Find Me If You Dare (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 2) (20 page)

                     Chapter Fifty-Three

As I walked further into the room, I noticed more blood stains on the carpet, stains the size of small feet, almost as though they were walking towards me. Elizabeth must have stepped into the blood and tracked it onto the carpet as she fled. It was a bit eerie to see that personal reminder that she was here, almost as though I could still feel her presence.

I drew closer to the desk, noticing tiny fl
ecks of red splattered across the screen of a wide computer monitor, spreading over to the keyboard and dripping down through the keys. It was then that I saw it and froze in my tracks, breath held.

There it was, the symbol, written boldly on the surface of the desk. Written in blood.

There was no reason to leave it there. We had no doubt it was Elizabeth that had committed the assault. We didn’t need proof. It wasn’t her calling card. It was a symbol left to taunt us. It was her way of letting me know that she was a ghost, that she was untouchable. It was her way of saying that she was always one step ahead of us.

“Find me if you dare….”

Who was next? Was it really Robert Marshall, her biological father? How many more victims were on her killing list?

I glanced around the room, looking for any more signs or messages. She had left clues for me at other crime scenes, not all of them, but some.

“Have the drawers in the desk been checked?” I asked Logan.

“Let me find
out.” He was gone in an instant. He knew what I was thinking. He must have gone to check with the CSI team. He was back in just a few short moments with a member of the forensic team. “They say they’ve checked all the drawers in the desk. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

I turned my attention to the bookshelves. Martin Ross’ taste in books varied. There was everything from what looked to be original editions of several classics to some of the current best sellers. There were also psychology journals as well as multiple self-help books.

Pulling a few books out, I thumbed through the pages, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I looked along the tops of the books, seeing if there were any papers or notes sticking out of the pages.

Nothing. I
t could take weeks to thoroughly go through each of these books.

I ran a gloved hand along the shelves, checking to see
if there was anything out of place. I could find nothing but smooth, hard wood.

In frustration, I moved back to the desk and
stared at the symbol, smeared in blood, willing it to tell me something more. It was a gut feeling, an instinct that pulled at me, telling me I had to look deeper.

It took a moment to realize there was something different about the symbol, different than the other times I had seen it at other crime scenes. This time, it had a line drawn under it, almost a smear across the desk. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn it was pointing towards something.

I walked around the desk for a better view. I followed the line of blood. It seemed to be pointing right at the keyboard of the computer. Without touching anything on the desk, I leaned closer to get a better look. There was blood splatter across the black keyboard, so dark you could only see it when the light hit it and made it shiny. I couldn’t tell for certain, but were there fingerprints in the blood on the keyboard?

“Was the computer checked?” I asked, looking up at the young woman from the CSI team.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, dark hair pulled up in an untidy knot, black-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She had an itemized list of what they had searched in the house so far. She ran through the list then answered.

“We’ve taken fingerprints from the surface of the desk and blood samples
.”

“What about the keyboard?” I pressed. Logan was at my sid
e in a heartbeat, leaning as close as I had to see what I thought might be fingerprints.

She checked her list again.

“No,” was her hesitant reply.

“Did you check the computer, I mean actually turn it on and see if there was any kind of recent activity?”

She blushed a bit at my words, realizing I was right, the computer should have been checked more thoroughly.

“It was turned off when we arrived,” she defended, “we didn’t think it was significant.”

“Let’s bag it and tag it.”  Director Phillips was at the doorway to the study. It was the first I had seen of him since I had arrived at the scene. His no-nonsense approach was comforting. “This could be important.”

“Wait,” it was Madeline’s turn to speak. I noticed that she was excellent at keeping silent and unobtrusive, paying attention and observing closely until she had something important to say. “We’re running out of time. I think we should check it out now, at least a brief glance. We can have it taken back to the bureau’s lab later for a more comprehensive diagnosis.”

Logan knelt down to where the hard drive sat on small shelf under the desk. His gloved finger hovered over the power button. He looked up at the Director for his decision. Phillips let out a reluctant sign and gave him a nod.

After pushing the button,
Logan straightened up and stood next to Madeline and me as we watched the monitor blink and come to life. The logo for the operating system flashed across the screen as we all held our breath. The log in came up then a request for a password. It felt as though we all let out our breath at the same time.

“Now what do we do?” I asked no one in particular.

Madeline had her cell phone out in an instant.

“Now we call the hospital and see if Martin is awake,” she answered briskly. “And if he’s not, we have them wake him up.”

