Hide and Seek Read online

  She began to write down questions:

  What was his trigger? Were there economic stressors in the area at the time? Was it personal? Did the offender harbor fantasies and finally act upon them?

  Once she had inventoried the cases, she pulled up an electronic form for ViCAP and answered as many of the one-hundred-plus questions as she could. At four a.m., she hit “Send” and then followed up with a text to Special Agent Andy Jamison asking her to prioritize the case.

  Macy’s phone chimed with a response almost immediately. Will do. As she packed away the boxes, her phone chimed with another text. This one was from Nevada. Where are you?

  She wasn’t surprised he was awake. Insomnia was one of the traits they had discovered they shared in Kansas City. It was a prevalent condition in their line of work. What normal person could sleep after what they saw?

  She typed back, Sheriff’s office. Evidence analysis.

  Nevada responded, Treat you to breakfast. Walt’s Diner in fifteen minutes.

  Deal. She packed up the boxes and replaced their tops. She shoved her legal pad in her backpack before clicking off the lights and walking out to the dispatcher’s desk. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Sullivan will be on at six,” Deputy Morgan said.

  “I’m sure I’ll be here several more nights,” Macy said.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  “Where’s Walt’s Diner?”

  “Near the highway in the truck stop. Go out the main road and make a left at the railroad tracks. Follow the signs to the interstate.”

  “Thanks.”

  Fifteen minutes later when she pulled up in front of Walt’s, Nevada was standing outside the diner, his hands tucked into his coat for warmth. Out of the car with her pack on her shoulder, she locked the door and approached him. “How’d you know I wasn’t in my motel room fast asleep?”

  “Really? You’re on a tight clock. You don’t have time to sleep.” He opened the diner door and gave her a slight smile. They passed a SEAT YOURSELF sign and found a booth in the back. A waitress delivered coffee and left them with menus.

  She opened the menu, and her gaze went straight to the all-American breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Decision made, she dumped two sugar packets and cream in her coffee. “You think you know me that well?”

  “I also drove by the sheriff’s office and saw your car.” He sipped his coffee, but didn’t bother to look at the menu. “What did you discover in the files?”

  “Basically what we already know. He’s incredibly careful. He stalks and plans. Nothing was random. He left behind his shoe print three times, red nylon rope three times, and his DNA at each scene. He’s not worried about physical evidence.”

  “He’s just a regular Joe.”

  “He likes to think he is,” she said. “But guys like that have moments when they aren’t as slick as they think they are. If he’s still alive, I would bet he didn’t stop with the crimes here in Deep Run.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Maybe the Turner case spooked him. Greene did a few things right.”

  “He might have laid low for a while, but I would bet money he found new hunting grounds.” She shook her head. “I submitted the case details to ViCAP and asked a colleague to fast-track it.”

  “If this guy has a pattern, then maybe a cop in another jurisdiction made note of it.”

  “And filled out his ViCAP form.”

  When the waitress returned, Macy ordered and Nevada followed with the number six. After she was out of earshot, Nevada said, “I spoke to Paul Decker.”

  “Where?”

  “I tracked him to a trailer outside of town.”

  “And what did he have to say?” Macy asked.

  “Said he remembers seeing Tobi with Cindy Shaw. He said Cindy was always scheming and using other people. Not a glowing referral.”

  “Did you bring up Cindy?”

  “No, he mentioned her without prompting.”

  “Interesting. What else?”

  “Not much really, but I encouraged him to give it some more thought. His parole officer would be so proud of him. If someone on that Dream Team was a part of this, Decker will rat him out to save his own ass.” Nevada sipped his coffee. “He’s getting called into the probation office tomorrow for a surprise drug test.”

  Smiling, she folded one of the empty sugar packets in half, sharpening the crease between her thumb and index finger. “Well played, Nevada. Well played.”

  “I do my best.”

