Chapter Six

Kelly

Going to work at the Bluebird Women's Shelter is my happy place. After spending the better part of my life babysitting my younger brother, pursuing my chosen career is pure excitement. I love helping the women get back on their feet and learn to believe in themselves. Seeing the kids running around the halls, playing together in our safe environment makes my heart sing. Watching the ones who have suffered severe abuse slowly coming out of their shells is nothing short of amazing.

Today, I'm having lunch with my best friend, Belinda. She stood by me when I was struggling through college while trying to do right by my family. We studied together and she even helped me get this job. She worked here for a year before they needed another social worker. Her recommendation made all the difference in them giving me a chance, right out of college.

She's finally let go of the never-ending complaints against my parents, which makes spending time with her a lot more enjoyable. She had it easy growing up, she doesn't realize that for some families pitching in is normal. Maybe I did more than my fair share, but there was really no other option. Belinda might be my best friend but that doesn't mean we see eye to eye on a lot of things. She's much more of a social justice warrior than I am. Needless to say, I stand up for my clients, but I don't get so hot under the collar about things.

I have to admit that us working together at the women's shelter feels like working towards a common goal. It's nice collaborating on projects together and spending a few minutes touching base with her. Spending time with Belinda is the bright spot in my day, but I can't help finding myself thinking of the tall, dark, tattooed stranger from the park off and on as well. I had actually checked at the men's shelter to see if he'd contacted them. But there was no one that matched his description—maybe I'd been wrong about him being homeless? Or maybe he'd just had a bad few days and was now back on his feet.

Before I get started on my work, I unpack my water bottle and a copy of the local paper I picked up on my way to the shelter. I gasp as I see the front page, I'm in the middle of reading the story when my desk phone buzzes.

Our receptionist is an older woman who has been working at the shelter for years. Her prim voice always sounds stern, like it's her job to keep the entire office moving in the right direction.

"I have a message for you, Miss Collins."

Grabbing a pen and some paper, I respond, "I'm ready. Let me have it."

"Mattie from CPS would like for you to call her back."

I recognize the name, she's a manager at Child Protective Services. We work with their front-line staff, if there is an open case. "Thanks for the message, Mrs. Demetriou.

As I call the number, I mull over what she might want.

Mattie picks up the phone almost immediately and gets right down to business. "I have a woman being discharged from the hospital this afternoon. She was pregnant and working with social services on finding adoptive parents, which was how she came to be under our care. Unfortunately, she had a late-stage miscarriage after being attacked by her ex-partner. I had the hospital do a psychiatric consult and they reported she's got complex PTSD. She's a particularly vulnerable client and I think your shelter is the best fit for her current needs. Would you happen to have an opening?"

Oh, wow, that was a lot to absorb all at once. I pull up my room list and see that we have someone vacating today. "I've got a vacancy. But I'm worried about how your referral will react to being around babies. We have three housed at our facility right now. Do you think that will impact her PTSD?"

Mattie responds bluntly, "Her mental health team says no. I say maybe, but she's out of housing options. Most shelters do have babies and toddlers, I guess what I'm saying is that she really needs a place where the client to staff ratios are low, and the staff are well trained. Bluebird Women's Shelter is her best bet. Are you willing to take her in?"

"Absolutely. We'll do everything we can to give her the support she needs. Are you in a position to file share with me at this point?"

"Yes. The client's name is Anabel Ash. She signed off on a release of information for me to share whatever is necessary to secure a placement."

"Our agency has been certified as a crisis support agency through social services. If you isolate the information and send me a link, I'll grab it from the portal and get the process started," I tell her.

"Thanks, Kelly."

"You're very welcome, Mattie. The staff and management at Bluebird are pleased to have such a good working relationship with your office."

Mattie chirps, "Always a pleasure doing business with you too. My client is scheduled for discharge at two this afternoon. Is that too soon for you."

"Not at all. I'll be here to do the admission myself."

We say our goodbyes and I see that it's almost twelve thirty already. This morning has flown by.

I'm thrilled to get this new referral. It's a complicated case. Challenging myself to help women find their footing when things go sideways in their life is what drew me to this line of work. I go ahead and start the paperwork and notify housekeeping to turn the room around immediately.

Within moments, Belinda's smiling face pokes around the side of my doorway, I motion her in. "You're late today?"

"I had a family relocating to public housing. It was a big moment in their life, and I wanted to meet with them before they left, to make sure they'd covered all their bases and discuss what they could expect."

"That's great news. It must have been the family vacating this afternoon."

"It is. We have a list of people waiting for that room, so I plan to get on that after lunch."

"No need. I already filled with an emergency referral from social services."

"Great," she says good naturedly. "That's one thing knocked off my things to do list."

Pointing at our takeout, that I had delivered earlier, I say, "Let's eat before our food gets cold. I have something interesting to talk to you about."

She slides her box over and opens it up. I ordered both of us a salad and half a toasted sandwich from our favorite eatery.

