The Girl Who Cried Too Much: The McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Trilogy, #2

By Susan Lund

THREE COLD CASES CLOSED

With the closure of the oldest cold case in Paradise Hill, and the potential closure of two more, amateur sleuth and crime reporter Tess McClintock continues to work with FBI Special Agent Michael Carter. When doubts about the killer's identity arise, Tess and Michael to dig deeper into the cases, with help from members of The Missing - the internet sleuth group Tess belongs to. 

A KILLER ENJOYING THE MAYHEM

While they get closer to the truth, Tess and Michael also grow closer, and their budding romance complicating the investigation. The real killer continues to target Tess, toying with her and Michael while he plots his next move. 

NEW EVIDENCE POINTS TO A NEW SUSPECT

New evidence suggests another suspect may have been involved and police and FBI Agents rush to investigate, struggling to separate fact from fiction.

THE GIRL WHO CRIED TOO MUCH, the second book in the McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Trilogy, follows Tess and Michael as they fight to stop a ruthless killer before he strikes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. E. Lund
• Release date: Jan 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781988265513

Book preview

Chapter One

Six Months Earlier

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Taking a girl had never been so easy.

People might think that would make him happy, but they'd be wrong.

He lived for the challenge.

With parents working two jobs and leaving teenagers responsible for their younger siblings, his task was simple: wait for a time when they were all distracted, and then pick the girl off. Alone after dark, walking down what people thought were safe streets while those responsible were being irresponsible—even if only for fifteen minutes—the girl was vulnerable.

Little Melissa. Ten years old, long wavy brown hair. The face of an angel.

He knew the path she took from the park, having seen her and the other girls playing around a set of swings and a slide many times before during his nightly rides on his bike. He knew her family was going through a rough patch. He knew because his father talked about the local lockup frequently. Melissa’s mother was out all evening in Ellensburg, and that meant that the older sister, McKenna, was responsible for Melissa. But McKenna was only thirteen and not ready to be responsible for a ten-year-old—especially not when a serial killer was lurking in the shadows.

It was almost too easy. If it had been harder, he might have felt more of a rush.

He waited in the trees at the side of the woods, planning his approach. About three hundred feet to the north was his vehicle, parked and waiting for his return. In his hand, a leash; in the other, a photo of a cute puppy.

As she walked by, he stepped onto the deserted street in front of her, the leash in his hand.

Have you seen a little puppy named Fluffy? I let her off her leash and she ran ahead of me. Now I can't find her and I'm afraid she'll get run over. He held up the photo, as if that would lend credence to his lie and put on a very sad face. He watched as her expression changed from one of shock at his sudden appearance to concern when she thought of the poor little puppy getting hit by a car.

No, I haven't, she said, her voice a bit quivery from nerves as she examined the photo. There aren't many cars on this road, so she'll probably be okay, she said, trying to make him feel better. Even at such a young age, girls were taught to be helpful and agreeable.

He got within a foot of her, keeping his expression as sad as he could make it, and then, when he was close enough, he punched her in the head.

She dropped to the ground without so much as an oomph.

Despite the thick underbrush, it was easy to carry her through the woods to the pickup and lay her in back behind the front row of seats. He quickly applied a gag, stuffing some cotton into her mouth to stop her from making any significant noise. Then he zip-tied her wrists and ankles in case she woke up before they got to the cabin and threw a tarp over top of her.

He took a roundabout route to the remote location, a cabin he'd used several times in the past for fun and games. This one was the most remote and was the least likely to have any visitors because access to the cabin was by only one road, which was a dead end. That made it one of the best places during the off-season to stop by, do some drinking or smoke some pot, and whatever else he felt a need to do. He was always looking for a good remote location to take his kills. Gilroy's cabins would be as good a place as any.

He drove up to the last cabin on the road near the lake and switched off the engine, turning to glance behind the seat at his quarry. He pulled back the tarp and saw that Melissa had woken up during the trip but knew enough not to make any noise. She might have still been disoriented from being knocked unconscious. A nice goose egg was growing on the side of her head where he'd hit her. When she finally met his eyes, he saw fear. Terror. That almost made up for how easy it had been to take her.

