The Only Girl Left Alive: The McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Series: Book Three Read online

  The Only Girl Left Alive

  The McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Series: Book Three

  Susan Lund

  Copyright © 2019 by Susan Lund

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The old man had no damn idea.

  There he was, a cop his entire life, and he was sitting across from the biggest case he and his tiny Washington State police department had ever seen.

  Chief Joe sat there stuffing his face with his double cheeseburger and never had a clue that the man he wanted, the man he and his gang of useless drones were looking for, was sitting right in front of him, gathering intelligence and planning his next kill.

  No damn clue.

  "You sure love those onion rings," Eugene said as his adopted father shoved another one into his mouth. Grease had pooled in the corners of the old man's mouth, and some juice dripped down his fingers from the burger. Eugene had to suppress a shudder of disgust. The old man really was a pig, when you got right down to it.

  "That I do, but don't tell your mother," his father said. "She's trying to get me to lose weight eating a bunch of leaves and twigs. Beet juice. Can you believe it? She's got me drinking beet juice. Sick to darn death of lettuce and carrots."

  "You need a good burger now and then, or what is life worth?"

  "My thoughts exactly," his father said. "You gotta enjoy your life or you might as well just swallow the barrel of your gun."

  "But she's just looking out for you," Eugene said, wanting to defend his mother so he appeared to be a good son.

  "I know," his father said before stuffing another greasy onion ring into his face. He grabbed the chocolate shake and took a sip. "She says she wants me around for a long time. Who am I to argue? But now and then a good cheeseburger is just what the doctor ordered."

  "It is," Eugene replied.

  One of the old man's detectives knocked and opened the door, sticking his head in.

  "Oh, sorry," he said, catching Eugene's eye. "I didn't know Eugene was still here. I'll come back."

  It was Lou Reynolds, the youngest of the force's detectives. Not as dumb as the rest.

  "What you got?" his father said, putting his milkshake down. "Something I need to see?"

  "Just the report from Seattle."

  "Good, good," his father said and motioned for Detective Reynolds to come inside.

  Reynolds did, holding out a file folder. "It has some lab results on the blood found at the Hammond place."

  "That's what we've been waiting for," the old man said, wiping his hands and taking the folder. "Thanks."

  Reynolds left the room. Eugene continued eating his own onion rings, watching while his father opened the file and read through the results. The old man nodded in interest and made a face of shock, his mouth turning down.

  "What's up?" Eugene asked, hoping the old man would let some info slip, as he often did.

  Chief Joe closed the file and dug back into his burger. "Just some lab results. Seems there's blood stains that match the profile of a missing girl in Spokane fifteen years ago. This is beginning to look like a really big case. More missing girls around the state."

  "Oh, God," Eugene said with just the right amount of horror. "You seriously think John was a serial killer? I mean, John? I would never have suspected him."

  "Him or Garth," his father said. "Maybe Daryl. Both John and Daryl had routes that took them up to Spokane a while back. They both know the territory."

  "You think one of them killed girls in Spokane?"

  "Why else would there be bloodstains from a missing Spokane girl on John’s property?"

  "I guess," Eugene said. "I never thought of him as anything but an uncle. And Daryl? You think he could be a killer? I always thought he was a creep but a killer? Thank God you and Mom took me in."

  "Yeah, thank God is right. Just goes to prove you can't pick your relatives. You know we found some of Melissa's clothes in John's yard, plus there's all that porn we found in the old service station bays. We know Daryl was involved in some of that."

  "Yeah, but I thought he and Daryl were just pornographers, not killers."

  "They were probably both involved in the disappearance of a girl back when we were all teenagers."

  "Janine, right? The first girl who went missing from Paradise Hill?"

  "Yes. She was a runaway, lived on the streets for a while. Jar of her ashes was found in Ron McClintock's attic, but in boxes that came from John's storage shed."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot about those ashes. Jesus… Your guys must be overrun with all the evidence."

  "We are, but the Feds are helping."

  Of course, Eugene already knew all the facts of the Janine Marshall case from previous sessions with his loose-lipped father over a burger or ice cream. He played dumb so that his father thought it had all just slipped Eugene's mind because he wasn't all that interested in gory details.

  He was precisely interested in all the gory details. What he loved was listening to the old man talk about the evidence and how it all seemed to point to John Hammond and Daryl Kincaid. They had both been into pornography, as Eugene knew all too well, but neither of them had been responsible for any of the kills, except Patrice. The rest were all Eugene's.

  All of them.

