Pretty Broken Dolls by Jennifer Chase

Chapter Forty

Friday 0935 hours

Katie burst through the office door. “I almost forgot about this until last night. I know that you’re concerned about me, but sending a text saying, ‘You’re the bait’ isn’t funny.” She had forgotten about mentioning it to McGaven—thinking he was joking with her—but now this one from Lizzy confirmed there was something going on.

McGaven looked up from his screen. There were more papers scattered across his desk than before. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” she said, showing him the text with his cell number ID.

“I didn’t send that.”

“Who did? It’s your cell number.”

“I’m telling you, Katie, I didn’t send that text. Why would I do that?”

“How is this possible?” she said and put her phone down like it was radioactive. “What’s going on? Who is sending these?”

“What do you mean ‘these’? Have there been more?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Katie calmed her nerves. It was just a text. “Well, yes. Last night I received a text, which I thought was from my friend Lizzy. It has her name and cell number ID.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘Dead and gone,’ like the email at Darla Winchell’s parents’ house. Sadie said it too.”

McGaven picked up Katie’s phone. “Can I look?”

“Of course,” she said.

He examined her contact list, phone numbers, and texts. Then he pulled up his name on the contact list and sent a text to himself. “Everything okay.” Taking his own cell phone, he sent a text to Katie. The message came in. Examining it, he said, “I think your phone has been cloned or spoofed.”

“How? I have it with me all the time. I never set it down.”

“I’m not sure—this isn’t my area—but I know that you would have to be in close proximity of the person and phone that it needs to be cloned to.”

“What’s spoofed mean?” she asked.

“It’s when a person falsifies their caller ID and then submits it when dialing your phone—it’s more common than you might think. Just about anyone can do it with a criminal mind and motive to do it. It’s usually done by spam callers to make someone answer their phone so they can do some phishing techniques.”

“Can you trace it to find out what phone it came from?”

“From what I understand, you can call your cell phone carrier and put in a complaint. It’s a long process and doesn’t usually render any solid results.”

“So I have to take this crap? Never knowing if my friends are really sending me a text?”

“You could change your phone number. Or, you could speak with a security expert and see what they say.”

“Maybe John can check it out,” she suggested.

Katie’s mind spurred through several scenarios that might explain this happening to her phone. The first person who came to mind was Special Agent Campbell. He would have the right software on his phone to do that, know all the ins and outs of cloning and spoofing, and he had been in close proximity on several occasions. Katie grabbed her jacket. The anger was rising. It wasn’t just anxiety symptoms, it was real annoyance and she was going to get to the bottom of it. And it was going to be right now.

“Wait. Where are you going?” he said.

“To the source.”

“Wait a minute.”

“I’m not going to tell you where I’m going because you’ll stop me.”

“C’mon, Katie, sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

Her cell phone rang.

She didn’t recognize the number and answered, “Scott.”

“Is this Detective Katie Scott?” said a woman’s voice.

“Yes?”

“My name is Ruth West and I’m a nurse at the County Health Care. One of our patients, Sadie Caldwell, wanted me to call you.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s doing much better. She’s asked if you could visit her today.”

Katie thought for a moment. Her anger was subsiding, and her curiosity was piqued so she agreed. “Yes. I can do that.”

“Wonderful. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

The call ended.

“Who was that?” said McGaven.

“The health facility. I guess Sadie is lucid and she wants to talk to me.”

“Maybe she’ll give us some insight into the killer?”

“Maybe. Let’s go.”

“Road trip.”

* * *

Katie drove in silence; she eased her anger and frustration, determined to be professional and keep a clear head. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still steaming about the phone cloning or spoofing, but McGaven was right that she shouldn’t go to Agent Campbell’s suite spewing anger.

“I’ve been thinking,” began McGaven. “What would be the reason for someone to spoof someone’s ID to text your phone? To get your personal information? Send you information about the investigation? What?”

“Think about it, Gav. Who would want my personal information? To see what I’m doing, who my contacts are. To keep an eye on me?”

“It could be anybody.”

“No, what’s been a change in our work? What’s different?”

McGaven thought about it. “I’m so dense. Of course, it’s the elusive Agent Campbell—he has the means and has been in direct contact with you several times. But why would he be sending those cryptic messages?”

“I can say that he’s got some serious issues. I should probably call and talk to his supervisor or someone else that helped to work these cases with him. Not to tattle on him but maybe get more perspective?”

“I don’t know, Katie… that’s a thin line you’re walking.”

“I don’t want to say anything to my uncle yet.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong. I just want to find out more about him and these cases. Get some insight.”

Her cell phone rang.

Hands free, she pressed the speaker button. “Detective Scott.”

“Hey, Katie,” said Lizzy with an upbeat voice.

“What’s up? You’re not mad, are you?”

“What? About last night? Nah, it’s going to take more than that after what we’ve been through.”

They laughed.

“I don’t mean to keep you, I know you’re busy,” she said. “You want to meet at the bistro downtown for drinks and dinner? Just us. I’m only going to be in town for two more days and then I have to return to the coast. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“You know what, Lizzy? That’s sounds perfect. Seven thirty?”