"What did you want to talk about, Kel?" Belinda says before taking a gigantic bite of her sandwich.

I shove my sandwich aside and begin putting dressing on my salad from a small packet as I explain, "I didn't tell you everything about what happened at the park a couple of weeks ago."

My friend's mouth drops open. "You've been holding out on me? Don't tell me something bad happened to you that night. I've told you not to go to isolated places like alone."

"No, it wasn't anything particularly terrible. Remember how I twisted my ankle and my dad had to come and get me?"

"Yeah, thank God it wasn't broken," she responds with a frown.

"I walked as far as I could and then I had to stop and rest. There was a guy who came to my rescue."

Suddenly, my best friend is all ears. "What kind of guy? Was he cute?"

I nod, fighting back a smile. "He was a big, tattooed biker. To say he was handsome would be an understatement."

"Really," she asks incredulously. "Was he really hot?"

"Yeah. He was tall, ripped and wore faded jeans with holes in them. He had dark eyes, dark brown shoulder length hair and a square jawline with a just enough beard to be considered rough looking."

Belinda blinks at me, totally enthralled with my description. "He sounds amazing. Tell me you gave him your number."

I cringe a little on the inside remembering how I thought he was homeless, which I now know is not true. "No but there's a problem."

"Is this problem big enough to outweigh the hotness factor?" Belinda asks in a teasing voice.

I flop the morning paper down in front of her and say, "You tell me."

She pulls the paper closer, and her eyes get big when she sees his picture splashed across the front page. "He's hottie alright."

As she begins reading, her expression changes to one of mortification. "Holy shit balls, girl. It says he brutally murdered his fucking wife!" I give her a minute to read over the article. When she's finished, she shoves her sandwich back into the box. "Sorry, I lost my appetite. You're lucky he wasn't bloodthirsty when he found you all alone on that secluded road. Think about it, Kelly. You were all alone in the wilderness with a killer."

"I was with him when his wife was murdered." I point to the part in the article where it says she was murdered between seven and midnight."

Belinda gapes at me. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he couldn't have done it. I know because I first saw him when I arrived at the park, I drove by as he was setting up camp. Then a few hours later he found me sitting at the roadside and gave me a lift back to the park office. He waited with me until my father and brother came. They arrived just after nine and he was still at his campsite after we changed out my tire and left a little before midnight. He wouldn't have had time to make it all the way back to Las Salinas to kill his wife before or after because it takes at least forty minutes to get there from the park."

"What are you going to do?" she asks with a worried look on her face.

"I've got to say something. If I don't, he's going to wind up in jail for a crime he didn't commit."

"Yeah, but if you get involved and turn out to be the only witness to corroborate his whereabouts, wouldn't that put you in the crosshairs of whoever did commit the murder?"

"No, why would it?" I say indignantly.

"If someone set him up."

I shrug, my friend listens to too many real-life crime podcasts, I've got to admit, I like them too, but Belinda sees motive everywhere. "Maybe, but it seems wrong not to get involved, if it leads to an innocent man going to jail."

Belinda comes to her feet and picks up her lunch box with a frown. "I'm going to say, stay out of it and stay safe."

I shove the paper into my desk drawer and spend the next hour working on Anabel Ash's case as I nibble on my food, though I've now lost my appetite. When she shows up shortly after two, I welcome her at the door and show her to my office.

She's quiet, timid and walks with her arms wrapped around her waist. She's only got the clothes on her back, and they are hospital scrubs. We work our way through the paperwork as quickly as possible, I explain the rules and give her a tour of the building. We finish with a trip to our clothing closet. Bluebird Women's shelter is careful to make our charity clothing closet seem like a shopping experience. There is a large floor length mirror, a couple of chairs and racks of clothing spanning each wall. I walk her through the whole process. She's not keen to try on clothing but I guess given what she's just been through, it's the last thing on her mind. I arrange for one of our counsellors to pay her a visit tonight, so we can support her during the long recovery process.

For the first time in months, I'm eager to leave work at the end of the day, probably because it feels like I have put in a long, hard day. Once I hit the front desk, I realize that I'm not getting out of here anytime soon. There is an angry middle-aged man yelling at our receptionist while our security guard tries to get his attention. Fearing our security guard is about to resort to being hands on, I quickly step into the mix.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He whirls around to glare at me. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Kelly Collins. I'm one of the social workers in charge of this facility." That might technically be true, but it's not quite as glamorous as I make it seem.

"I'm Jerod Cooper. You have my girlfriend here and I want to check on her. Her name is Anabel Ash. She arrived this afternoon."

Another of our clients carefully backs around him, clearly frightened to see a man with anger management problems in our lobby. I start to edge my way towards the front desk, ready to press the panic alarm that's linked directly to Las Salinas PD. It's not often we have to use it, but it's invaluable. Thankfully, the man seems to be calming down.

