The Disappearance of Katy Perkins

By Paula Erickson

At twenty-eight, Piper Quinn is a top notch detective for the Chicago Police Department. Her keen sense of perception, analytical nature, and natural intuition give her a razor sharp edge in the business. But her last case nearly burns her out. Chicago has a serial killer on the loose. Thirteen months on his trail, and seven dead children later, they finally catch the creep. She is sick to death of the whole ugly mess.

When word gets out that the Shorehaven Police Department is looking for a detective to fill in temporarily, she jumps at the chance. It seems like it was meant to be ... they need a detective and she needs a break from the big city. A sleepy little town with a mundane history suits her just fine.

But when Katy Perkins, a local teenager, disappears mysteriously during the annual Halloween Candlelight Hike, Shorehaven becomes anything but mundane. How did Katy disappear virtually into thin air, in the midst of a dozen people, without anyone noticing? One week later, Katy is found sitting in the town square, physically unharmed but in a catatonic state. Where was she for a week? What happened to cause her catatonia? Why was she returned? The case becomes more bizarre by the day.   

At the same time, Piper meets Tadhg McGee, best-selling author and all around great guy, and her world escalates into turbo mode.  Mr. Right has just walked into her life.

As Piper and her partner, Smitty, work to unravel Katy's mysterious disappearance, evidence of a possible conspiracy begins to emerge, leading them ultimately to the shocking truth behind the disappearance of Katy Perkins. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Erickson
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201052195

Paula Erickson

This is Paula Erickson's first novel. She lives with her husband, Jeff, and their two cats, Isabel and Gracie, in Wisconsin, and she is currently working on her second novel. .

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

OCTOBER 31, 2009 - HALLOWEEN DAY

Detective Piper Quinn glanced at Chicago’s skyline in her rear view mirror as she headed west on Interstate 90. A part of her was already missing it. Another part couldn’t get away fast enough. Her last case had nearly burned her out. Chicago had a serial killer on the loose ... a vicious pedophile. Thirteen months on his trail, and seven dead children later, they finally got the creep. The horrific pictures of the seven battered, bloodied, little bodies discarded like trash in a dumpster flashed once again across her mind, as they had incessantly for the past thirteen months. She was sick to death of the whole ugly mess. 

When word got out that the Shorehaven Police Department was looking for a detective to fill in temporarily until they could find a permanent replacement for one of their own, Piper jumped at the chance. It was a win-win for everyone; they needed a detective ... and she needed a break from the big city. A sleepy little town with a mundane history suited her just fine.

For as long as Piper could remember, she wanted to be a cop like her dad, and his dad before that. Some people inherit artistic DNA and are driven to create beautiful works of art or music. Others inherit the good old rocket science type of DNA, the kind that will send you to the moon and beyond. Then there’s the type of DNA that predisposes you to pursue one pathway over another. Whether from nature or nurture, or a little of both, the cop gene could be traced back through at least three generations of Quinns. 

At twenty-eight, she was a top notch investigator. Her keen sense of perception, analytical nature and natural intuition gave her a razor sharp edge in the business. Like her dad, she had a keen sense of knowing when something wasn’t quite right ... even if the evidence said otherwise. She would keep at it until it felt right, which usually meant solving a case ... one that might otherwise have gone cold. 

Being on the workaholic end of the spectrum, what social life she had consisted mainly of drinks and burgers at O’Grady’s after work with her fellow comrades. She dated occasionally when time permitted, and had more than her share of interested suitors, some of them nice prospects, but Mr. Right had yet to walk into her life.

She was already feeling a little homesick as she crossed the state line, but she was looking forward to the new experience ... and the breather wouldn’t hurt either. After two hours on the road, she pulled into the driveway of her new apartment at eleven twenty-five. Cagney and Lacey were sitting in the window waiting for her. She opened the front door, greeted by hungry meows and the smell of fresh paint. It took only a few days in her new apartment to realize she was lonely, so she decided to adopt a shelter pet. In her family, they always had dogs, but with her crazy schedule, she decided a cat would be a better fit. When she saw the two kittens at the shelter, she couldn’t resist taking both of them.  Besides, they could keep each other company when she was working. According to their records, someone’s purebred prize-winning Ragdoll somehow got together with the neighborhood tomcat, and the result was a litter of adorable kittens. The breeder couldn’t sell them without papers, so she dropped them off at the shelter for adoption. Her loss was Piper’s gain. They looked just like a typical Ragdoll with bright blue eyes and long silky coats, and just a hint of striping on their legs and tails. Piper guessed their dad must have been a tabby.

