Find Me If You Dare (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 2) (13 page)

                       Chapter Thirty-Four

The sun wasn’t quite peeking over the Wasatch Mountains as our plane ascended into the misty clouds. We were flying coach on a commercial airline this time. Logan and I sat together and Dr. Reynolds sat a few rows up from us. We had been fortunate to even get these three tickets on such short notice.

This flight was much different than our flight to Texas. We didn’t have the privacy of a chartered jet to discuss the situation we would be walking into. We also didn’t have the open communication with the FBI at the moment. Director Phillips had taken the jet when he had flown to Auburn, California and had now flown ahead to meet us at another location. Without his insight
and connections we weren’t certain what would be waiting for us when we landed.

I was still exhausted from my terrifying dream hours before and the mad scramble at three o’clock this morning to throw a travel bag together and head for the airport with Logan.

A part of me wanted to lean my head back against the seat of the airplane and try to get a bit more sleep before we landed, but another part of me was afraid of what I would encounter if I did. I still couldn’t quite shake the cold terror that had gripped me in that nightmare, the feeling of having this monster, this monster that I knew, chasing me, haunting me. Even now, goose bumps pricked my arms and my hands felt cold and clammy at the thought.

Logan reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
He always seemed to know how to comfort me, to be aware of when I needed comfort. Just that familiar touch helped chase away the demons that had been pursuing me for the last few hours.

Before I knew it, the plane began its descent. It was a relatively short flight of just a few hours.

I looked out the small window of the airplane and saw the lush green below. It was in stark contrast to the dry yellows and browns of Texas. The snow-capped Cascade Mountains were in the distance and the majestic Mt. Rainier was easy to see. As we circled around to land at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, or SeaTac, I could just catch a glimpse of the city of Seattle.

It was nicknamed the “Emerald City” for a reason. The frequent rain and mist in the area kept everything green and
verdant. I had been here on a family trip when I was younger and had instantly fallen in love with the city. It was bright and clean and there was so much to do here. Whether you liked city life or nature there was something for everyone.

As we disembarked and caught up with Dr. Reynolds, I was surprised to see a federal agent waiting for us right at the gate. Usually, with increased airport security, most people weren’t allowed near the gates without an airline ticket. I guess that a federal badge could get you in many places that were restricted to civilians.

Special Agent Moreno introduced herself to us and asked that we follow her to another area of the airport away from the baggage claim area. We had been instructed to only bring carry-on luggage to speed things up. She was tall with a conservative suit, low heels and a brisk walk. Dr. Reynolds worked hard to keep up the pace.

We followed her out a side door that read “Airport Personnel Only”, down a long, empty hallway then to another door with an armed security guard at the entrance. His badge
was from the Department of Homeland Security but he nodded and let us through when we each showed him our identification.

As we stepped out into the rare, bright morning sunlight, I could feel the humidity caressing my skin, causing my already curly hair to dampen and twist towards my face.

A dark gray SUV was waiting for us and took off as soon as we climbed in and fastened our seatbelts. Again, I sat between Logan and Madeline.

“I can’t believe we missed it,” Dr. Reynolds said in a quiet voice, “It’s my job to think outside the box. We should have expanded our search.
We should have thought on a broader scale.”

“Logically speaking, I think Director Phillips considered the closest locations first,” I could tell by Logan’s tone that he had really come to respect the FBI Field Director. “Alabama was geographically closer to Texas, which seemed the more obvious choice until Caitlyn received that phone call and they were able to trace it west to Juarez.
From there, it didn’t seem like much of a stretch for Elizabeth to continue heading west and go up into California. If she’s sticking to the major interstates and trucking routes as we suspect, Auburn, California would be the next choice on the list.”

“But what would take her all the way to Auburn Washington?” Madeline asked. Once again, both sets of eyes turned to me.

                    Chapter Thirty-Five

Auburn was one of many suburbs and small towns between Seattle and Tacoma, Washington. One of the things it was known for locally was a large shopping center that used to be called the Super Mall but was now called Outlet Collection Seattle. It was a thriving community yet still had a bit of that small town feel.

As we headed east on Interstate 405 then south on highway 167, I couldn’t help admiring the rolling green hills and the distant mountains in the background. It was a very picturesque landscape.

Agent Moreno explained that we wouldn’t have far to go and that Director Phillips would be waiting to brief us when we arrived. I wasn’t sure what to expect this time. We had been told next to nothing about the victim or the crime scene.