She was afraid of what she didn't know, as she should be. She should have been a whole lot more afraid than she was, but she was too young to know how bad it could—and would—get.

She was looking in the eyes of the Reaper. He had decided to call himself that, knowing it would be catchy enough to become a permanent note of horror in people's voices when they spoke the name. He'd unleash the name when he thought the time was right.

The Reaper struck again. Did you hear that the Reaper took another child? A little girl, only eight years old…

He opened the passenger door, moved the seat forward, and grabbed her hair, dragging her roughly out of the vehicle and up to the cabin. He used his stolen key to open the door and pulled her inside. Cobwebs hung in every corner, and dust lay thick on the surfaces. Still, it served a purpose.

He'd been by earlier to prepare and everything was in place. Plastic sheeting to contain the mess. His usual implements. He glanced around, pleased that he had thought to bring out everything he could possibly need. Then he threw her down onto the rough wooden plank floor.

He had so many plans for her.

---

After he'd finished, he checked his watch. It was already noon and long after he should have gone to sleep so he'd be refreshed for the next day, but he'd been kept busy all night long. Nothing to be done about it. He was on an adrenaline high, a euphoria that filled him when he was working on a project. That would keep him awake until he'd done what he needed to cover his tracks.

He left the cabin and drove to his apartment in town, needing a shower before he met his parents for lunch at the local diner—their regular event. The boys were with Kirsten that weekend, so he was scot free to do what he wanted. He wanted to spend the entire weekend at the cabin, but he had to keep up appearances.

He'd taken the apartment after he and Kirsten had split up and had been living a bachelor's existence. Only recently had he learned of her affair with that idiot real estate agent, Phil Hammond. He'd seethed, wanting to lash out at her because of it, but knowing full well that it would mean the end of his plan to become the most prolific serial killer in the history of the Pacific Northwest. And there were many very prolific killers he was competing with for that status. Rogers. Ridgeway. Bundy. Pickton, Shearing and Olson up in British Columbia, Canada. They had some serious numbers under their belts, and he needed to up his game if he was going to win the battle and live on in infamy.

Then, just the previous day, he’d learned Kirsten was pregnant.

The fucking bitch…

She'd been banging Phil Hammond for months before they split and was four months pregnant.

That had sent him into a rage, and he'd driven out to the cabin and spent an hour trashing the place. He'd cut his hand and had to make up an excuse for it, claiming he'd hurt himself while loading crates into the back of the van.

That was just like him—good old Eugene, the hardest worker, always putting in extra time.

Take the rest of the week off, Old Man Hammond had said, patting Eugene on the back and pushing him out the door when he saw the bandaged hand. Someone else can pull their weight around here for a change. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Yeah, the other workers were slackers. Eugene kept his nose clean and went above and beyond.

All the better to fool the rest of the idiots he worked with and lived around. None of them suspected him of even harboring a bad thought, let alone being a serial killer. He couldn't wait to see their faces when he finally decided to turn himself in. Or do himself in. He wasn't sure which it would be, but he was going to make damn sure it wasn't one of the local dicks coming to arrest him.

Maybe one of the feds. Yeah, that would be epic enough. But nothing less, and not until he was good and ready for them.

Not until he either had the biggest count, or no longer got a thrill from it all.

---

His mother and father were waiting in the diner at their usual table by the window when he arrived.

He kissed his mother and slapped his father on the back, then took a seat across from them. A menu was laid out for him, but he already knew what he'd have. He had the same thing every Saturday. Hot hamburger sandwich with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. Gravy covering everything.

You look tired, his mother said, her face all concerned for his well-being. You been out of town again?

Yes, he said. I had a late delivery in Kennewick and stayed at the apartment. I never sleep well when I'm there, but I didn't want to risk driving home so late. My left rear tire was a bit low and I didn't want a blowout on the highway. Oh, I brought this for you from the antique store there. I saw it and knew right away you'd like it.

He pulled out a package of antique buttons he'd bought at a flea market in Kennewick a few weeks ago. Just more evidence to use for a cover story, in case anyone ever asked about his whereabouts on the night Melissa went missing.

Oh, you’re such a sweetheart, his mother said and took the package of buttons. She collected them, and he knew she'd tell all her friends at the bridge club she went to each Saturday night how wonderful a son he was to bring her such a thoughtful, such a meaningful gift. Spontaneously. No occasion—just Eugene being the sweet, lovable, thoughtful Eugene that he was.