“See you there.”

The call ended.

“I like her,” said McGaven. “She’s solid. And very cool.”

“Yeah, we went through some serious stuff in the army. She’s always been someone that I can really count on as a friend.”

Katie pulled into the health services parking lot and searched for an empty place.

“I’m curious to see what Sadie wants to talk about,” said McGaven.

“Me too. I feel bad for her, wrestling with this mental problem. I think she thinks that she’s doing the right thing.” Katie knew what it was like to cope with psychological issues that pulled the ground from beneath your feet.

“We’ll see.”

They got out of the car and headed into the building. Walking through the double glass doors, they came to a front desk where an older woman with short grayish hair sat.

The woman looked at them and removed her glasses. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Detective Katie Scott, to see a patient, Sadie Caldwell.”

The woman keyed up the computer and searched. “Yes… But the appointment is just for you.” She gestured to McGaven. “Not you, I’m afraid. It’s policy.”

“We’re police detectives. Can you make an exception?” asked Katie.

“I’m sorry. They are very strict, only allowing one person in.”

McGaven touched Katie’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. Go.”

“Oh, and you’ll have to check your firearm.”

Katie sighed and removed her Glock from its holster, handing it to her partner. “Thanks.”

McGaven left to grab a coffee and wait as Katie was instructed to go up the stairs and turn right until she saw room 111.

It seemed deserted as she climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway. She didn’t see a doctor or nurse. There was just the hum of the heating system keeping her company. Not having any real expectation as to what Sadie Caldwell had to tell her, she pushed on to work every potential lead.

Katie stopped at room 111. It was a white door with no other identification except the number. It wasn’t open or ajar—it was shut. She knocked. Finally she heard a faint, “Come in.”

Katie pushed the door open and walked inside. It was similar to a regular hospital room with the adjustable medical bed, two uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a small table in the corner.

Lying in the bed was Sadie Caldwell. She looked lifeless, like a doll propped up, but her face had color and her eyes looked bright. It was clear that she was on some kind of medication that made her tired and lethargic.

“Hi, Sadie,” said Katie, trying to sound upbeat.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Of course. How are you?” She sat down in a chair near the bed.

“Oh, you know—hanging in there.”

“Do you need anything?”

“You’re sweet,” she said and touched Katie’s hand. “I’m fine. Where’s that handsome tall partner of yours?” She smiled.

“They would only let one of us in at a time. Strict orders.”

“Oh well, I wanted to talk to you.”

Katie waited patiently. She could sense that Sadie had something important to tell her, but was struggling with the words.

“When I first realized that I was having trouble remembering things, I was still working the block. You know… And then I had strange feelings, like someone was watching me, and the feelings turned into whispers… and then voices…”

Katie remained quiet and let Sadie get out what she needed to say. Her compassion ran over; she knew what it was like, struggling with something that wasn’t real, but no one could really understand unless they had experienced it. PTSD was like a ghost she carried around with her—and it was never really gone, only hiding and waiting for the right moment.

“And… well… after I retired and my Sam died, things began to get worse. I heard voices coming from next door at Jeanine’s house. I saw people come and go…”

Katie nodded but remained quiet.

“You see, I don’t know if what I saw and heard was real or in my head.”

“What are you trying to say?” said Katie.

“I saw this dark figure. I thought it was one of those black mass things I sometimes see, but now as I’m sitting here with you…”

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Sadie pulled up the blankets as if she felt a chill in the room. “I remember the night that poor girl was killed. I saw someone wearing dark clothing sneak between our houses and go into the backyard.”

“What did they look like?”

“I couldn’t see a face. They were wearing all black, I think, with the hood pulled up around their head. They weren’t too tall. Slight build.”

“Do you remember what time it was?”

“It was dusk and almost dark.”

“Did you notice a car?”

“No. The street had been quiet without traffic.”

“Do you remember anything about the person?”

She flopped her head back on the pillow in frustration. “I was having a difficult time that particular day,” she said. “But I remember thinking that they moved in a certain way.”

“How is that?”

“You know, like they had some type of formal training. The way they moved.”

“Formal training? Like law enforcement?”

“Yeah, you know. I’ve been around cops and correction officers my entire life. And many of them move with purpose, careful, stealthy… it’s the way they hold their upper body and place their feet… oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” said Katie. She knew that Sadie was trying to be helpful but was confused about whether what she saw was real or not. “Just tell me what you think you saw.”

“The person was lean, moved along the side of the house like they were hunting someone, getting ready to capture their prey.”

Preywas an unusual description to use, thought Katie. “What else?”

“I… I don’t know… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ve given me some new information,” she said, trying to make her feel better.

Sadie closed her eyes. Her breathing became low and rhythmic as she fell into a deep sleep.

Katie waited a moment, rehashing what she had told her. She believed that Sadie believed she was telling the truth about what she had seen—whether it was real or not. She got up and took one last look at Sadie peacefully sleeping.

“Sleep well, Sadie,” she whispered.