She checked her watch. She was supposed to be at the station at noon. It was chilly in the apartment; she turned up the thermostat and started a fresh pot of coffee.  After feeding the kittens, she filled her travel mug and was out the door by eleven forty-five. She stopped at the stoplight on Fourth and Michigan and watched as the steam escaped from its tiny opening in her mug. There was nothing like hot steaming coffee on a brisk morning. Growing up in a family of cops, coffee was just part of the normal routine. Even as a small child, she loved the aroma. She thought back to her first real cup. It was three days before her thirteenth birthday. She was supposed to wait until she was thirteen for her first cup, but she just couldn’t. It was early winter ... the first snow of the season. The coffee pot beeped done. Everyone was getting ready for work. She was alone in the kitchen. The coffee smelled so good. She poured a cup and walked outside in her robe and slippers to look at the freshly fallen snow. It was steaming in the brisk morning air. She took her first sip and closed her eyes for a moment to savor the mellow flavor. Is it everything you expected? Piper’s mother asked, smiling from the back door. Piper looked back at her and nodded with a guilty smile. It was one of her fondest memories. Three months later, her mother was killed when her car careened over a fifty foot embankment overlooking the shores of Lake Michigan.  Piper lost her best friend that day.

The police report listed her death as an accident. Her father knew in his gut that her death was no accident. It was cold-blooded murder. He had had put away a couple of nasty thugs connected to the mob a few months before. They said they would get even. But with their ironclad alibis, lack of eyewitnesses, and a fiery car crash without even a speck of usable evidence, the coroner ruled it an accidental death. There was no reason to suspect otherwise.

Her father had plenty of reason to suspect otherwise. Gut instinct aside, on the surface, the case was just a little too clean. But with a little further digging, some dirt began to emerge; sloppy police reports coincidentally lacking relevant information, or in some cases, reports missing altogether, more than a few key witnesses with sudden memory lapses, questionable crime scene photos with conveniently missing negatives and, of course, the irrefutable made-to-order alibis and testimonies too good to be true. He was being blocked at every turn. Clearly, someone in the department was on the take ... someone with very deep pockets. In spite of further investigation, the puzzle was still missing a few essential pieces and he was never able to prove his suspicions. Two years later, Deep Pockets made his fatal mistake, when he unwittingly supplied a few of the missing puzzle pieces, giving Detective Michael Quinn the dirt he needed to bury the killers. Deep Pockets turned state’s evidence and spilled his guts for total immunity and a new ID in the Witness Protection Program. If not for her father’s delving, the case would still be cold.

Every case is like a puzzle, her father would say. Each piece of evidence fits into the puzzle somewhere. Eventually, with enough pieces, a telling picture emerges.

The car in back of her honked. She turned onto Fourth Street toward the station. The Shorehaven police station was a one-story, cream-colored brick building with double glass doors and oversized windows. The parking lot was filled with leaves whirling in spirals in the gusty autumn breeze. She drove in and parked her car on the side of the building. A middle-aged man in a Crown Victoria pulled up next to her. They got out of their cars at the same time. 

I’m guessing you’re the new kid on the block, he said holding out his hand.

Piper Quinn, she said shaking his hand. Just a lucky guess?

Your reputation precedes you, he said smiling. I’m your new partner, Gottlieb Smithers ... but everyone calls me Smitty.

Nice to meet you, Smitty.

Well, let’s go in and get you settled. Piper followed Smitty through the double glass doors into a small vestibule and through another glass door into the station. "Attention everyone ... I would like you all to meet Detective Piper Quinn. This is her first day ... so let’s be especially nice.  Piper smiled and nodded. They all stood, as if temporarily dazed, staring at her. Close your mouths gentleman. Gawking doesn’t become you." They all laughed and apologized for staring. 

Piper was used to the gawkers. She was beautiful ... tall, slender and shapely, with long silky chestnut brown hair and a face like an angel. She could have had a lucrative career in modeling with her peaches and cream complexion, wide-spaced stark green eyes, and sensuous pouty smile. She had, in fact, been approached several times by agents just walking down the street when she was working the beat in Chicago. But it wasn’t for her. 

Smitty, Piper’s partner, was toward the other end of the spectrum. He looked like the average Joe ... medium height, medium weight, brown eyes and brown hair. Not good or bad looking, just sort of nondescript. The type of person that doesn’t generally get noticed ... and he liked it that way. It made it easier for him to do his job. 

Betty Turner, the dispatch officer, walked over to Piper’s desk and welcomed her with open arms. She was in her forties and happily married with three children. She had curly auburn hair pulled back in a bun, soft brown eyes, no makeup, and she was just a tad on the pudgy side. She had been the dispatch officer at the station for the last thirteen years and she loved it. She didn’t like working the beat. Office work was much safer. She wanted her children to grow up with a mother. Everybody at the station loved her.

