Pretty Broken Dolls by Jennifer Chase

Chapter Five

Monday 1350 hours

McGaven drove to Raven Woods, which was about half an hour from the department. He accelerated whenever he could, just out of habit as an ex-patrol officer.

Riding shotgun gave Katie some time to read through the investigation files in more detail. She tapped her finger on the photo of Jeanine Trenton’s necklace hanging on the fence, hoping to decipher what the killer was trying to convey.

“Nice ring,” he said.

“What? Oh,” she said, looking at her own engagement ring.

“How’s the wedding planning going?”

“It’s going.”

“You two still haven’t picked a date yet? Where are you going for your honeymoon?”

“We’re working on it. Still trying to figure out if we want a small, intimate wedding or something more festive. So many decisions.”

McGaven glanced at his partner. His face clouded as he seemed to be trying to figure out what was bothering her.

A low whine came from the back seat, shortly followed by a dog face squeezing itself in between McGaven and Katie.

“Hey, buddy,” said McGaven, scratching the dog behind his ears. To Katie, he said, “I’m glad you wanted to bring him today.”

“I feel guilty leaving him home, but it can’t be helped. And it’s great that Sergeant Hardy from K9 allows me to kennel him whenever I bring him to work.”

“Yeah well, he’s a lucky dog. Right, Cisco?”

The jet-black dog let out a couple of barks in agreement.

They headed south through open mountains with slight rolling hills. It wasn’t until they reached more heavily wooded areas that the sign “Raven Woods” appeared. They were about ten minutes from arriving downtown.

“What’s the road we need to take?” asked McGaven.

Looking through the paperwork, Katie said, “One sixty-seven Fox Hunt Road.”

“Did you leave a message for Agent Campbell?”

“Yep. I told him we were going to the house to have a look around.”

“Think he’s still in town?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That guy high-tailed it out of here after dropping off all the information.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” she asked.

“He strikes me as a micro-manager.”

“Maybe. But my money is on him being back at his nice big office in Sacramento by now.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Katie laughed. “Okay. That’s such a weird term every time I hear it.”

McGaven reduced his speed and turned off the main road, driving until he reached a faded sign indicating Fox Hunt Road. It was an older part of town with houses more than thirty years old, more acreage, and most properties seemed well maintained.

They crept along, the overhanging tree limbs making it feel dark. Looking for number 167, McGaven searched the mailboxes… 163… 165… finally coming to the end of the road.

Craning her neck, Katie said, “Is this it?”

“Matches the photos and address.”

“Yeah, but it looks worse than when the photos were taken.”

McGaven parked on the street across from the driveway.

Cisco whined, wanting to get out and work.

Still looking at the small house with boarded-up windows, Katie got out and stood on the road, taking everything in. “Stay, Cisco.”

McGaven cracked the windows for the dog and exited the vehicle. He stood beside Katie as they scrutinized the house and property.

Katie studied the short single-car driveway leading up to the small, blue, one-story house. Heavy plywood and some metal reinforcement secured the home tightly. Katie noted the overgrown bushes and peeling paint. The drainpipes and gutters were disconnected from the corners and hung precariously. The fence was leaning and the gate stood open. The entire property appeared oddly out of place compared to the rest of the homes in the neighborhood—almost as if it belonged in a war-torn country. It was clear that it would be a hard sale if the house were put on the market.

“What do you think?” she said. “Can we learn anything new?” She began to think that they had wasted a trip.

“You can always learn something new,” he said.

“Really?”

“Of course. You told me that at our first crime scene.”

Katie chuckled. “Gav, you always keep me on my toes.”

McGaven opened the trunk and retrieved a few tools: two screwdrivers, a crowbar, and two flashlights.

“Good idea.” Katie took one of the flashlights. She adjusted her holster and gun, slipped her cell into her pocket, and shed her jacket. “From the looks of the yard, we may need a machete,” she said, with some humor.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I pack my gear.”

They walked across the street and headed to the front door.

Katie stopped and listened. This was a routine approach for her when walking into any unknown area, knowing how important it was to listen and feel a situation and not just use your eyes. It was a tactic she had adopted in the military on so many occasions. She noticed that it was extremely quiet, even during the day—there wasn’t the sound of any traffic and the road wasn’t close to any freeway. She imagined the killer knew the area and used the quiet and seclusion to their advantage. The next-door neighbor was approximately a half-acre away and there were three large pine trees blocking the direct view of the house.

