Last Girls Alive (Detective Katie Scott #4) - Jennifer Chase Page 0,70
and then went to the files, shuffling, sorting, and putting paperwork in the correct order. “You don’t want to hear about all that, I’m sure.”
Katie watched with mild amusement, wanting to get home. “It’s Monday for all of us.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Ah, here we go. I made copies of everything I could find about the Elm Hill Foster Home. There might be some pages missing, but I assure you everything you might need is there.” He handed Katie a stack of papers clipped with a large metal fastener.
Katie thumbed through them briefly just to make sure it was what McGaven had requested. There were reports, some handwritten, others typed, from the visits to the mansion. “It looks great, Mr. Weaver. You know, you didn’t have to drive here personally. You could have scanned them and emailed, or had them couriered.”
“Oh, but that’s so impersonal. I thought if you had any questions I could answer them for you in person. I apologize for taking this long,” he said, dropping paperwork from one of the files. It sprayed the eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheets across the floor.
“Here, let me help you,” said Katie not knowing what else to do.
“Thank you.”
They picked up all the pieces of paper and he returned them to the folder.
Katie thought about the house with the secret stairway entrance and said, “Actually, you could answer a couple of things for me.”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the mansion well?”
“I deal with many cases, but the Elm Hill Mansion definitely left a lasting impression.”
“What was your overall impression of the girls and Mrs. McDonald?”
“Every time I made an appointment, things were tidy and the girls were behaving. I knew it was a show, but I was never able to get what I needed for the reports. At that time, we weren’t allowed to do unannounced visits.”
“I see. What about the police reports?”
“Now that was different. Every time the police were dispatched, I had to come out and speak with everyone. It became almost routine, and seemed like every week, or every other week—like clockwork.”
“Did you notice anything that alerted you to abuse or psychological damage?”
“There was only one girl that I worried about, and tried to get Mrs. McDonald to get her to talk to a counselor.”
“Karen Beck?”
“Karen, no. I was talking about Candace… Candace Harlan.”
That assessment struck Katie as strange because of everything that she’d heard about her. “I thought that Candace was the strongest of the bunch, the one that the other girls looked up to?”
“Oh, that’s true. But what has probably been overlooked by others is that she was a troubled girl who suffered from dramatic changes in mood, grand highs and depressing lows. I suspected that she might be bipolar. I’ve seen many people who suffer the same.”
“Bipolar?” said Katie.
“That was one of my thoughts, but she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Me or anyone else. We couldn’t make her talk—she’d just go mute if we brought it up.”
“What about the other girls?”
“Mmmm,” he mumbled, thinking about it. “They were typical teenage girls with the added stresses of being in the foster care system. It’s not easy. There’s a lot of resentment, abandonment and anger issues that get thrown into the mix. Sometimes it’s difficult to separate everything to get to the main issue.”
“I see,” said Katie. “My partner and I will go over these reports and if there are any questions, we’ll call you.”
Jerry Weaver put the loose files back in his briefcase and then he made notes on what looked like a sign-in sheet. “Okay, then. It was nice meeting you, Detective.”
“Likewise.”
He picked up his jacket and briefcase and headed for the door.
“Dana,” she said, alerting her to let the social worker out. To Weaver, she said, “I have a hypothetical question.”
“Okay.”
“Do you think, in your opinion, that one of the five girls could be capable of murder?” Her words hung strangely in the air. Almost as if it were taboo to even ask such a question.
“Detective, I’ve been doing this a while. I’ve worked with the most passive to the most aggressive children that were capable of committing murder. But with these girls? I just don’t see it.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Weaver. I appreciate your time.”
Jerry nodded his goodbye and left.
Katie began to follow him out when she heard someone calling her name. Turning, she saw Undersheriff Dorothy Sullivan coming out the door. She tensed.