  She looked around the diner decorated with neon lights and black-and-white photos of the town from the last one hundred years. “Is this your favorite hangout spot?” Macy asked.

  “Since I was a teenager. It’s open all night. A favorite for truckers, kids after football games, and hunters looking for a predawn hot breakfast.”

  “I have a few places like that in Alexandria. Bev’s on Route 1 is one of my favorites.” She savored this easy familiarity between them. “Their number three is my go-to meal.”

  “You have a thing for pancakes, Crow.”

  “That’s no secret. I have a desperate addiction to sugar.” She traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “I actually lived in Alexandria a couple of months before my Texas vacation. I’m amazed we didn’t run into each other there.”

  “I was on the road.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “And yet here we are.”

  She stirred her coffee. “Which begs the question: Why me for this case?”

  “You applied to Ramsey’s team.”

  “You could have investigated this case.”

  “It’s nice to have a second set of ears to bounce ideas off of.”

  “You have Deputy Bennett.”

  “She’s learning fast, but I needed someone who could hit the ground running.”

  “Figuratively speaking.” Her sarcasm didn’t coax a smile.

  He was silent for a moment and then said, “My last bureau investigation was in Arizona. It was a child abduction case. When we found the little girl, we were too late. You were the first person I called.”

  “But I was hooked up to a ventilator.”

  “Yeah.”

  She tapped her finger on the side of her cup. “What we see can’t ever be unseen.”

  “I forgot about the kid and could only think about you. I didn’t sleep until I knew you were out of the woods.”

  The tender emotion in his voice caught her off guard, and it took her a second before she could speak. “I’m too mean to kill.”

  He was silent for a moment. “When you reach your limit, and you will, give yourself a break. You don’t owe anybody anything.”

  “I wish it were that simple. I can’t quit.”

  The waitress arrived with their platters, setting down a western omelet with toast in front of him and pancakes, bacon, and eggs in front of her.

  He stared at her over the rim of his cup but, instead of pressing, said, “Let’s get back to this case.”

  She poured syrup on her pancakes. “Our offender chose vulnerable victims.”

  “Including Ellis?” Nevada sounded surprised.

  “She was then. Her parents were going through a nasty divorce, and she and her mother were living in a new rental home. Susan had a sick mother, and Rebecca Kennedy was struggling with substance abuse.”

  “The game’s already rigged with this lineup,” he said.

  Reflecting on him a moment, she poured more syrup on her pancakes and sliced into them. She took several large bites as Nevada also ate. “I’m guessing he’s also been moving from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. His plan is to stay just ahead of law enforcement. Maybe he knows not all law enforcement departments communicate with each other.”

  “I saw it enough when I worked for the bureau,” he said. “Maybe your ViCAP application will come through.”

  She drained the last of her coffee and motioned to the waitress for a refill. “I asked Deputy
Morgan to search missing persons and see if there’s a file for Cindy Shaw.”

  “Everyone, including Decker, thinks she just took off. Decker’s version has her living happily ever after in Arizona.”

  Macy picked up a slice of bacon, meeting his questioning gaze. “I don’t think Cindy landed in the world of rainbows and Skittles. I’ve seen too many young runaways get kicked in the head by the streets.” She snapped the piece of bacon in half. “I can’t even remember all their names and faces.”

  “Can’t remember—or don’t want to?”

  “Both.”

  They ate in silence for several minutes before he spoke. “Deputy Bennett has scheduled a press conference for this afternoon, but before that, we have an appointment with the medical examiner in Roanoke. Tobi Turner’s remains are ready for review. Afterward, we can pay a visit to Bruce Shaw and ask him about his sister.”

  She checked her watch. “It’s only five a.m. I better get back to my motel room and sleep for an hour or two.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Nevada sat at the desk in his home office and turned on his computer. As he waited for it to boot up, his thoughts turned to Special Agent Macy Crow. He respected the hell out of her because she was one of the best.

