a resolution to the crime. He kept killing
 
—that’s why he was caught.”

“You’re saying that if this guy were still active, snatching young girls like Molly off the street, he’d have been stopped by now.”

“I believe that, yeah.”

“Do you think he killed these three missing girls?” Luke held up the flyers.

“It’s a possibility. I’m not a psychologist
 
—I don’t even play one on TV
 
—but from what I’ve heard so far about this sick groundhog, I don’t believe Molly’s abduction was his first. And someone as deviant as our mutt would not be able to just stop.”

Luke folded his arms and looked at the faces of the three missing girls. He looked back up at Woody and said, “Then where is he and what is he doing?”

ABBY WASN’T SURE
how long she’d been in bed when she heard her aunt calling out to her.

“I’m upstairs.”

Dede poked her head into the room a few minutes later, a worried frown scrunching her brow. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“No, I was just tired. I ate breakfast and went back to bed.”

“Abby, you’ve been here for two days and in bed most of that time.”

Abby just grunted, hoping her aunt would leave, but Dede didn’t take the hint.

“Ethan called. He was going to come over for lunch, but I told him you were still asleep. It’s past lunchtime now. You’re not going to sleep the day away, are you?”

The last thing Abby felt like was getting out of bed. But the look on her aunt’s face made her reconsider.

“I guess I should get up and take a shower.”

“I’ll fix lunch, so come down as soon as you’re ready.” Frown
still in place, Dede closed the door and Abby heard her head downstairs.

Abby got up and felt like lead. It was all she could do to get herself into the shower. She stood under the hot water for a long time. When she finally made it downstairs, her hair was still wet and she wore comfortable sweats with only socks on her feet.

Abby noticed the strange look on her aunt’s face and ignored it.

Dede had made sandwiches and set out a colorful salad. When Abby sat, Dede said a blessing. “Thank you for the food and your many blessings, and for bringing Abby home for a visit.” She smiled and squeezed Abby’s hand.

Abby made it through half of her sandwich and some salad before she wanted to excuse herself, but Dede stopped her.

“Abby, if I thought that you were tired from your drive, I would let this go. But this is not like you.”

“I am tired from the drive. I just want to go back to bed.” She started to rise.

Her aunt held a hand up. “Wait; I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you last night. Before you run off to hibernate, I’ll give it to you now.”

Abby sat back down and felt irritated at the comment about hibernating. Was that what she was doing? Did it matter? She’d not had any dreams since she went back to bed, where it was safe, warm. That was where Abby wanted to stay. No thinking, no talking, just sleeping.

“Remember Uncle Simon?” Dede asked.

Abby frowned. “Remember? I never knew him. He’s in jail. He killed a guy.”

“Yes, he’s in jail. He’s also come to faith. He started corresponding with me about a year ago. I knew him when I
was a kid. He and your father were both wild young men. Unfortunately Simon’s wild streak landed him in jail and . . . well, you know the rest.”

Abby did know the rest. Not because anyone had told her, but because it was an issue she’d researched as she investigated her parents’ murders. Since her dad had disowned his brother after Simon was convicted of homicide, one theory was that Simon ordered a hit on her parents from prison. It was a theory that went nowhere, and she’d never even felt it necessary to speak to him.

“He’s asked about you, wondered how you were doing. Of course he’s read about you and the Triple Seven investigation.”

“Lots of convicts claim to have jailhouse conversions.” Abby was not at all certain she wanted to get to know an uncle who would be in prison for the rest of his life.

“I know that. But he seems sincere, and he’d like to meet you.” Smiling despite Abby’s look of disbelief, Dede went on. “In his letter from a couple of weeks ago, he told me he’d read about the situation with Gavin Kent and the governor and you. Remember, he grew up with Lowell Rollins just like your father did. He enclosed a note for you. I’ve prayed about the right time to give it to you. That time is now.”

“I don’t know what to say.” This was an avenue Abby had never examined, a line of investigation she’d never even considered pursuing. And it opened up an old sore: what was the truth about her parents’ homicides?

“I know that he and your dad had their issues, but read the letter. Maybe visit him. It can’t hurt to talk to him, and it might even help you with the picture you have of your dad.” Dede pulled a letter from her sweater pocket. She held it out, but Abby didn’t
immediately take it. “He is family. And he knew your father. Part of your angst about this shooting may have something to do with all that nonsense about your dad still being alive.”

Abby said nothing.

“No strings if you don’t want to see him,” Dede said when Abby finally took the letter. “He enclosed a visitor form. You have to sign it and send it back. Once you’re approved to visit, he’ll call and tell you. Of course, if you don’t want to have anything to do with him, don’t sign the form.”

