Page 98 of Last Girls Alive

“The alley?” Katie said, and moved quickly around the building where there was a narrow path with two large dumpsters. She stopped and studied them. Something didn’t seem right and her instincts spiked, almost feeling that they were being watched. Studying the side of the building, she saw a plain wooden door. “This is it.”

McGaven stood next to her. “I see it too. You must be great at jigsaw puzzles to see that.”

They moved cautiously to the door. It looked as if there weren’t any handle, hinges, or other hardware.

Katie glanced at McGaven. “Here goes,” she said, and knocked three times.

They waited.

To their surprise, the door slid left and disappeared into the wall. No one was there and there weren’t any further instructions.

Katie stepped forward as McGaven put his hand on her arm. “Wait.”

She did as instructed, the hair prickling on her neck. “What do you want to do?” she whispered.

McGaven stepped forward first, keeping Katie back. He ran his hands up the side of the opening and across the top, double checking everything and then moving forward with caution.

Katie followed, alert. It wouldn’t be the first time that unsuspecting and unprepared police officers walked into a trap. Once inside, the door closed behind them and they were left in darkness.

“Mr. Holmes,” said Katie, a little nervously. “Are you here?”

The light went on and the place lit up like a carnival ride. They were in a large room filled with furniture and fixtures, art and rugs from the 1800s, but arranged like a set on a stage. Katie looked around; there were no windows but lights and lamps had been placed all around to bring the room to life. She seemed to recollect something in the news a while back about this bookstore, but at the time, it didn’t mean much to her.

“Detectives!” came a voice with a slight British accent. “The game is afoot.” He laughed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” A tall thin man with dark hair, goatee, and smoking a cigarette, entered the room wearing a long vintage burgundy coat with silk pants and some type of slippers.

“Mr. Holmes,” said Katie. She felt silly saying that out loud in the surroundings, but it was his real name.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven.”

“Pleased to meet you both. I have to say when I received a call from Deputy McGaven I was quite intrigued.” Noticing Katie and McGaven’s response to the place, he said, gesturing to the lavish setting, “Oh please, this is all for show, the public loves it.”

“Mr. Holmes, we understand that you have the set of books entitled ‘Hunter-Gatherer’ from the 1940s.”

“Yes.”

“What is the name of the author?”

“Why, Ray Roland, of course.”

“I see,” said Katie, stunned that the author’s name was Ray. “The existence of these books has come to our attention as part of an ongoing murder investigation and we were hoping to take a look at your copies.”

“Well, you’re very lucky. I would imagine it would be very difficult, if not impossible to find them. There were printed by a very small vanity press, and only 200 copies were ever published. Most likely many of the sets were probably lost or damaged.”

“And you have a set?” said McGaven.

“Yes, and in fairly good condition.”

“What’s so special about these books?”

“Well, they are written about the journey of the main character, Izzie, and everything he encountered from his perspective. It’s part fantasy, part reality, and part the struggles of growing up, I believe. Basically, a story about a child living a terrible life in a family that doesn’t love him, so he creates a life that’s pure fantasy—in his own mind.”

Katie thought about it and how it related to the killer profile on her murder board.

“Detective, I can see this is troubling for you,” Holmes said.

“Yes, it is,” she said slowly, thinking about all the links with the name Ray, the title of the book, and being an unhappy child.