by Burton, Mary
“What did he say?” Macy asked.
“‘I’m sorry.’” She shook her head. “Jerk. I hung up and blocked the number.”
“Did you try to identify the number?” Macy asked.
“I searched it on the Web and got nothing. I also called it from a public phone a few weeks later. No one answered it.”
“Would you be willing to meet with a sketch artist?” Macy asked.
“It’s been fifteen years. And I didn’t see his face.”
“Assailants can be identified with all our senses. Sight is good, but smell, taste, touch, and sound can also create critical impressions. I made calls on my drive over this morning,” Macy said. “A talented colleague of mine from Quantico is an excellent forensic artist. She can be here tomorrow, if you’ll see her.”
“But it’s been fifteen years,” Ellis repeated.
“You’d be amazed what the mind keeps locked away. She’s very adept at exploring the subconscious.”
Ellis tapped her finger on the table just as her cousin had. “What time? I have a morning group hike, but I can cancel it if I need to.”
“No, don’t cancel it. When will you be back off the trail?”
“Noon. It’s short.”
“Then early afternoon. My friend’s name is Zoe Spencer.”
“Will you be there?” she asked Macy.
“I’ll be just outside the room,” Macy said softly.
“I can be there with you,” Nevada said.
“No,” Macy said. “Ellis and Zoe need to do this work alone. Family, cops, anyone who knows Ellis can alter her responses without even realizing it.”
Nevada, never a fan of hearing no, looked annoyed. Even though as a former agent he knew she was right, he still didn’t like it.
“I’ll be okay, Mike,” Ellis said. “I can talk to a forensic artist without melting.”
“I know.” Emotion deepened his voice.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Macy said.
“Yes.” As Ellis was leaving, she paused by the door. “Did they catch the guy who hit you?”
“They did,” Macy said.
“And did it make you feel better?” Ellis asked.
“He’s never going to hurt anyone else, so that makes me feel better.”
“I hear a but,” Ellis said.
Aware that Nevada was paying close attention, she was tempted to skirt the truth but opted not to. “It changes you. He took a piece of me I’ll never get back, and sometimes that pisses me off.”
Ellis studied her face for a long moment. “I want you to catch this guy.”
“Believe me, it’s all I think about,” Macy said.
CHAPTER NINE
Monday, November 18, 3:30 p.m.
Macy, Bennett, and Nevada were supposed to interview the third victim, Rebecca Kennedy, but Bennett reported that Rebecca had canceled because of last-minute work deadlines. When pressed for a new time, she would not commit to rescheduling.
“It’s disappointing,” Macy said to Bennett, “but understandable. If she doesn’t make an appointment tomorrow, I’ll pay her a visit.”
“What would you like to do next?” Bennett asked.
“I’d like to see the homes where these women lived,” Macy said. “I find it helps to see what the assailant saw.”
“I can take you,” Bennett said.
No sooner did she speak than the conference-room phone buzzed. The deputy picked it up, listened for just seconds before her frown deepened. “All right. I’ll be right there.” She replaced the receiver. “There’s a lead on our missing woman. My deputy thinks he might have found her.”
“Great. Happy endings are always a welcome change,” Macy said. “Give me the victims’ addresses. I’ll go alone.”
“I’ll take you,” Nevada said. “I know the area, and it’ll save you time.”
Bennett handed Macy a list of neatly typewritten addresses. She wasn’t keen on Nevada looking over her shoulder, but she was on a hard deadline and needed every minute she could get.
She flipped the pages of her legal pad and spotted Cindy Shaw’s name absently circled several times. “There was another girl who vanished about the time Tobi Turner did. Cindy Shaw. You ever hear about her?”
Bennett’s stoic demeanor softened with recognition. “I knew her from high school.”
“What did Greene think about her disappearance?” Macy asked.
“He probably believed what everyone else did. Cindy ran away.”
“Why assume that?” Macy asked.
“Cindy had a volatile personality, and I know her homelife wasn’t great. Looking back, she displayed all the signs of a runaway.”
“Okay.” Macy flicked the edge of the paper and then handed it to Nevada.
“The addresses are spread out over thirty miles,” Nevada said. “I suggest we begin up north at 213 Galloway Lane. That’s where Susan and her mother lived at the time of her attack. It’s where she still lives.”
“She never left?”
“No.”
Macy gathered her belongings and, thanks to too much coffee, excused herself to the restroom before she reappeared to find Nevada waiting by the front door. She nodded to Deputy Sullivan on the way out and followed Nevada to his older black SUV.
She set her backpack on the back seat, dug out her yellow legal pad and a pen, and then slid into the passenger seat. The interior of the car was neat, and his supplies were carefully stored in bins in the back. Unlike in her vehicle, there were no stray french fries or candy bar wrappers on the floor.
Behind the wheel, Nevada slid on sunglasses and started the engine. A glance in his rearview mirror, and he began to back out. He reached for the radio, turning on a country western station. She played music constantly, but her choices tended toward loud, rude rock music.