  But it served his purpose to deflect attention from himself onto other suspects until he had enough kills to hit the history – until he could be sure his case would be taught at the FBI Academy to new recruits. He wanted profilers to use him as a dark reminder that humans were capable of murder on a scale that sent shivers down their spine.

  Eugene had been picking younger and younger victims, hoping to really cause affront to the law enforcement officials who had to clean up after him. Exact age didn't matter to him, as long as they were pre-pubescent. Around ten years old was perfect, but he could go slightly younger or older and still be happy.

  He'd made a study of himself and understood the origin of his perversion. It was with good old Uncle John Hammond and dear old perverted Dad, Daryl Kincaid.

  He'd wanted to make both men pay with public humiliation and potentially jail time for all the world to see. Then John had gone and offed himself and his son, t
aking the fun out of it.

  Still, John and Daryl would take the rap for him, at least until Eugene had made them all pay, one by one.

  John was taken care of.

  Eugene had been working on tying Good Old Dad Daryl to the kills; he was just waiting for the police to get their acts together and charge him with a couple of cases from around Spokane.

  The news about the blood stains from the missing girl in Spokane was good. They were on the right track, and soon, the next domino to fall would be Good Old Dad.

  He’d be in jail for the rest of his natural life, but if things worked out just right, he’d get the big needle.

  "So, the missing girl’s from Spokane?" Eugene asked, hoping to dig out some more info from his father. "Do you suppose it's another girl on the truck route?"

  "Looks like it," Chief Joe said. "Both John and Daryl drove the route up to Spokane and across to Helena, Montana and then back to Spokane, down to Kennewick, servicing the small towns on Highway 12. John worked for his father until Daryl went to prison."

  "Do you suppose he and Daryl worked together on the kills? Killing cousins?"

  "Kincaid had a cabin in Idaho up on Lake Hayden before he went to jail," the old man said, frowning.

  "You mean the cabin he took me to when I was a kid?" Eugene asked, though he already knew the answer. "I wonder what happened to it when he went to jail."

  "That's right." His frown deepened. "Inherited it from his uncle. I remember it now. Daryl's apartment was cleaned out when he went to Coyote Ridge," he replied. "He must have taken you to the cabin before you came to live with us. We didn't let him take you there afterwards."

  "Yeah, it was before."

  Before Eugene had been taken away from his drug addict of a mother and son of a bitch of a father. Not soon enough, but better late than never.

  If Eugene had his way, the rotten bastard would be put down like the rabid dog that he was.

  "We never looked at that place before he went to jail. We checked his apartment in town—found some drugs and guns and stolen items from his recent crime sprees—but no, I don't think we thought about the cabin at the time."

  I'll have someone run up to Lake Hayden and check out the cabin, now that I think about it.”

  Eugene nodded and watched as the old man finished his burger and wiped his mouth and chin.

  "That was good," he said and pushed himself away from the desk. "Nothing like a burger from Frank's.”

  Eugene leaned back, smiling to himself, glad that their little chat had been even more productive than he hoped. If they nosed around the cabin, they might find some even more exciting evidence. With the ensuing commotion about finding evidence of several other murders, the news would be plastered with stories of Daryl Kincaid and John Hammond—the serial killer cousins.

  What could Daryl say? Deny that the bones and trophies were his? Who'd believe him? He had the opportunity and had been in the areas when the girls went missing. His links to John Hammond, who was implicated in several murdered girls, made him look guilty as hell.

  Eugene could have laughed with glee at the expression on the chief's face. He could almost see the wheels turning in his father's mind as he figured out what he had to do.

  The old man grabbed his phone. "Get me Special Agent Nash," he told his assistant. Seeing that his father was going to start working again, Eugene started to clean up the leftovers and wrappers from their lunch. His father gave him a nod and covered the phone receiver.

  "I need to call Nash and get him to send someone up to Lake Hayden to check out Daryl's cabin. We may need to make a visit to Coyote Ridge and interview Daryl about his whereabouts on the night the girl went missing."

  "I'll leave you to it," he said put all the wrappings in the take-out bag before slipping on his baseball cap. "Give Mom my love. I'll see you both on Saturday for lunch."

  The old man nodded. He was already speaking into the phone, not caring that Eugene was still there.

  "Yeah, I wanted to ask if you could send someone up to Lake Hayden to check out a cabin Daryl Kincaid owns. It's on the route from Spokane to Helena. See if there's any evidence of interest up there. I'll speak to my counterparts in Kootenai County and see if they can get a search warrant. Some of our forensic people should come along just in case we find anything interesting."