  But when he thought about Macy, the most primitive neurons of his limbic system demanded sex. A few times when she hadn’t been looking, he had glanced at her breasts, her lips, and the curve of her hips. She’d dropped weight and muscle tone, but as far as he was concerned, she was still hot as hell.

  When he had arrived back at his grandfather’s farm, he had taken a hot shower and changed into clean jeans, a blue pullover that read SHERIFF over the left pocket, and his steel-tipped boots. As the coffee had brewed, he had attached his gun and badge to his belt.

  At his computer, he searched the case he’d worked with Macy in Kansas City. A few photos featured the two of them standing side by side in the background as the local police chief spoke at the podium. He remembered that day and the sex they had shared that evening.

  Shifting the Internet search to Macy, he pulled up familiar pictures. The first image caught her descending a long set of marble stairs in a Virginia courthouse. She was wearing a poker face, but the wind caught her long blond hair and it gleamed in the light. She wore heeled boots, not the black, thick-soled boots she now favored. That image vibrated with a youthful sense of invincibility.

  He typed Cindy Shaw’s name into the search engine.

  The search didn’t grab any hits on Cindy Shaw. Her disappearance was only mentioned once in the media, and that was in conjunction with Tobi Turner.

  Assuming she was living in another state, there were no outstanding warrants for Cindy Shaw, and she also didn’t have a financial or digital trail. The universe, it seemed, had swallowed her up.

  Nevada checked his watch. Realizing time was getting away from him, he finished his coffee and got in his car. At eight a.m., he pulled up in front of Macy’s motel room. She came out seconds later and slid into the front seat. They’d worked well together in Kansas City, and he felt they hadn’t missed a beat.

  “How far is it to Roanoke?” she asked while responding to a text.

  “Less than an hour.”

  “Great. I received a response from the FBI forensic artist. She’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Perfect.” He pulled out onto the main road. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Good.” He clicked on a local rock station. “The music is tame by your standards.”

  She smiled. “As long as it’s not about horses and broken hearts, I’ll survive.”

  “You must have gotten your fill of country music in Texas.”

  She rolled her head from side to side, seemingly working stiffness from her neck. “You have no idea.”

  They drove in silence for most of the trip, each lost in thought as the rolling countryside passed. He took the Salem exit just past Roanoke to where the Western District Office of the Virginia State Medical Examiner was located.

  He parked close to the main entrance. He noticed it took her a moment to work the kinks out of her leg after the hour trip, but he said nothing. They made their way inside, showed their badges to the receptionist behind the glass partition, and soon were escorted to the office of Dr. Russell Squibb.

  Dr. Squibb was in his midfifties and stood about five foot eight inches. He had a round belly, a balding head, and a firm handshake.

  “We appreciate you seeing us,” Nevada said.

  “I had another call from Tobi Turner’s father this morning. That’s the hardest part of this job.”

  “We understand,” Macy said. “If you can take us to her.”

  “Of course.”

  They followed the doctor down a long nondescript hallway to a large examination room outfitted with several sliding refrigerated drawers where they kept the bodies. Dr. Squibb opened drawer 210 to reveal the sheet-clad remains.

  Nevada was good at detaching himself from the horrors of death, but he never wanted to forget the victims were somebody’s loved ones. He remembered the girl’s pictures hanging on her father’s walls. She was bright eyed and smiling as she played soccer and T-ball, sang at her church, and laughed with friends at the beach. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

  Macy shifted, and he saw her left hand curl into a fist. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

  The doctor handed them both latex gloves, which they snapped on in seconds. Neither spoke as the doctor removed the sheet to reveal a set of discolored bones laid out in anatomical order.

  Dr. Squibb pulled out a pair of glasses from his lab coat pocket, put them on, and proceeded to lift the skull. “We were able to positively identify her through her dental records. The cavities and even the crown on her front tooth to repair a crack were perfect matches.”