Leaning up against the fence were several bamboo poles that appeared to have been used for a sprinkler system instead of the usual PVC piping. A shovel and post-hole digger leaned up against a tree. There was a small narrow trench leading to the house, but that had long since been abandoned without any of the bamboo poles laid.

Katie focused on the cottage and walked up to meet McGaven, who was already looking at the door. He pried the metal away from the frame using the crowbar.

“The door is still intact and it looks like the key will work.”

“I wish there was an easier way to enter than prying off the plywood,” she said. Then she observed, “There’s no garage.” Thinking about it more, she said, “Let’s go around the back. According to the reports, there is a sliding door. We can check out the crime scene area too.”

McGaven followed Katie.

Normally they would split up when searching an unknown area and report back to one another, but this time they walked together through the open gate and headed to the backyard.

Katie recalled the photos she’d seen in the file of the backyard from the fence perspective and was surprised by how oversized it was in real life. It dwarfed the house. There was a small cement patio partially covered by a plastic corrugated roof attached to the house. Beyond this stretched a sizeable, rural backyard with apparently no landscape design—just untamed wilderness.

The weeds and dried bushes crunched underneath Katie’s boots. “This is…”

“Like a jungle,” replied McGaven.

“To say the least,” she said. “According to the photographs, the body was found at the back part of the property—eastside. There should be wrought-iron fencing.”

“Lead the way.”

Katie tried to image how the killer had gained access.

Did the killer lie in wait in the house?

Did Jeanine Trenton know her killer?

She remembered the condition of the body: Jeanine’s feet were cut and bloody as if she had tried to outrun her killer. Her shoes weren’t found. She had been getting ready for a party, but she never left. The report revealed everyone else invited to the party attended—except two people. One was sick and the other decided to go to another friend’s party instead. During Agent Campbell’s thorough investigation, every person in Jeanine’s life had been questioned and later dismissed as a potential suspect in the murder. Katie and McGaven had skimmed the information.

There was a group of large pine trees in a semicircle. Katie and McGaven squeezed around and immediately saw the black wrought-iron fence along the entire back part of the property. They turned east and stopped. A small piece of yellow crime scene tape was still tied around one of the posts.

“I think this is it,” said McGaven.

“Yeah, it seems right.” Looking from side to side, and then gazing out past the property lines, she saw a large farm acreage. In the distance, cows were grazing. “The killer probably wouldn’t enter this property from this area.”

McGaven was quiet.

“What are you thinking?”

“The other bodies were posed in public places. But… why here? It’s private.”

“That bothers me too. And it’s one of the reasons I wanted to see the crime scene area in person.” She looked at the place which she estimated was where Jeanine’s body had been impaled on the fence. “According to the autopsy report, she had more defensive wounds than the others, which means she fought her killer with everything she had.”

“Maybe the killer didn’t have enough time to take her body anywhere else?” he said.

Katie pondered that idea. “I don’t think there’s much out here that will help us.”

“Except.”

“Except?”

“We know that the killer might have been pushed to do something that they weren’t expecting.”

“And if this killer is indeed a serial killer, as Campbell’s investigation suggests, they would normally become more practiced and comfortable with each successive attack—more confident about creating such elaborate crime scenes,” she said.

“Something seems to have changed here.”

“Let’s take a look inside,” Katie said.

As they walked back to the house, Katie considered what might have happened after the initial attack: Jeanine had tried to get away. If she was being chased the only way she could escape would be to jump the fence and try to get to another neighbor’s house located behind the property. It was probably a few acres away. But why didn’t she go next door or up the street?

“This slider is completely boarded up. Let’s go in the front door.”

“Okay,” she said.

McGaven took a few moments to jimmy the metal bars loose and pry the plywood sheet from the front door.

Again, Katie was struck by how quiet the street and surrounding areas were. The screeching sound of the metal bars being pried loose overpowered the stillness.

She glanced to the car and could see the distinct outline of Cisco’s head and ears—motionless and watching every move they made.

“Got it,” said McGaven with a grin on his face. He had removed enough of the bars and boarding to create a narrow gap, through which he squeezed his tall body. The door was open and the key wasn’t necessary.

Katie easily slipped through behind him.

Darkness greeted them.

McGaven flipped on a flashlight and Katie followed his example. It was almost entirely dark because of the coverings over the windows. Only tiny cracks of light peeked through.

Katie thought she heard Cisco bark once and then a strange hollow knock at the front. Straining to listen for a moment, she heard nothing except for her own shallow breathing and felt only her slightly accelerated heartbeat. Claustrophobia was starting to set in, one of her symptoms when PTSD surfaced. This wasn’t an unusual reaction under unknown circumstances—which she worked hard to keep under control by regulated breathing and positive visualizations.