Captain Isley walked to the front of the room and called for everyone’s attention. Okay guys, today being Halloween, I’m sure our usual pranksters and tricksters will be keeping us busy, so we’re all on call. And if anyone wants to hang around the station tonight, I’m buying dinner ... pizza from Giovanni’s with all the fixins. One of the guys said he had to take his kids trick-or-treating so he would have to beg off for dinner. The rest were more than happy to take Captain Isley up on his offer.

The phone rang. Betty ran to answer it. She couldn’t help but smile as she hung up the phone. Hey guys, somebody painted Walter Simmons prize bull orange last night. Looks like a great big pumpkin. He’s madder than a wet hen, she said laughing. The laughter caught on like a contagion. In a small town, everyone knows everyone, and Walter Simmons was no exception. He took top honors for being the town’s persnickety curmudgeon. 

Not even one o’clock and already it’s starting, Captain Isley said, trying to stifle his laughter. Well Smitty, whadaya say we let Detective Quinn get her feet wet on this one?

Smitty smiled. Will do captain. He grabbed his coat and waved for Piper to follow. She grabbed her coat and followed him out to his car. She opened the door to the 2008 Crown Victoria and sat down on the passenger side. Nice car.

He turned on the ignition. I love this car. Her name is Vic. She has almost a hundred thousand miles on her, but she still purrs like a kitten.

Not a Monday car then.

Smitty laughed. "That’s a fallacy you know. It was based on Arthur Hailey’s book Wheels, but its hogwash. The proof is in the pudding because Vic is a Monday car."

One good Monday car does not a fallacy break.

He smiled and gave her a sidelong glance. Are you always so skeptical? She winked and buckled her seatbelt. The leaves skittered across the hood of the car like a troupe of dancers performing on stage, crunching beneath Vic’s tires as Smitty backed out of his parking space. 

I’m guessing painted cows aren’t a big problem in Chicago.

She laughed. Not so much.

So how long are you on loan to us?

Until you find someone permanent to fill the position. She paused for a moment. What happened ... if you don’t mind my asking?

Smitty sighed. His name was Tom Landry. Nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. He would give the shirt off his back to anyone in need. He was killed in a thirteen car pile-up on I-43. It was a foggy morning. The freeway dips down at one point and the fog in the area gets as thick as pea soup. You get the picture. He died instantly. He left behind a wife and two sons. He was only fifty-seven years old and a very good friend.

I am so sorry Smitty. I didn’t know.

He sighed again. It’s okay.

Piper gazed out the window as they drove down Fourth Street to Highway G. It looked like typical small town America with tidy little houses all in a row. The entire neighborhood was decked out for the season in festive Halloween attire. Piper noted one house that had created a spooky cemetery in their front yard, with hundreds of gravestones, skeletons, ghosts, toothy jack-o-lanterns, arched black cats, and red-eyed ravens perched in trees, to name just a few ... complete with sound effects. She knew no one would believe it, so she snapped a picture as they drove by.

They do that every year, Smitty said. It usually merits a mention in the local rag.

As well it should, Piper replied. I can’t even imagine how long it takes to put that together. 

They drove down a long gravel drive to the Simmons farm. The driveway was lined with huge maples, the gusty wind greedily whisking away the last few remnants of leaves from the trees, sending them in a colorful death spiral to the ground, leaving mere skeletons in their wake. Hundreds of pine trees dotted the gently rolling landscape as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful property. The house was a typical two-story farm house with a Victorian flare, sporting fancy trim-work over the large porch and a charming screen door on the front with intricate scrolling in the corners and across the center. It looked freshly painted in white with barn-red shutters. The entire property was neat as a pin. Walter Simmons was clearly a perfectionist. He didn’t like people messing with his stuff. When they drove up, he walked out the screen door and let it slam behind him. Piper heard a woman, inside the house, scolding him irritably for slamming the door. He was wearing the typical farmer attire ... plaid flannel shirt, denim overalls, and a straw cowboy style hat. And Betty was right; he did, indeed, look madder than a wet hen.

Morning Walter, Smitty said extending his hand. This is Detective Quinn. Piper nodded. He tipped his hat.