"If you would like to talk. We have a small conference room for visitors we use as a meeting room."

"Yeah, we do need to talk," he says bluntly.

"This way please," I saw as I walk towards our interview room. Anabel was still too withdrawn to say much earlier, but her file says that she was attacked by her ex. The way this man is acting is making me unsettled, but I've had conflict resolution training and hopefully I can talk him down. Then we can see about calling the police if they need to be involved.

He follows me back to our crisis room, Edward, our security guard stays close behind. I see he's got his radio out and is ready to call for reinforcement, if need be, so I start to relax.

Calling it a conference room was a bit of a stretch, it's essentially a safe place with no movable furniture in case things get heated. He notices something is up when he sees the walls are padded. His lips press into a firm line, but he sits down none the less.

I start the conversation by setting boundaries with him. "First of all, I need to let you know that I'm not at liberty to deny or confirm that your girlfriend or anyone else is a current resident of Bluebird Women's Shelter."

He opens his mouth to speak but I hold up one hand, as the security guard hovers nearby.

"Secondly, this is a women's crisis shelter. Many of the women here have suffered domestic abuse and are justifiably frightened of men, particularly men exhibiting poor behavioral control."

He cuts in, "You don't understand about Anabel."

"Please let me finish," I insist.

"You are not allowed to visit our facility without making an appointment in advance. If it's true that your partner is here, you can't visit her. We don't have established visiting hours for friends and family. This is a safe facility for women at risk. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

The man's expression turns hard. "I need you to understand something about Anabel. She's not a regular person. She's special. You can't treat her like everyone else."

I gaze at him, perplexed. "Again, I can't confirm or deny that anyone by that name is a resident or employee of our facility, Mr. Cooper."

The man comes to his feet and leans over the table. "Anabel Ash is the last known victim of the Carver Killer. She's the only one who survived that night."

My head jerks up to stare at him in shock at the mention of the notorious killer. Before I can respond, he jerks his head towards Edward. "If this is what passes for security, it's not going to be enough if he circles back around for her."

"And why would he suddenly do that after so long?" Everyone knows about the Carver Killer. He terrorized Las Salinas for months.

I was a young teen at the time, but still, I couldn't help but hear the hushed conversations my parents would have. His calling card was carving symbols into this victim's dead bodies. There'd been a spate of killings and then nothing—his crimes were even featured on the real-life crime podcasts that Belinda loves.

"I'm not saying he is. I'm saying that if he were to decide to finish the job he started all those years ago, you couldn't stop him."

I tilt my head. "How would you know that? Are you the Carver Killer, Mr. Cooper?"

He jerked back like he'd been slapped. "Of course I'm not the Carver. What the dumb fuck kind of question is that?"

"You're not making any sense. I'm trying to understand what you're up in arms about and why you felt the need to make a scene at our shelter."

He steps back, looking a little defeated. "Look, I'm just saying you have to treat her differently than the others here. She needs the light on to sleep. She has nightmares. She can't wear anything tight around her neck. Most importantly, she can't go out unprotected."

"Again, I can't confirm or deny that she's here. You need to be patient. Wherever she is, I'm sure she'll contact you, if and when she's ready to talk to you."

He eases back and rakes one hand through his hair. "Alright. Just be careful with her. She's fragile I don't like her being out of my sight."

He seems so anguished I start to soften, he doesn't sound like a violent man. I'll have to see if I can find a way to ask Anabel about how she ended up in hospital, but I'm not sure how I can do that without causing her even more distress.

My first duty of care is to my client, "Do I need to repeat myself Mr. Cooper, I can't confirm or deny that she is here. Please do not visit our shelter again, I won't have you scaring our residents."

"I'm not trying to scare anyone. I'm just trying to look out for her."

"Edward will escort you to the front door and see that you leave our property. Okay?"

He nods, looking dispirited. I can't blame him. If what he says is true about her being the one who got away from the Carver Killer, this case is turning out to be much more complicated that I originally thought. That information wasn't in her notes, and I'll have to speak with the psychiatric team who discharged her from the hospital to confirm if what he said is correct.

I walk out behind them and talk quietly with the receptionist. "Mrs. Demetriou, you're familiar with the emergency protocols we use?"

"Yes. The Code Red protocol. We keep the entire building on lock down by voiding all the residents' keycards, allow people to come inside only if they buzz in and we get a visual on the security cameras. Our security team receives and goes through all packages and—"

"Yes. Until further notice we're on lock down. I want us to strictly follow all emergency protocols. This is really important. Do you understand?"

She looks at me oddly but nods. "Whatever you think is best, Ms. Collins."

I head back to my office to write this up, with horrifying images of the Carver Killer finding a chink in our armor and forcing his way in, spiraling through my head. All thoughts of going to the police about Daniel Ellis have gone from my mind, I'm too shaken by what Jerod said. I immediately call Belinda, asking her to meet with me. We're going to need to run a tight ship as long as Anabel is with us.