He turned right and then made a quick left onto the interstate. “The Oswald house exit is ten miles north.”
“Did you get back to Deep Run often when you were with the bureau?” she asked.
“I visited when I could, but you know how the job is. I was lucky to get a break once a year.”
“Sounds familiar,” she said.
“Did you get to see your folks much?”
“After my mother passed, I never returned to Alexandria until the bureau sent me back. Visits to see Pop in Texas were rare.”
“I remember your father calling you in Kansas City.”
“He called more that last year than he ever had. Must have known the end was close.”
“And he never told you about your birth mother?” Nevada asked.
“Only in a message from the grave.”
“Why not?”
“My birth father, the monster, was still alive. I think Pop was afraid for me. The man who raped my birth mother had money and power.”
“Your father thought this man would retaliate against you?”
“I suppose so.”
“He was trying to protect you,” Nevada said.
“In his way, yes.”
Once they were a couple of miles north of Deep Run, the interstate skimmed through open farmland dotted with billboards. “Do you still have your place in DC?” Macy asked.
“I do,” Nevada said. “But I’ve spent less than a handful of nights in the DC place during the last three years.”
They passed a rolling pasture with a herd of cows grazing beside a red barn. Macy had lived in slower-paced communities during her career, but preferred the larger cities so full of much-needed distractions. “And you really like it here?”
“It’s growing on me.” He shrugged. “I’ve been sleeping in the same bed for the past five months straight and recognizing everyone I pass on the street.”
“And here I am busting my ass to get back in the fray.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Don’t be too quick to judge. I’m still not convinced you’ll stay here in Mayberry after this case is solved. You were one of the best.”
“I could have worked Ellis’s case without leaving the bureau. I left for several reasons. Like an old FBI agent once told me, you got to know when to fold.”
She dropped her head back against the headrest. “Jesus, Nevada, now you’re quoting country western songs.”
He laughed. “I didn’t die, Macy. I’ve shifted gears.”
“To what, reverse?”
“To a path that doesn’t always lead into darkness.”
As they approached the upcoming exit, he slowed and took the westward route along a four-lane road that quickly narrowed to two. They passed more fields dotted with farmhouses, cows, and lots of nothingness. It was too damn far from civilization.
Nevada and Macy had been running in opposite directions since they had met.
“This is Ms. Oswald’s house,” Nevada said.
“We didn’t pass any cameras or gas stations, so it’s easy to drive out here at night without being seen,” Macy said.
“Around the bend ahead, there’s a community with a handful of homes, so there’s some traffic coming and going along the road. The people who live there are working class. They’re up before the sun and generally home after it sets.”
The first victim was attacked in June of 2004. “Do you know who lived in that small community fifteen years ago?”
“No one under the age of seventy.”
“Just because a man looks like your sweet grandpa doesn’t mean he’s not our guy.”
“I ran background checks on them all. No one living in the small enclave has ever been arrested or had complaints filed against them.”
“Neither has our offender.” She drummed her finger on her thigh. “And what about family members who visited grandpa or technicians servicing the properties? There was enough traffic that someone noticed Ms. Oswald.”
“Agreed.” He parked in front of a one-story brick rancher. The grass was neatly cut, and a flower bed was filled with a thick collection of winter pansies, but there were no tall shrubs or bushes around the house. Beside the house was a small detached garage.
Nevada shut off the engine. His jaw tightened as he surveyed the area. “She was seventeen at the time of the attack and lived here with her mother. They couldn’t afford to leave, so they stayed. Susan remained after her mother’s death.”
“Where does she work?”
“At the hospital. She’s a nurse’s assistant.”
“She should be home from work now.”
“Only one way to find out.”
They walked up to the front door. He motioned her to the side before he knocked. The sound of deep-throated barking reverberated inside. The curtains to the right of the door fluttered.
“FBI Special Agent Macy Crow.” She held up her badge, sensing the person inside was watching closely. “I’m here to talk to Susan Oswald about an unsolved case.”
The dog’s barking was her only answer, and she was about to repeat her request when several locks on the inside clicked. The door opened to a short pale woman with thick dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She wore no makeup, a bulky sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and clogs. Her face was wide and her eyes a vivid green. She held tightly to a heavy red collar attached to a one-hundred-pound German shepherd. It was in no mood to make friends when its gaze locked on Macy.
“Are you Susan Oswald?” Macy shouted over the dog’s barks.
“Yes.” Susan made no effort to silence the dog, and when Nevada stepped into view, the dog barked louder and bared its teeth. “I’m Sheriff Mike Nevada. I’m working with Special Agent Crow on the rapes that occurred during the summer of 2004.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come by the sheriff’s office. Just got off work.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“I voted for you,” she said.
“I appreciate that, ma’am,” he said.
“You said you’d shake things up in that police department.”
“And I am,” Nevada said.
Susan rubbed her hand over the dog’s head, whispering words close to his ear that calmed him. “It’s been fifteen years since I spoke to Sheriff Greene about my case. Why are you interested? Did you catch the guy?”