  Eugene smiled as he went to the door and opened it. He turned back and tipped his cap to his father.

  See you Saturday, he mouthed.

  His father smiled and waved at Eugene.

  On his way out of the station, Eugene passed Doreen, one of the women who worked in admin.

  "Hey, Doreen," he said, with a slow drawl. He pointed to her, his hand forming a mock gun. "What's up?" He clicked the imaginary trigger and gave her a wink, making a clicking sound with his tongue.

  "Hey, Eugene," she replied and gave him her best smile, a hand reaching up to smooth her hair. "Will we see you at Riley's on Friday?"

  "I hope so," he said, although he had no interest in the woman, who was far too old for his tastes. Still, she'd be good cover, in case anyone wondered why he was still single after he and Kirsten split.

  "I hope so, too," she said with an attempt at an alluring smile.

  The bitch actually thought he was flirting. Of course, she did, simple-minded whore that she was. Instead, he was imagining blowing her brains out with the nice new Sig Sauer he'd seen at a local gun show. He backed out of the office and gave her a big smile, which seemed to please her. He pointed both hands at her, miming having two guns in his hands, as if to say I want you, but what he really wanted to do was point his weapons at her eye socket and scramble her brains.

  Women. Bitches, all of them.

  Especially his good for nothing mother, who had died with a needle still in her arm. They were animals who belonged in a slaughterhouse. Cattle. Meat suits, good only to be born, consume, and die.

  They could all go to hell, for all he cared. One day, they'd know the truth.

  Until that day, he'd have his fun with them.

  Chapter Two

  The police were wrapping up their work at her father's house, so Tess was finally seeing a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

  There were still a couple of white-suited techs finishing up in the attic, but they promised they'd be finished at the end of the day, barring any unforeseen discoveries.

  Tess sighed and continued to cart boxes of newly sorted junk out of the house and into the carport, where the people from the mission downtown would come to haul it away. The cleaners had moved on to another job, so Tess was on her own, finishing up what they had started. While the evidence techs worked up in the attic, she finished cleaning the living room. The place was starting to shape up and soon, once the junk was all hauled away, she'd be able to start painting the interior. The floors were hardwood and needed to be sanded and refinished. Michael had promised to take care of that once the cleaning team had finished, but he wasn't recovered enough from his injury so he would simply hire professionals and oversee the job. After that, there were some repairs to the shingles on the roof, as well as some late autumn landscaping to take care of.

  Finally, if all went according to plan, she could list the house with Phil, although she had little hope that anyone would actually buy the place. She could try to rent it out, if it came to that, but that was for the future. Right now, the most pressing issue facing Tess was whether to spend money on new appliances or make do with the ones already there. They were old but still functional. It was a tough decision.

  She had another couple of weeks in Paradise Hill, waiting for the FBI and local police to wrap up the Melissa and Zoe and Patrice cases. It was looking more and more to Tess that Lisa's disappearance had to be linked to the others, and that thought gave her a sense of doom. She’d always had a faint shred of hope that Lisa was alive and living somewhere else, under a new name, with parents who’d kidnapped her or something, like other cases of abduction she'd studied. It was ju
st a faint hope, though, and given the other cases, she knew that Lisa was probably dead, her bones or ashes somewhere waiting to be found.

  Tess heard some banging from the attic and stopped her scrubbing on the sink where she was trying to get the rust off around the drain. The banging kept going; it sounded like the evidence techs were dismantling the walls.

  One of the men came down, removing his protective mask. He spoke into his cell, and Tess overheard part of his conversation.

  "…found something of interest. You might want to get someone over here. Bring the photographer."

  The man stopped and removed the rest of his gear in the carport, and grabbed a bottle of water from the workbench, taking a long drink.

  Tess opened the side door and stood in the doorway, watching him. It was Frank Brooks, one of the techs from Seattle.

  "What's up, Frank?" she asked.

  "Off the record?"

  Tess nodded. "Off the record, of course."

  "Given it's your dad's house, I'll tell you. We found some bones."

  "What?" A shock coursed through her, making her heart rate increase. "Bones?"

  "Yep. Walled up in the rafters behind some particle board. I noticed the screws had been removed and were stripped, suggesting the board had been removed and replaced several times. From the looks of the bones, they're from a child."

  A sinking feeling overtook Tess. Could the bones be Lisa? How would they have gotten into her father's attic?

  "Oh, God. I thought we were almost all through with this."

  "Afraid not. Going to have to open up the entire ceiling in the attic, see what else is in there, if anything."