Page 32 of Last Girls Alive

“I don’t see anything referring to more information other than allegations, but I’ll keep digging.”

Katie read over the report quickly. “Ah yes, the so-called she-beast, Mrs. Shelly McDonald. Since she’s in jail, I guess I know where I’m going tomorrow.”

McGaven pushed his chair back and stretched.

“Take off. You’re exhausted and I’m spinning my wheels here. We’ll start again early tomorrow morning, which is only a few hours from now, with fresh eyes and fresh coffee.”

“I need to get out of this chair more often.” He smiled, trying to suck in his waist.

“Well, you want to go to the women’s correctional facility or the county basement of archives tomorrow?”

“That’s a tough choice.”

“We’ll have a nice little chat with Mrs. McDonald first and see what she has to say about her time as manager at Elm Hills Mansion—and who she has been talking to.”

Seventeen

Wednesday 0945 hours

Katie turned off the freeway and headed toward the correctional facility just outside Sequoia County. She had tossed and turned the entire night with the faces of both dead girls swirling in her mind. Their bluish lips and glassy eyes kept taunting Katie, blaming her for not having the answers and warning her that the killer was smarter and more cunning than anyone she had ever dealt with before.

It wasn’t the first time that Katie had dreamt of the dead. When she had witnessed a soldier die on the battlefield in Afghanistan, her first experience of death, his dying words would forever be burned in her memories—both in the daytime and dreams.

Don’t leave me… I don’t want to die…

“Have you heard anything I said?” asked McGaven who had been reading Shelly McDonald’s rap sheet out loud to her. He looked disheveled, drinking an extra-large coffee from a Styrofoam cup, and balancing several files and reports on his lap.

“I’m sorry. Do you mind repeating it again?” she said.

“At least we have one thing in common.”

“I hope we have more than just one,” she countered.

“We both look like something the cat dragged in this morning.”

Katie laughed. How true. “Keep reading about Mrs. McDonald.”

“She’s no stranger to the criminal justice system. She seems to love helping herself to other people’s things; jewelry, clothes, phones, food, and here it says she walked out of a superstore with a DVD player.”

“Ambitious.”

“She’s managed to have a lot of her sentences reduced or dismissed.”

“Interesting. Do you have a photo?” Katie said.

McGaven shuffled through papers. “She’s forty-nine, five foot eight, blonde hair, blue eyes.” He turned her booking photo toward Katie.

“Ah, makes perfect sense now,” she said.

“What?”

“She’s pretty—about middle age—but pretty nonetheless. Probably used to getting what she wants. Wonder why she took the job overseeing those girls?”

McGaven shuffled more papers. “The longest job she’s had… was about two years. She moved a lot. Maybe this job was perfect; a place to live, fairly remote and she’s in charge. She only had six girls to look after.”

Katie turned the police sedan down a narrow road leading up to the facility. It was only just wide enough for one large bus to pass. The overall landscape changed drastically. The endless razor cyclone fencing a bold contrast to the gentle sweeping slopes and pine trees they’d just passed. The land around the prison was barren, as if they had landed on the moon or some uncharted territory.

“Here we are,” she said.