“I’ll read it and think about it,” Abby said, holding the correspondence but not really knowing what she wanted to do with it. Why was it so hard to think?

Dede got up to clear plates and do the dishes. After a few minutes Abby opened the envelope and took out the letter.

Abigail . . . that’s a pretty name. It was my grandmother’s. Did you know that you were named after your great-grandmother? I have had so many years to think about what to say to you, and now that I’m finally writing, I’m at a loss. We’ve never met, and there’s no reason you would want to meet me. Except you are the only family I have now, aren’t you? I’m doing my time in Tehachapi State. If you’re ever in the area, I’ve signed a visitor form. Fill out your portion and mail it back if you want to talk.

Uncle Simon

Abby stared at the form with her uncle’s signature on it. She noted the part she must fill out to be approved for visitation.

Dede said she’d been exchanging letters with him. She knew him when she was a kid.

What could it hurt?

Abby read the note a couple more times before putting it down. Dede had left a pen on the table. Abby picked it up and filled out the visitor form. She put it into the envelope and sealed it, setting it on the table.

There was no way to know how long it would take for her to be approved for visiting. It could take months, knowing the state of California. A lot could happen between now and then.

“Great! You decided to sign it.” Dede picked up the envelope. “I’ll put a stamp on it and get it in the mail.”

Abby sat back and thought about her uncle. He was a year older than her dad would have been, but he’d been in prison for longer than her dad had been dead. What was Simon like? Was he like her dad? Was he a typical convict? The fog in her brain lifted for a minute as she pondered this new wrinkle. But it was only for a minute and then Abby returned to bed.

She got away with spending most of her time in bed until Saturday. That morning Dede burst into her bedroom early. “Okay, okay, enough of this. It’s time to get up.”

Abby grimaced and squinted against the light of a bright sunrise. “I’m tired. I don’t want to get up.”

Dede faced her, hands on hips. “Abby, I’m not going to allow this. If you want to hide from the world, you can do it at your house.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“If I have to. Right now you need to get up. We’re going visiting. We’re going to see what Ethan has been up to.”

“What if I don’t want to go visiting?”

“You’re not going to sleep your life away in my house. If I have to kick you out, I will.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one. It’s time to get to the bottom of what’s bothering you, and you can’t do that hiding under the covers. I’ll pray with you, I’ll listen to you if you want to talk, I’ll take you to talk to a pastor if that is what you need, but I won’t watch you do this.”

Abby flung the blanket off, furious with her aunt. “You have no right to treat me like a silly teenager! You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

Dede held her ground. “No, I don’t. But I know that you’ve been through a lot of bad stuff in your life. You’ve never faced any of it by hiding. That will solve nothing. Problems have to be faced; that’s the only way to solve them.”

For a second they stared at one another.

“I’m putting the dogs in the car. You have twenty minutes to shower and get dressed. If you can’t do that, then you can pack up and get ready to go home. I won’t watch you hide.”

Dede turned and left the room, leaving Abby staring at empty space.

Abby went to the bureau and grabbed her suitcase, intending to pack and leave, fuming that her aunt was so insensitive. Self-pity swirled inside and boiled over. So much for home being a safe place.

I’ve been through trauma upon trauma.

She should understand.

I’ll show her.

She is mean and heartless.

She shoved her clothes into the case and then reached for
her Triple Seven notebook. She was about to toss it into her backpack when the verse she’d written on the cover caught her eye. It was her work verse, Hebrews chapter 4 verse 13:

And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

You can run but you can’t hide.

It was a verse she’d always felt applied to criminals, to the evil people she hunted.

How can it possibly apply to me?

She looked at the bed, still mussed and unmade, and knew that it did apply to her right now. She was hiding; she didn’t want to face all the issues knocking on her heart: the shooting, the lack of clear closure regarding her father, and her own attitude right now.

It isn’t fair. God isn’t fair, and this is all his fault.

Pierced, she sat down on the bed as tears started. Something seemed to break inside, and the oppression she’d felt for the past few days lifted.

Dede is right. I’ve run and now I’m trying to hide.

Holding the book close to her chest, she let the tears fall, crying for Clayton, Althea, Adonna, and a little bit for herself. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but after the tears ended, she felt drained and brittle but somewhat better.

Grabbing a Kleenex, she stood, put the book down and her clothes back in the bureau, and hoped Dede hadn’t left. Blowing her nose and stepping to the window, she saw that Dede’s Jeep was still there. Abby hurried to shower, dress, and catch up with her aunt.