Find Me If You Dare (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 2) (27 page)

               
  Chapter Seventy-One

It took most of that day to arrange a small flight out of Las Cruces to Albuquerque. From there we were going to take a commercial flight to Chicago. Once there we would have to drive about three and a half hours to get to Dubuque, Iowa. We decided it would be best to fly to Chicago, stay the night there then drive on to Iowa tomorrow.

It would just be Madeline, Logan and me. Director Phillips would be staying behind in New Mexico. He was still convinced that Elizabeth had crossed the border. All available resources were still in the area, searching, hoping they could find her before any other lives were lost.

I didn’t have much to pack since we had made the trip here in such a hurry. My over-night bag was ready to go in just a few minutes. There wasn’t much to do while we were waiting for Madeline to make our travel arrangements.

Logan was monitoring the tip hotline, wanting to be available if any important information came from an eyewitness ca
lling in. So far, most of the calls were either crank calls or people genuinely seeing a female in a white truck but the driver was just a local resident. Anything even remotely viable was followed up on as quickly as possible. The local authorities seemed to be genuinely trying to make up for not taking the situation seriously enough before.

Phillips was coordinating the agents sent across the border, making certain they kept a low profile. They didn’t want to have any trouble with the Mexican government if at all possible.
They also didn’t want to start a panic if the residents there thought were was a serial killer in their mist.

There was little more for me to do than watch the news. It seemed as though the local media had been tipped off and were now starting to make a connection between
Robert Marshall’s murder and a string of other murders that had taken place recently in other states. They must have had a reporter on standby at the crime scene around the clock, filming footage for their almost non-stop newscasts.

One local station had also caught on to where the FBI was staying during the investigation.
Armed officers had to be kept at all the entrances of the hotel to keep the media away and we couldn’t even step out to get something to eat without a camera and microphones shoved into our face.

Madeline and I had decided to brave the reporters and try to walk across the street from the hotel to try a local Mexican
restaurant. Two different reporters followed us, asking us questions as we walked.

Were we here for the Elizabeth Marshall investigation? Was it true that Robert Marshall was her father? Did we believe that she killed him? Did we think she was responsible for the other killings that had taken place in Texas and Washington? Was she a serial killer?

I lost track of how many times we said: “No comment”. It still didn’t seem to faze the bulldog reporters, anxious for an exclusive.

“I really do think the term ‘serial killer’ is over-used these days,” Madeline commented once we were shown to our table and a young Hispanic girl took our drink order. The media didn’t seem to be hurting the local businesses. The small restaurant was filled to capacity.

We had a table next to a window facing the front of the restaurant with a clear view of the hotel across the street and the news vans filling the parking lot. After we placed our order we snacked on the chips and salsa.

“Is the term over-used or is there an increase in the number of serial killers?” I asked in return. The chips were still warm and the salsa had just enough heat.

“It’s a question we debate quite a bit among my other colleges at the bureau,” she took a sip of her ice tea and continued. “Are there more serial killers now because of the media hype? We turn them into national celebrities, their names become household names. They all have a middle name and the average citizen knows more about them than they do the people they elect into government. Are we feeding the hype? Are there those that become serial killers for the recognition it will give them? Because they want the celebrity?”

I thought about her words. They were good questions. I didn’t answer but asked one of my own.

“Or is the easy access to instant communication just giving more of a spotlight to crimes that few people would have known about a half a century ago?” I asked.

“Exactly.” She smiled at my insight as our plates of food were placed before us. “We’ve done extensive studies about the effects that constant violence in the media has had on society. There’s no question it’s had a drastic impact on the increased crime in
this country as well as other nations. It wasn’t that long ago that a crime would happen in a small town and it might never be heard about beyond the next town. Now, a tragic event happens on the other side of the planet and we know about it almost instantly. With all the attention and notoriety the media offers these days, there have been a number of serial killers that we believe have just killed for recognition.  We give them nicknames to feed the media, like ‘The Night Stalker’ or ‘The Boston Strangler’. But are we also feeding the ego of the killers?”

I could name several
right off the top of my head that I knew by their nicknames. She was right. Almost all were called by their first, middle and last names too.

“We’ve even had a few that were so caught up in the attention they were rece
iving that they started confessing to crimes they didn’t commit.” I remembered following a few stories in the news about serial killers that had made false confessions. “It seems like some sick contest to see who can have the highest body count.”

Her words struck me for a moment. I couldn’t help comparing every situation to the one I was in.
I thought back over the trail Elizabeth had led us on these past few months. I thought over what could have possibly been her agenda. Was she just like the others?

“You don’t think Elizabeth is like that, do you?” I asked, pausing in eating my enchilada. I didn’t want to think she could be that cold or have that little disregard for human life. As for the other members of the family, though, there was no telling. I had often wondered if there were creatures inside her that weren’t even human.

“No, I don’t think it’s about the numbers for Elizabeth,” Madeline answered with confidence. “She has purpose. She seems to have reasons for what she does. Even if she harms or kills someone that wasn’t a direct target, I think it’s just situational for her. She’s not above killing someone who gets in her way, but it’s a means to an end.”

I thought about Madeline’s words. It didn’t seem to make what Elizabeth was doing any better. Just because she was a killer with an agenda didn’t make her much different than one that chose their victims randomly.

In some ways, she was no different than the other serial killers that had made headlines and news stories. I could easily see in the future that there might be crime stories, documentaries, even movies made about her.
She was going to be notorious. Even more so because she was a woman, and female serial killers were so rare.

