Page 87 of Pretty Broken Dolls

“No,” he said.

“What do we have for her? Place of residence, family?”

He searched through their accessible police databases. “I have an address: 1616 12th Street, apartment 21.”

“Is there a person listed as an emergency number or next of kin? I’m assuming it was her mother?”

McGaven’s fingers pounded at the computer keyboard at an impressive speed. “Yep, looks like Dorothy Winchell, her mom.”

“Any other family you can find?”

“No. Wait—there’s a Cynthia Winchell, but it shows she died three years ago.”

“And how’s that list coming for the fairgrounds?”

“It’s going to take a while, searching my parameters. I have one list that’s more broad in particulars and another that’s very specific.”

Katie grabbed her notebook and jacket. “While the computer is crunching that list, let’s go check out her apartment.”

“Road trip.”

“Are you going to say that every time?” She smiled.

“When we get to go to places of interest and help to solve a murder. Then yeah, I’m going to say ‘road trip.’”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Wednesday 1310 hours

Katie drove with purpose and hit the accelerator a little too much. She felt they finally had some new information that would lead them closer to the killer. They needed to find out who Darla Winchell was and why she would be targeted by the same person that had targeted Jeanine Trenton. She speculated that they were connected through the army, but there had to be more to it.

“There’s something we’re missing,” she said.

McGaven was texting on his phone. “You say that every time, but we seem to find out the next clue when we’re supposed to find out the next clue.”

“Is that something from one of those TV shows?” She tried to keep her giggles to herself. “When it’s coming close to the end and everything wraps up nicely and even the killer confesses. Ta-da!”

“You’ve been in an exceptionally good mood today.”

“What do you mean?” She took the freeway heading downtown, accelerating and passing several cars.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Talk about anything but relationships. Just do me that one favor…”

“Okay, okay.”

Katie merged into traffic and the cars were slow-going. “Looks like we’ve hit rush hour.”

“Car accident.”

“No, it’s just too many cars causing congestion.”

“Accident.”

Katie maneuvered between vehicles, changing lanes as they headed up first and second streets. On the side of the road there was a four-door car broken down. A tow truck was finally making its move and was about to hook up the distressed vehicle.

“See.”