I was expecting to be taken to some remote, forested area or some deserted back road like the last time. I was instead surprised when we took an exit and starting driving towards a large
silver building with distinctive aqua blue siding and roof. It sat on the side of an expansive tract of land with a long oval race track in front. Large yellow lettering across the building spelled out “Emerald Downs”.

“A horse track?” I couldn’t help asking the question. This was one of the last places I would have thought to look for Lisbeth or one of her victims.

We drove up to the main entrance and I noticed that most of the area was closed off to the public while local and federal authorities were trying to keep the site secure. This didn’t stop a crowd of curious onlookers from forming or the ever present media from having their news vans and cameras on the ready.

Agent Moreno must have phoned the director and let him know that we were there because we had hardly stepped out of the SUV before he was striding across the grounds towards us.

“What do we know so far?” Logan asked after a brief greeting. I could tell he didn’t like being kept in the dark and was anxious to find out all that he could.

“Come this way,” Phillips motioned, pointing towards a set of matching buildings off to the left. We followed him towards what seemed to be the stables. We could hear the restless horses inside, whinnying at having all the strangers around. I expected to go to the front entrance of the building, but instead, we stopped at the side of the building where a small area was sectioned off by police tape.

“It was after the last race last night that the stable hands and the maintenance crew were cleaning up for the night
. One of them noticed this.”

I took a few steps closer then stopped in my tracks. There, on the light gray wall was the now familiar symbol written in blood.

It was about six inches tall, deliberately meant to be seen, to be found.

“Maintenance alerted security who in turn contacted the local police,” Phillips continued his explanation. “On the off chance I was wrong about California, I sent some information to the authorities here. They recognized the symbol right away and
immediately began a search of the premises. As you can see, though, there is a lot of ground to cover here, and it was in the middle of the night.”

I looked around at the large racing complex and grounds, understanding what a challenge the search must have been.

Director Phillips then led us away from the stables, past the main entrance and through the public parking area. Most of the parking lot was closed off by police tape and it looked as though the local and federal officers were still processing the few remaining vehicles in the lot. We then followed him across the access road to a line of trees and undergrowth.

A local CSI unit was still
examining the area that was sectioned off by more tape. The medical examiner’s van was parked nearby, waiting to take away the victim.

“It was a local K-9 unit that discovered the body,” Phillips continued as we neared the area.

The body was still at the scene and I braced myself for what I was about to see. Logan took my arm, hesitant to let me go any further. It was then that I heard the click of the stretcher and realized that the victim was already in a black body bag and was being lifted onto the stretcher for transport. Once Logan realized the same thing, he loosened his grip and walked closer with me.

The forensics team was taking samples in a small area near some weeds and bushes and other officers were combing the tree line looking for more clues.

“We think the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head,” I carefully walked around the area as Phillips continued, “we’ll know more after the autopsy. He was severely beaten to the point that we won’t be able to get an ID from his face. Any wallet or picture identification must have been taken. We’re running a scan on his fingerprints to see if we can get anything from them. We’re also going over any vehicles left in the parking lot to see if one might be his.”

I
noticed several dark areas on the ground that looked like still-drying blood. The damp ground and humidity seemed to be slowing the drying process.

I couldn’t help stopping as they loaded the body into the van and securely shut the doors. Within that black plastic
bag was a human, a real person. One that had been badly beaten to death by someone I knew. It wasn’t like a scary movie or a murder mystery. The man inside that bag had been alive only hours ago. Now, his life was over, a final act that could never be undone.

“Why a race track?” Madeline had been quiet most of the time but now spoke up. “Do you think is has any significance Caitlyn?”

I shook my head, confused.

“Nothing I can connect to any of the family members.”

“It could just be the victim,” Logan guessed. “He might have just been here enjoying a night at the races and that left him exposed.”

“Have there been any other clues?” I asked hopefully. She had left notes and other small signs for me before.

“Not that we’ve found so far,” Phillips answered, “but we’re still looking. Perhaps, once we get an ID on the suspect, we –“

“Hey, I think I have something here,” one of the local officers called from the dense brush about forty yards away where he had been searching.

We followed Director Phillips over to where the young officer stood. He held up two small scraps of paper in one gloved hand. The director took a closer look.

“Betting tickets from the racetrack,” he explained, “dated yesterday.
The name on the ticket is George Walker. Let’s run a check on that name.”