                    
Chapter Fifty-Four

“He can’t think of anything more original than his ex-wife’s name and their anniversary date?” It was Madeline’s comment as she pushed the button on her cell phone to end the call. “It’s ‘Marykate0615’. He also confirmed that Elizabeth had him log onto the computer. He didn’t see what she did once he was logged on.”

I stood next to Logan as he carefully typed in the password with his gloved fingers.

“Sir?” There was a federal agent standing in the doorway to the office addressing Director Phillips. He looked as though he had just served a stint with the military. His hair was cut in a sharp, high and tight and he stood almost at attention before the director. He had a Bluetooth device attached to one ear.

“Yes?” The director
was halfway across the room to look at the computer monitor when he stopped.

“We may have a hit on the Range Rover. They’re running the license plates right now.”

Everyone’s attention was immediately diverted.

“Where did they find it?” Logan asked.

“Just a moment, they’re just calling it in.” He turned to the side and spoke into the device. He exchanged a few words then turned back to us. “It’s a match. A shopping center called Farmington Crossing.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Director Phillips asked Logan.

“Yes, we passed it on our way here. You might remember it. Just off the freeway, to the west. You can see it easily.” Logan answered.

“Easy access on and off the freeway.” I guessed.

“Was the suspect in the vehicle?” Phillips asked the agent.

My stomach clenched, waiting for the answer. I hoped the answer was yes. I prayed this nightmare was finally over.

“Negative.” Was the brief reply.

“Have the
m set up a perimeter around the entire area. Have them interview any witnesses. Someone must have seen her.” The director almost barked out the orders. I thought the frustration and fatigue were starting to get to all of us.

“See if
there are any other vehicles reported missing in the area.” It was Logan’s comment and I thought it made sense. If she was going to abandon one car, she was going to need another. “Even a carjacking or a robbery.”

The agent was talking back into his Bluetooth, relaying the
directions given to him.

I pictured Farmington Crossing in my mind. I passed it every time I travelled south on I-15. It was one of the newer shopping centers in the area and growing quickly. It had several major store chains as well as a large grocery store and a multiplex movie theater. There were dine-in restaurants as well as fast food and it was also a major hub for the Frontrunner, the commuter train that ran along much of the length of the Wasatch Front corridor. The large parking lots there were an ideal place to abandon a vehicle.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.” Phillips looked across at me, making the effort to wipe the grim look from his face. “Maybe she’ll still be in the area.”

There was something about this, something that was
nagging at me. Something seemed… well… off.

I looked over at Logan. He knew the area. He understood where different landmarks were in the state.

“I don’t understand, it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?” Madeline asked.

“I thought she was heading for New Mexico. I thought she was going after her biological father. She should be heading south. But Farmington is north of here. Why would she be going north?”

I leaned over against the desk, careful not to touch any blood. I accidently touched the chord of the mouse, bringing my attention back to the computer.

“Anything?” I asked as I turned to the monitor.

Logan and I both
focused on the blood-speckled screen. It took me a moment to get my bearings and try to understand what I was seeing on the full-color screen.

It was a picture. Or at least I thought it was.
At first it just seemed to be several squares and shapes. The colors were indistinct and basic. I had to step back a bit from the monitor to realize that the squares and circles were a birds-eye view of houses and trees. We were looking at a satellite view of a typical neighborhood. We were looking at Google Earth.

The rectangle roofs of the homes and fenced-in yards almost all looked the same
from this angle. You could barely make out a shed in a backyard or a trampoline that occasionally distinguished one property from the next. The angles and shapes could be deceptive from this view. A small dot from an aerial view could be a forty foot pine tree.

There was also no way of knowing how recent this footage was. It could have been taken last winter or last week.

Why had she left this?

I reached for the mouse, trying to see if I could change angles or anything.

“Caitlyn?” Logan said my name in a low tone. I couldn’t tell if he was being cautious or worried.

Slowly, I gradually zoomed out of the picture. I had to know more, but I didn’t want to
lose the object it was focused on. Little by little the view went higher. The homes blurred into streets then roads, fields and parks. I searched for any landmarks that might be recognizable, a school or public building. I tried to look for highways or large bodies of water. Anything to give me a point of reference.

It wasn’t until I zoomed out just a bit more that I saw the name for the area I was looking at.

Riverview. I recognized the elementary school. I knew the neighborhood. The home I had first been looking at had been my parents’.