It's a beautiful set, she said, and smiled as she examined the five buttons. Did you just get into town now?

I did, he said and closed his menu just as the waitress, Samantha, was coming to the table to take their orders.

Hi, Gene. Same as usual? she asked, giving him a flirtatious smile. Hot hamburger sandwich, extra gravy?

You have an excellent memory, he replied and tucked the menu into its holder, giving her a big smile in return. The usual, please, and thank you. Tell Martha it’s her gravy and your smile that keep me coming back.

You're too old for my tastes, but nice try, sweetheart.

She smiled, her cheeks flushing. I'll be happy to pass that on, she said and left the table, a little extra flounce in her step as she walked away, writing on her order pad. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, it would be good cover to find someone new to replace Kirsten, now that the bitch was never coming back.

Yeah… Samantha was a bit too old for his tastes, but also maybe a bit too young for everyone else, since she was just nineteen. It would piss off Kirsten to learn he had taken up with a nineteen-year-old, and that would be sweet revenge. Kirsten had picked that stuffed shirt Phil Hammond, a complete beta male, working away in his little real estate office, showing middle-aged couples where they could find a cheap house for their retirement.

He tried to push Kirsten from his mind. He had bigger fish to fry. Tastier fish.

He had to admit, when he was being truthful with himself—which he very often was—that learning she was pregnant had pushed him over the edge. He hadn't planned on taking anyone close to home again. Not after how close things had been with Zoe.

No, he'd sworn an oath to himself after Zoe that he'd never hunt near his lair again. He opened himself up to too many traps, too much evidence, too many chances for his alibis to fall apart or be contradicted by witnesses.

But he’d needed something to ease his anger, to slake his thirst for blood once he’d learned Kirsten was pregnant again, so many years after she decided to stop having babies and focus on her crafting. She'd also decided she didn't want to have sex with him very often, if ever, after a few of their sessions had ended with a failed erection on his part. Instead of divorce, they had silently agreed to stay together because of the kids.

Still, he'd never imagined her going out and finding a man. Knowing she had, and that she'd become pregnant, was too much of an affront to his manhood to go unchecked.

Melissa had been an interest for a while, ever since he had seen her playing in the sprinkler pad in the park the previous year. Ever since he learned that her mother worked nights and her father was a goddamned drunk.

He'd been thinking of Melissa for some time, imagining what he'd do and how he'd do it. He'd been good and hadn't taken anyone for several years, and the pressure was building up.

Taking Melissa had gone against his oath. It might have been his biggest mistake—a decision made because of anger instead of cold hard logic—but he was in it now and there was no going back.

You didn't answer, his mother said, her brows knit.

Sorry? He glanced up from his mashed potatoes, realizing she'd asked him something and he'd been too immersed in his thoughts of Melissa to listen. I was distracted.

I asked if you'd seen the boys recently, his mother said, her tone just the slightest bit irritated that he hadn't been listening. How are they doing? You know, now that Kirsten and Phil…

They’re handling it pretty well.

What about you? she said softly, pushing her food around on her plate. How are you handling it? It must have been hard to hear.

He shrugged. Our marriage broke down a while ago, and we were really just together to make sure the boys had an intact family for as long as possible. I didn't want to leave them fatherless, even if I was unhappy. Life isn’t just about my happiness.

She tilted her head to the side, smiling softly, and he knew he'd said the perfect words to assuage her fears.

Isn't that the truth, she said. It's just too bad Kirsten didn't think of that before she went running off with Phil Hammond.

His father cleared his throat meaningfully, and Eugene knew he disapproved of this discussion of Kirsten's pregnancy.

It's all right, he said, holding up his hand and wiping his mouth with his napkin. I'm not angry with Kirsten for anything. She wanted another child. This is her chance. The boys will have a little brother or sister, and that has to be a good thing, right?

Exactly what I was thinking, his mother said. "I just hope Phil treats them well and that she lets you remain their real father."

I'm sure he will, and I'm sure Kirsten will insist that I spend as much time with them as possible.