“We haven’t caught the man yet,” Macy said. “We’re hoping talking to you and the other women will generate new leads.”
“You said there are three others like me?” Susan asked.
“Yes.” Macy didn’t mention the fourth girl had been murdered.
“What do you need from me?” Susan asked. “I told everything I knew to Sheriff Greene.”
“It helps me if I can see the location of the crime,” Macy said. “The scene can tell me a lot about the criminal.”
“What does my house tell you?” Susan asked.
“It’s one story,” Macy said. “That makes it easy to get in and out of. Two-story houses have more obstacles. Only one way up and down the main staircase. Were there shrubs planted around your house at the time of the crime?”
“Yes, big, tall ones. There were footprints in the mud outside my window.”
The dog appeared to be six or seven years old. “Did you have a dog at that time?”
“No. I got a rescue dog after Mom died. Then after him, I got Zeus here five years ago.”
“Why did you stay in the house?”
“Mom and I had nowhere else to live,” Susan said as she rubbed the dog’s head. “We had to stay, so I got smart. Triple locks on both doors, and all windows are nailed shut.”
“Do you mind if we look inside your house?” Macy asked.
Susan pulled Zeus back a few steps and nodded. “You can come inside. I’ll show you the room where it happened.”
“Thank you,” Macy said.
Zeus growled at them both as they passed, still not sure if they were friend or foe.
“Sorry about Zeus. He barks or growls at everything. I love that about him.”
Nevada slowly held out the back of his hand for Zeus to sniff for several seconds. Zeus settled onto his hind legs. “He’s beautiful.”
She rubbed the dog between the ears and eased her hold on his collar. “He’s a good boy.” With the dog beside her, Susan led them down a hallway. On the right was a narrow avocado-green bathroom with a single sink and toilet, both cluttered with soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. The next door led into a small bedroom furnished with a twin bed, several bookcases crammed with pictures of Susan and an older woman who appeared to be her mother, miniature Wizard of Oz figurines, and a white basket filled with red yarn and knitting needles. “This is where I sleep now. I never could bring myself to sleep in that room again.”
Susan opened the door at the end of the hallway, stepped back, and allowed Macy and Nevada to enter first. It had been relegated to a catchall storage room. There was a dismantled bed frame with no mattress, a walker, a wheelchair, and sealed brown cardboard boxes. The one window was on the opposite side of the room, and the thick shades were also drawn.
“According to the files, he came in through your bedroom window?” Macy asked.
Susan crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s right. It was June of 2004, and I was sleeping with the window open because it had been so warm that day.”
“Do you mind if I open the shades?” Macy asked. “I’d like to look out the window.”
Susan dropped her gaze. “Go ahead.”
Macy tugged the shade, and when she felt it release, she guided it upward. The window overlooked the bend in the road they’d taken as they’d driven to the house and a thicket of woods. This home was off the beaten path, leading her to wonder if this was a crime of opportunity. The assailant could have been driving around, seen the open window, and taken a chance.
The dog trotted past Macy, sniffing around what was most likely an unfamiliar room to him. “It was just you and your mother then?”
“Yes.”
“Would there have been a second car in the driveway?” Nevada asked.
“No. My mother didn’t dri
ve. She was forty-nine but suffered from MS. She slept through the whole thing.”
Macy studied the ground below the window, which was now neatly cut grass. Not a trace of the bushes once surrounding the house remained.
Susan shifted her stance, as if looking through the window had transported her back in time. “The room I sleep in now was Mom’s. For weeks after the attack, I slept on blankets by her bed. When she died the following year, I threw out my bed and mattress and began sleeping in her bed.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No. He was wearing a black mask with red trim around the eyes and mouth. The skin around his eyes and mouth was smudged with black shoe polish or something.”
“Did your attacker speak to you?” Macy asked.
“He grabbed my neck and said he’d kill my mother if I screamed.”
“Did he say anything else about your mother?”
“He made a comment about her wheelchair and how it takes a strong person to care for an ailing family member.”
The assailant’s comment suggested he knew her and this wasn’t just a random crime of opportunity. He could have been stalking her days or weeks before the attack, learning her patterns, habits, and weaknesses.
“How did he sound when he spoke to you?” Macy asked.
“Nervous at first. When he spoke, I told him to get out. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. I said he was being foolish and that he needed to just go.”
“How did he react?”
“It made him mad. He said he wasn’t weak and he knew what he was doing. He was looking around the room searching for something. He grabbed my pantyhose from the floor. He used it to tie my hands to the headboard. He scooped one of my socks off the floor and shoved it in my mouth. I started crying and he stopped. He stood there studying me like some lab rat.”
“What happened next?” Macy asked.
“He climbed on top of me and raped me. It seemed like it took forever, but after he was finished, I looked at the clock for some reason. He’d only been on me for minutes.”
“Did he say anything else?” Macy asked.
“He pulled up his pants and looked as if he’d go, but then he climbed on top of me again and wrapped his hands around my neck. He didn’t move for several seconds, and then he readjusted his hands a few times.”