Come on into the barn. Let me show you what they did to my bull, he said with frustration as they headed toward the barn. He opened the barn door revealing a wide center aisle with stalls on either side down the entire length of the barn. It was swept clean. Hay bales lay on the floor every ten feet or so alongside grain bins filled to the brim. He opened one of the stalls and walked the bull into the aisle. Piper couldn’t help but smile. Somebody had spray painted the bull completely orange, except for his head. His sizeable horns had been painted bright green. He looked like a great big double-stemmed pumpkin. Smitty did his best to refrain from laughing, but the harder he tried not to laugh, the worse it got, until he finally broke out laughing. The laughter became contagious, moving on to Piper, and even Walter couldn’t help but let out a few good belts.

"Look Detective Smithers ... this bull is entered into a competition next week and this paint does not wash off. I’ve tried everything. He needs to be shaved from head to toe. My entrance fee is paid and non-refundable, not to mention the likely loss of a blue ribbon and all that implies. My monetary loss could be significant. Whoever did this needs to be caught and made to pay the damages," he said with clear agitation. 

Nice looking bull underneath all that paint though, Smitty said smiling, trying to lighten the situation. What’s his name?

Walter smiled and shook his head. His name is Fred.

We’ll find out who did this to Fred and make them pay. I promise you. 

Alrighty then, he said, tipping his hat once again. Walter walked Pumpkin Fred back into his stall and treated him to an extra flake of hay before shutting the door.

A huge red rooster and a few chickens ran past as they exited the barn, roaming freely in the barnyard, clucking and pecking at niblets of corn scattered about. Piper was glad she bought cage-free eggs at the market. 

Assuming the pranksters were locals, they spent most of the afternoon checking out the neighboring farms and a few of the local hangouts. They finally came across the perps at The Game Shack, a local hangout for kids. They spotted three young boys sporting telltale orange fingers. Smitty walked up to them wearing a serious poker face. He pulled out his handcuffs and pulled his jacket to the side, revealing his gun. He had them scared shitless. They readily admitted to spray painting the bull and agreed to pay for any damages. After an official escort home to inform their parents, they were grounded for a month and forced to make a rather significant withdrawal from their savings accounts. Piper didn’t think they would be picking up a paint can anytime soon. Piper and Smitty stopped by the farm to inform Walter Simmons of the results of their investigation. He was more than agreeable to the compensation package. They saw Pumpkin Fred in the pasture grazing lazily. Piper snapped a picture with her phone ... her first case in Shorehaven. She sent a text to her dad; Hi dad, I’m sending a picture of Pumpkin Fred ... my first case in Shorehaven. LOL. Luv, Piper.

Piper and Smitty headed back to the station. Piper’s phone pinged. It was a text from her father. Hey Pippy, your email made our day down here at the station.  We made a copy of Pumpkin Fred with the caption, PIPER’S FIRST CASE IN SHOREHAVEN, and put it on the board. We’re still laughing our butts off ... not at you Pippy, but with you. We all miss you. Keep up the good work. Luv, dad.

Everything okay?

Yeah everything’s fine. I sent an email a few minutes ago to my dad with a picture of Pumpkin Fred. They’re all laughing their butts off at the station.

Smitty laughed. Pumpkin Fred, huh. That’s pretty good. 

Back at the station, Captain Isley got an A+ for his pizza party. Giovanni’s delivered a veritable feast ... fragrant tomato and basil salad with vinaigrette dressing, crispy garlic bread dripping with butter, three large deep-dish pizzas, two liters of soda, and jumbo chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Everyone was stuffed to the gills.

Captain Isley looked at his watch. Well guys, looks like Pumpkin Fred may be our only Halloween prank this year. Already after eight o-clock and all is quiet on the goblin front.

Three minutes later, at eight thirty-seven, the phone rang ...

CHAPTER TWO

OCTOBER 31, 2009 - HALLOWEEN NIGHT

The call came into the station at eight-thirty-seven. Betty Turner, the dispatch officer, picked it up on the second ring and transferred it to Captain Isley. She logged the call, feeling a little uneasy, and watched as he spoke to the caller, made a few notes and then hung up. She saw him sigh before he got up from his desk. She couldn’t decide whether it was a tired sigh or a worried sigh.

Hey Quinn, Smithers, we’ve got a 207 at Lime Quarry Park. Get over there and check it out. Talk to Sean McLeary. Tonight is the annual Halloween Candlelight Hike through the park. He’s the supervisor in charge of the whole thing. The placed is packed.

My three kids are there tonight for the Candlelight Hike, Betty said somewhat anxiously.

It’s probably just a prank, Piper said reassuringly. "It is Halloween after all. Tricks are just part of the fun."

Betty looked back at Captain Isley for his response. Surprisingly, he made no response, but he did appear somewhat bothered.  She decided it was a worried sigh. Her anxiety was edging toward fear. She tried to call her kids. There was no answer.

Piper and Smitty