He gave her a smile and finished his hamburger sandwich, all the while imagining sticking his fork into Kirsten's left eye instead of the meat.

Are you seeing the boys this weekend? his mother asked.

Not this weekend. Next weekend. I was thinking of taking them for a hike in the mountains. Get them outside and doing something interesting.

His mother nodded and returned to her lunch.

Eugene glanced at his father, who seemed distracted. Usually quiet, he didn't even try to pretend he was interested in conversation. Eugene had a pretty good idea why. His father's mind would be elsewhere, in the police station with the case. Eugene didn't even let on he knew about Melissa's disappearance, even though it had already been broadcast on the local news.

You're quiet today, Father, he said. Something going on at the station?

Your father has a missing persons case he's dealing with, his mother said, turning to look at his father sadly. Little Melissa Foster went missing last night around nine. Walking home from the playground. The mother called it in just a couple of hours ago. Can you believe it? Everyone thought she might have been staying at a friend's place for the night, but no. She's just gone.

That's terrible, he said, putting on a horrified face. I hope they find her. What took them so long to report it?

The mom didn't know; she went right to bed after she came home from the bar, assuming both girls were in their beds, his mother said, her eyes wide. I'll just bet McKenna is feeling really bad that she let Melissa walk home alone and then just assumed that she'd gone to her friend's place. She turned to him, her eyes fierce. Just be thankful that you have boys. Lord knows I was only too glad to have you and no daughters, even if I could have had my own.

I was lucky to get you both, he said, glancing between them.

She smiled. I couldn't have asked for a better son.

Or I a better mother and father, he replied.

Eugene noted that his father barely even tried to give him a smile in acknowledgement. Old man was all upset that a girl had gone missing on his watch. Too fucking bad…

Nope. No one could have provided him with better cover than the Hammonds: the chief of police and the daughter of the former mayor. As their adopted son he was untouchable, especially given how hard he worked to keep up a totally clean and hardworking front.

He planned on driving back out to the cabin after dusk, after sleeping for a few hours at the apartment.

He had more work to do.

Chapter Two

Tess stood at the doorway to the living room and felt like running away.

Her father's house had already been a mess before the FBI forensic team had arrived to sort through all his possessions for evidence linked to the two deaths.

It was a disaster scene now.

The team members, dressed in white coveralls and wearing gloves, protective gear on their eyes and covering their heads, were going through every box and bin, examining each item, deciding whether to take it as evidence or let Tess take it to the dump or donate it as she had originally planned.

A fingerprint team was busy taking fingerprints on the major surfaces, doorknobs, cupboards, sink handles. Someone had the awful task of collecting carpet fibers, and several were working to catalog every possession that caught their interest.

It wasn't their fault they were undoing everything she had already done to tidy and clean the house. They had a job to do, but still—all that work for nothing.

Once they were finished, the cleaners would have to come back and finish their job. It would mean an even longer delay before Tess could return to Seattle and get on with her life.

She’d called Kate earlier in the day and given her the bad news. Luckily, Kate didn't object.

Use this time to do as much research as you can on the cases. This is great material for an in-depth investigative piece. Maybe we can do it in three parts—the history of the cases in Paradise Hill, the discovery of the bodies and new evidence, and finally, how the police wrap up the cases. There could be other parts, depending on what they find, but we'll plan on three parts for now. Look at this as a long-term project.

As long as you don't mind me staying in Paradise Hill, Tess said, exhaling in relief. I feel bad being here for so long.

Don't mention it. I'm sure you'll keep busy with the case. You said you had Special Agent Carter to help you understand what the police are finding. That's a plus. Tap into the Missing team. They can help as well, linking up any cases in the neighboring counties. Just keep me updated on any developments and let me know if you need more time.

Thanks, Kate, she said, glancing around the room. I hope they get their evidence collecting done soon so I can finish cleaning the house and getting it ready for sale. I'll be in touch as soon as I have more info from the FBI.

Tess hung up and left the room, going outside and down the street to Mrs. Carter's place. She badly wanted a cup of coffee, and maybe the chance to sit down and clear her mind before she did some research. She was starting to go a bit stir-crazy, having been away from work for over a week. She’d felt overwhelmed when it first became clear that her father was somehow involved in Janine’s disappearance so many years earlier. But