That was a place I really wasn’t ready to go to yet. The thought of that kind of overwhelming, constant media scrutiny was so intimidating to me. I could barely keep up with what we were going through now.

We were just finishing our meal and paying the check when I glanced out the window and happened to notice Logan coming out the hotel and fighting off reporters to try and cross the street in our direction. The look on his face seemed urgent. He was usually brisk and official when it came to dealing with reporters. Right now he looked downright annoyed.

As soon as I pointed it out to Madeline, we were nudging our way through the crowded restaurant and heading for the entrance as fast as we could. We met him on the sidewalk right as he had crossed the street. He was usually in good shape but he seemed out of breath and anxious. My entire body tensed in worry.

“What is it?” I almost demanded, grabbing onto his arm in concern.

“Truth or Consequences.” That brought me up short. What in the world was he talking about?

“Wasn’t that a game show in the seventies?” Madeline asked, equally confused.

“I think so,” he nodded then started leading us back across the street towards the hotel, “it’s also the name of a small town just north of here. They’ve just discovered a white
truck on fire up there.”

He le
d us back into the hotel and past the reporters at such a rapid pace I was almost out of breath myself. He paused and put an arm around me as soon as we were in the lobby. He was bracing me, I knew. But for what?

“There was a body inside, burnt beyond recognition. They think its Elizabeth.”

                  Chapter Seventy-Two

For a moment my entire body seemed to go numb. The breath felt as though it had been knocked out of my lungs by a sharp blow. I couldn’t move, couldn’t react at all. My head was spinning and there was a buzzing in my ears.

I looked at Logan with what must have been a blank stare. Some distant part of me registered that he was shaking me gently.

“Caitlyn?” His expression was worried, almost frantic. “Are you okay?”

How should I react? What this the time to cry? To break down? Was there a right way to react at this moment?
It was almost as though I stood there waiting, waiting to be told what to do, what to think, what to feel. The pain, the grief hadn’t hit me yet. All I could feel right then was shock. Shock and another feeling I didn’t dare acknowledge. Relief?

I finally felt Logan’s strong hands on my arms, shaking me again.
The concern in his eyes broke me out of my shocked state.

“Take us there.” Those were the only words I could get out. I had to go there. I had to see for myself that she was really gone.

Logan only nodded once then he and Madeline broke into a flurry of movement. I guess our flights to Albuquerque and Chicago were going to be postponed for now.

I didn’t remember much about the drive there. One stretch of dry rock and sand seemed to blend into another. The liquid wave of heat coming off the road made the highway seem wet, eternal, as though it went on forever.

Truth or Consequences was a small town about an hour north in Las Cruces along I-25. It was the type of dusty, desert place that you might miss if you blinked. We pulled off onto the main strip, the business loop of 1-25. Just a few blocks into town we took a turn off the strip onto a winding dirt road. Smoke could still be seen in the distance.

Director Phillips was already there. He had gone ahead as soon as the report had come in from the local sheriff. A fire truck was there, still spraying down the smoldering wreckage. An ambulance and a few paramedics stood by patiently, the look on their faces telling me the truth. There was no one left in that truck to try to save.

The once white truck was now yellowed and charred, the paint cracked and peeling from the heat of the flames.

“Don’t go out there, Caitlyn,” Logan warned me as soon as our car came to a stop.
He put a restraining hand on my arm. I hadn’t released my seatbelt yet. “You don’t need to see more than this.”

I thought about it for a moment.
A few yards away held …..what? The burnt remains of my one-time best friend? Did I really have the stomach for this?

“Yes, I do.” Somehow I found the strength I didn’t really knew I had. My seatbelt was undone and the car door opened before I knew it.

The smell hit me first. It was an involuntary reaction that made me cover my mouth and nose. It was the kind of smell that you never forgot, that never left you. The sharp odor of burnt flesh was enough to make me gag.

“Stay back!” I didn’t realize that I had begun walking towards the wreck until I heard the warning. I looked over to see Phillips hurrying towards me. “The gas tank blew not that long ago. There could still be some fuel left.”

He was right, I could still feel the heat radiating off the vehicle. I couldn’t help it, I had to try to look inside. Whatever it was, whatever it looked like, I had to see it, I had to know for myself. I moved around the perimeter the fire department had set, trying to see.

The windows of
the cab were now wet and smoke-stained. Water still leaked down from being sprayed with the fire hose. Gray plumes of smoke spiraled up from the scarred leather seats. Inside, in the driver’s seat, I could just barely make out a dark figure. It was little more than a shadow, just the blackened remains of a recently live human being.

I felt wetness on my face. I
t didn’t even register it was coming from my eyes. From the smell, the still acrid smoke, or the torment that was welling up within me, I didn’t know.

“Don’t Caitlyn.” It was Madeline that put her arms around me this time. She was surprisingly strong for such a tiny woman. She forcibly turned me away from the wreckage, back towards our car. “Don’t torture yourself. You don’t need to see any more. Leave the rest for the forensics.”

I allowed myself to be led back away from the burning mass. She kept a firm arm around me. I looked out across the barren, dry landscape. We were well away from the small town, out in an almost deserted area. I didn’t see the nearly cloudless blue sky. I didn’t see the red rock and sand or the loose tumbleweeds blown across the land by the parched wind.

The only thing I could see was the withered, charred remains in the darkened cab of the smoldering truck. She was gone.