  “How did she fracture her tooth?” Macy asked.

  “It happened when she was twelve, according to her father. She was trying to hit a soccer ball with her head, and the ball caught her in the mouth.”

  With only bones remaining, there was no way to definitively determine what kind of soft-flesh injuries Tobi Turner had suffered. The killer could have raped her before or after death, or he could have masturbated on her backpack. Unless a killer confessed, there was just no way of knowing.

  “What was her cause of death?” Macy asked.

  “Strangulation. The small hyoid bone in her neck appears to have been crushed.”

  Those horseshoe-shaped bones were delicate and easily fractured. “Can you tell if he choked her once or multiple times?” Macy asked.

  “Sorry,” Dr. Squibb said. “Bones can tell us a lot, but they can’t always give us the complete picture.”

  “Your examination results are a big help,” Macy said. “This offender has a distinct pattern.”

  Dr. Squibb rotated the skull sideways. “There’s also a circular crack behind her left ear. The fractures radiate out like a spiderweb. He hit her with a blunt object. And given the damage I see here, she was rendered unconscious.”

  “Would the blow have led to her death?” Macy asked.

  “Not likely.”

  “Any other injuries?” Nevada asked.

  “She did have several fractures on the fingers of her right hand,” Dr. Squibb said. “They appear to be defensive wounds.”

  “She fought back,” Macy said.

  “I would concur.” Dr. Squibb lifted up a long flat bone. “This was her sternum.”

  Macy studied the bone closer. “Is that a hairline fracture?”

  “It is,” the doctor said.

  “What would cause that?” Macy asked.

  “It’s consistent with a fall, blow to the chest, or even CPR.”

  “CPR? He tried to save her?” Nevada asked.

  “Possibly,” Dr. Squibb said. “Perhaps he strangled her and panicked.”

  “Or m
aybe he tried to revive her so they could keep playing,” Macy said.

  “God, I hope you’re wrong,” Nevada said. “No kid deserves to die like this.”

  Anger and sadness strengthened Macy’s drive to solve this case as she laid her hand on the top of the skull. “Tobi, your dad said he loves you.”

  As she pulled back her hand, a heavy silence settled in the room. The doctor carefully covered Tobi’s bones and then closed the drawer.

  After Macy and Nevada left the medical examiner’s portion of the building, they crossed the lobby to the forensic side. Macy felt a bit like a wimp pushing the elevator button instead of taking the stairs to the third floor. However, she needed to be practical. The less mileage on the leg meant the farther she could go. This wasn’t about her proving her stamina. It was about catching a killer. Nevada, to his credit, didn’t make a comment.

  On the third floor they found their way to the office of a John McDaniel, the forensic expert who’d examined Tobi’s backpack. McDaniel was a pudgy man in his late sixties. His graying hair curled over the edges of his collar, and a thick mustache gave him a quirky, almost cartoonlike appearance.

  “Mr. McDaniel.” Nevada introduced them both, and each showed their badges. “We understand you have Tobi Turner’s backpack.”

  McDaniel stood, shook both their hands with a surprisingly iron grip, and nodded for them to follow. “It’s in the other room on the light table.”

  In the next room, there was a fingerprint chamber, microscopes set up at various stations, and a gun ballistics firing chamber. Resting on a light table was a faded red backpack, unzipped and opened. Beside it was a series of items that they hoped might tell the tale of Tobi Turner’s last hours.

  “I ran the backpack through a fingerprint chamber to see what I could pull. I did get a partial thumbprint off the strap of the backpack. It’s a match to a print lifted from Susan Oswald’s windowsill. I’ve run it through AFIS, but so far no matches.”

  “What’s in the backpack?” Macy asked.

  “Have a look. Pair of jeans, a sweater, sneakers, textbook, pencils, lipstick, hand sanitizer, a candy bar, and a condom. There’s also a set of keys, including a car key that matches the make and model of the Turner family van.”