Last Girls Alive (Detective Katie Scott #4) - Jennifer Chase Page 0,79

keeping Katie back. He ran his hands up the side of the opening and across the top, double checking everything and then moving forward with caution.

Katie followed, alert. It wouldn’t be the first time that unsuspecting and unprepared police officers walked into a trap. Once inside, the door closed behind them and they were left in darkness.

“Mr. Holmes,” said Katie, a little nervously. “Are you here?”

The light went on and the place lit up like a carnival ride. They were in a large room filled with furniture and fixtures, art and rugs from the 1800s, but arranged like a set on a stage. Katie looked around; there were no windows but lights and lamps had been placed all around to bring the room to life. She seemed to recollect something in the news a while back about this bookstore, but at the time, it didn’t mean much to her.

“Detectives!” came a voice with a slight British accent. “The game is afoot.” He laughed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” A tall thin man with dark hair, goatee, and smoking a cigarette, entered the room wearing a long vintage burgundy coat with silk pants and some type of slippers.

“Mr. Holmes,” said Katie. She felt silly saying that out loud in the surroundings, but it was his real name.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven.”

“Pleased to meet you both. I have to say when I received a call from Deputy McGaven I was quite intrigued.” Noticing Katie and McGaven’s response to the place, he said, gesturing to the lavish setting, “Oh please, this is all for show, the public loves it.”

“Mr. Holmes, we understand that you have the set of books entitled ‘Hunter-Gatherer’ from the 1940s.”

“Yes.”

“What is the name of the author?”

“Why, Ray Roland, of course.”

“I see,” said Katie, stunned that the author’s name was Ray. “The existence of these books has come to our attention as part of an ongoing murder investigation and we were hoping to take a look at your copies.”

“Well, you’re very lucky. I would imagine it would be very difficult, if not impossible to find them. There were printed by a very small vanity press, and only 200 copies were ever published. Most likely many of the sets were probably lost or damaged.”

“And you have a set?” said McGaven.

“Yes, and in fairly good condition.”

“What’s so special about these books?”

“Well, they are written about the journey of the main character, Izzie, and everything he encountered from his perspective. It’s part fantasy, part reality, and part the struggles of growing up, I believe. Basically, a story about a child living a terrible life in a family that doesn’t love him, so he creates a life that’s pure fantasy—in his own mind.”

Katie thought about it and how it related to the killer profile on her murder board.

“Detective, I can see this is troubling for you,” Holmes said.

“Yes, it is,” she said slowly, thinking about all the links with the name Ray, the title of the book, and being an unhappy child.

“Well,” he said. “Would you like to see them?”

“Yes, please.”

Holmes left Katie and McGaven alone.

“I’m sorry,” McGaven whispered.

“For what? We’re running down leads. This phrase or description means something to the killer—we need to find out why. There are too many links that makes sense. We’re on to something here.”

McGaven took a seat on the antique couch and frowned. “Not too comfortable.”

“My dear deputy, those weren’t made for comfort and not someone of your stature either…” He held a small box. “Here they are.” Setting them down on the coffee table, he pulled out the first volume in the six-book series. “Here you go.”

Katie took the book and was surprised that it was small and thin with a brown cover and gold lettering for the title and author—it was only forty pages long. It was more like a pamphlet or short story, she thought. The four-by-seven-inch book had yellowing pages, so she was careful handling it as she began to read. She flipped to the front where it said: Abacus Publishing 1942 copyright. It also said that the previous year 1941 it had been published in Italian. That made sense about the Italian writing. The killer was beginning to make more sense to her, and seemed to have a thing for the Italian language.

Holmes gave McGaven the second book to look at, which was the same size.

“Wow, it’s more like a journal,” McGaven stated as he thumbed through the book.

Katie skimmed pages and read paragraphs, gleaning life