Katie moved in one direction and McGaven the other. The sweeping motions of their flashlight beams danced across the walls. They didn’t reveal anything unusual.

Since the house was small, it was easy to see most of the interior by standing in the middle of the living room. There was still furniture, covered with white sheets. It looked like two small couches, a coffee table, two end tables, and a small dining table.

There was a faintly musty smell, mixed with something Katie couldn’t immediately identify.

“I wonder what they are going to do with the house?” asked McGaven.

“It’s a nice piece of property. Maybe someone will want to buy it and knock down the house, build a new one.”

McGaven had a new thought. “Hey, where do you think her personal belongings are?”

“There’s probably an attorney involved.”

“I’ll find out and see if we can have a look at her things,” he said.

Katie and McGaven met back in the kitchen. Strangely, all the appliances had been removed, leaving weird gaps. The cupboards were still full of dishes, pots and pans.

“That’s odd,” she said and felt light-headed as she spoke. She wavered a bit, causing her to lower the flashlight.

“Katie?”

“I don’t know. I’m not feeling well.”

“Let’s get outside and grab some fresh air,” he said.

“Okay,” she said weakly. She saw McGaven go to the front door but after a moment, he began pounding on it.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuck.”

Katie walked toward McGaven but her feet felt oddly heavy and the room began to spin. She fell to her knees. Trying to focus, she caught the distinct odor. “Gav, it’s gas.”

McGaven was swinging the crowbar, but the remaining metal coverings wouldn’t move. He turned and saw Katie struggling. “Hey, I can smell it too.” He took hold of Katie and steered her to the back sliding door. He stumbled too, obviously becoming overwhelmed by the escaping gas filling the house.

Holding her flashlight as tight as she could, she saw what McGaven was going to do. The slider was jammed and wouldn’t budge. The only option was to smash the sliding glass door and then break the external plywood boarding. Katie leaned against the wall, trying to concentrate and keeping her mind conscious—fighting the unsettling disorientation. That’s when she heard Cisco barking in rapid succession.

Someone was outside.

McGaven pulled his gun.

Katie realized what he was going to do and yelled, “No! The flash could ignite the gas.” Her words seemed foreign and faraway.

Cisco continued to bark.

He swayed as he re-holstered the weapon. It was obvious that he too was fighting unsteadiness and confusion.

Katie used the opposite end of her flashlight and began pounding on the glass, spider cracks spreading rapidly.

McGaven swung the tire iron and with the third whack the glass shattered, pieces flying everywhere.

Kicking and smashing at the plywood almost seemed useless, but they kept trying.

Katie couldn’t exert any more energy; her body was weakening and she fell to her knees, trying to catch any fresh air coming from outside. There was a tiny crack on the left side of the plywood where she could feel a slight breeze on her face. She desperately tried to bring oxygen into her lungs.

She turned to McGaven who had also dropped to his knees, but was still hammering at the wood—splintering it a little bit at a time. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed 911 and was just able to say: “Officers need help… 167 Fox Hunt Road…” Katie looked down and saw her untucked blouse. Tearing a large section from the bottom into two pieces, she tied one around her nose and mouth, and then crawled to McGaven, helping him with his.

“Stay low,” she said, remembering an army training exercise on poisonous gas.

He nodded. His eyes looked glassy as he struggled to stay conscious.

Katie rolled onto her back. She began kicking the plywood and was soon joined by McGaven. The large sheet of plywood began to break.

Cisco’s barking became louder in between the kicking.

Katie saw Cisco’s body through a small opening and his paws digging at the wood.

“Stay back, Cisco!”

Finally, the wood covering broke away. The fresh air rushing inside was the best thing Katie had experienced in a while.

Cisco leaped inside and began pulling Katie out. She turned and saw McGaven crawling on his hands and knees behind her.

They inched and crawled their way into the backyard to a safe distance with Cisco in the lead.

“Easy, Cisco. We’re okay,” she said, flopping onto her back, trying to take in as much air as possible.

The dog circled the two, licking one, then the other, until he seemed satisfied that they were okay.

Katie rolled onto her side next to McGaven. “You okay?” she said, coughing.

“I’ll live.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, approaching fast.

“Good,” she said, relieved, as she stayed close to her partner and watched the natural color return to his face.

“You hear it too?”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know,” he said and flopped back on the ground.