Page 30 of Last Girls Alive

Katie followed McGaven as he used a flashlight to illuminate the area to the far northeast corner where a set of stairs had been formed out of heavy four-by-fours with low bushes on either side. It had been heavily traveled which meant that, along with the rain, finding fresh, singular shoe impressions would be impossible. The stairs were in good condition even with the recent amount of rain.

Katie turned and called back to Hamilton, “Detective, please have this area searched and documented as well.”

“Will do,” he said.

It was unclear to Katie if he wasn’t happy about her taking over the investigation, but in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was finding the killer before another woman was murdered.

In a low tone to McGaven, she leaned in and said, “We need to look at the history of the girls who stayed at the Elm Hill Mansion.”

“How many years?”

“At least back ten years from the closure date. Rodriguez and Harlan were in their twenties.”

“I’ll get on it in the morning.”

“Oh, we need the names of people who worked in or around Elm Hill.”

“I’ll get on this right away, but it might be a waiting game to gather all the information.”

Katie sighed.

“What?”

“I don’t think this victim is going to be our last…”

Fifteen

I kept my head held low because I had to walk around the house to the backyard hoping a neighbor wouldn’t see me pass by their window. It would raise unwanted questions.

I pushed through the side gate and headed to the back door. Hesitating a moment, I opened it. Relief filled me. Quickly stepping inside the house and shutting the door behind me, I made my way down the hallway lined with expertly stacked piles of discarded boxes, newspapers, and magazines as high as the ceiling. The path was barely wide enough for me to slip my way to my bedroom. I moved as quietly as I could—tiptoeing in silence.

Hurrying past the bathroom, which hadn’t functioned in over a year, made me cringe with shame. The piles of clothes and various household items that covered every surface in every room weren’t mine, or my mother’s. I wasn’t sure who they belonged to, but they took up space everywhere, smothering us.

I finally made it to my bedroom. To the twin mattress on the floor in a corner where I kept two boxes filled with my only possessions. I cherished them. I quickly sat down and began to take an inventory of my books and homework as quietly as I could.

“There you are,” said my mother, standing at the doorway partially obscured by the haphazard junk towering around her.

“Hi, Mother.” I didn’t lift up my eyes to look at her. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

“Watcha got there? You weren’t going to share with me?” she sneered. Her voice, coarse and high-pitched, rattled me. I winced. She held a cigarette between her left index and middle fingers that were deeply stained a rust color by the nicotine—her nails were painted a horrible pink but it didn’t make them look any better.

Taking a long drag, she exhaled, allowing the smoke to swirl around her head like a fancy headdress, and finally dissipate somewhere in the cluttered room. “You think that your books are going to make you smarter? Huh? Do you? Why do you mock me with that attitude of yours?” she accused with her tone penetrating my brain—my soul.

I couldn’t get her voice out of my head…

Sixteen

Wednesday 0130 hours

Katie was on her fourth cup of lukewarm coffee and it didn’t seem to make any difference to her energy levels or performance at one thirty in the morning. Her body acted as if it was moving through waves of sludge as her mind whirred through the few leads they had at the moment. She wasn’t getting anywhere. At least not anywhere fast.

“Okay, I finally got it. I had to wake a few people up to be able to search the right county database, but I’ve got it now,” said McGaven, sleep deprivation weighing heavy in his eyes.

Katie stood up straight and waited patiently for the list.

“There are six names of the last girls who resided at Elm Hill Mansion before it was permanently closed two years ago.”

Katie leaned over McGaven’s shoulder. “Remind me,” she said sleepily.