by Burton, Mary
“He didn’t strangle you right away?” Macy asked.
“No. It was like he was figuring out how to do it. But he finally did. Only when I was gasping for air did he get off me. He said he was sorry.”
Reliving the event, even after fifteen years, was upsetting Susan. Macy wasn’t a patient person by nature unless she was speaking to women who’d been traumatized. In cases like this, she was willing to wait until hell froze over if necessary.
Finally, Susan shook her head. “When I remember that night, there’s a lot that really pisses me off, but I think his apology tops the list. Why the hell would he tell me that he’s sorry?”
Macy pulled the shade back down. “There could be any number of reasons. You’re the first known case we have for this offender.”
“Why do you think I’m one of his firsts?”
“He didn’t bring restraints. The way he adjusted his hands on your neck. The apology. All these fit the profile of a person trying something new.”
“But why was he sorry?” Susan asked.
“Perhaps the violence was also a shock to him as well. He might have fantasized about it, but he’d never tried it. Maybe he truly did feel remorse.”
“Did he say he was sorry to any of the others?” Susan asked.
Macy felt Nevada’s close scrutiny. He wasn’t speaking but he had not missed one word. “None of the victims after you reported that he apologized.”
Susan flexed her fingers. “Why is the FBI involved now? It’s been fifteen years.”
“You can thank Sheriff Nevada,” Macy said. “He’s pulling out all the stops to solve this case.”
Behind the anger darkening Susan’s searching gaze, hope flickered. “I’d love it if you could catch him. I want him to feel the anger, fear, and hopelessness he dumped onto me.”
Macy wanted him to spend the rest of his life behind bars. “You’ve been a big help.”
“Sure. You come back any time.”
“One last question. Did he ever contact you afterward?”
“You mean like a call or something?”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t remember any contact.”
“Good.”
“Should I be worried about him doing something like that?”
“No. I’m glad you have Zeus and have remained strong.”
Susan led them out of the room and closed the door behind her before moving to the front door. “I should have thought to offer you a soda or water.”
“It’s not necessary,” Macy said.
Susan glanced back toward her old bedroom. “It’ll be nice to sleep again one day, knowing he can’t come back.”
“I want to give you a heads-up,” Nevada said. “I’m going on television in the next day or two and sharing what I know about this criminal. I’m asking the community to call me if they have any leads.”
“There could be even more than four victims?” Susan’s expression crimped with worry.
“Yes.”
“You know how hard it is to talk to the cops about a rape,” Macy said. “But not everyone is able. You’re making a difference.”
“I’m not brave,” Susan said. “It’s been fifteen years, and I can’t even sleep in my own room.”
A rape rarely lasted beyond the event for a rapist. But for his victim, the trauma could linger for a lifetime. “If you do receive any strange communication after that press conference, listen but do not engage. And call me right away.”
“Sure.”
Macy took the woman’s hand in her own and squeezed it. A year ago, she’d have avoided physical contact but now felt the need to reassure this woman with more than words. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re strong, and it’ll take women like you to catch this guy.”
Susan held her hand like she was clinging to a life raft. “Could he come back here?”
Macy wouldn’t lie to her. Serial offenders were impossible to predict. She knew the guy wasn’t in prison, which meant he was dead, too sick to act, or still active. “Anything is possible.”
Susan slowly let go of Macy’s fingers and drew back. “If he gets past Zeus, I’ll be waiting with my cell phone and baseball bat.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Macy said.
As they were leaving, she noticed a high school diploma mounted in a thin black frame from a box store. She’d graduated from Valley High School in 2004. “Did you know Tobi Turner?”
“Not well. But I felt horrible when she vanished. She was just found, I hear.”
“Yes.”
“Is what happened to her related to me?” Susan asked.
“We’re still looking into that,” Macy said. “Did you know Cindy Shaw?”
“Everyone knew her. She was wild. I heard she ran away. Why?”
“Just piecing together that year.”
Susan opened the front door. “Call me with updates.”
“I promise. We’re going to look around outside.”
“Sure.”
When Nevada and Macy stepped outside, the door had barely closed before the inside locks clicked back into place. Down the steps, she walked around the side of the house to the window of Susan’s old bedroom.
“He could have parked down the street,” Nevada said. “The night she was attacked was a nearly moonless one. If he were wearing black, he’d have been impossible to see. She’s about the same age as Ellis, and she lived with my aunt in a one-story house on a country road very similar to this.”
“He didn’t pick these women at random,” she said. “He chose them because they were vulnerable.”
The knit mask scratched against his face as he walked into his special room. He’d always worn the mask, first as a precaution but now because he knew it amped up the fear factor. He flipped on the lights.
She lay curled in a ball, and for a moment he thought he might have killed her. Strangling her unconscious had been the most effective way to get her quietly into the trunk of her car.
From there, he had driven two miles before he had reached his car. When he had opened the trunk, she had been rousing, but a syringe loaded with sedatives had knocked her out cold.
Transferring her to his car had been easy enough. Then all it had taken was a hard shove to send her car down into a ravine.
“I’m glad we’re going to have this time,” he said. “With you I can be myself. And it feels so good to be who I really am.” At the sound of his voice, she stirred slightly.
Time to play.
After locking the door behind him, he crossed the basement room and knelt beside her. To his relief, her breathing was faint, and when he touched her arm, she moaned softly. He rolled her on her back and jostled her shoulders until her eyes opened. Her expression quickly turned to fear. Good, she was coming around. No fun if she slept through most of his work.
She scrambled out from under him and pressed her back against the wall. “Please.”
He was satisfied with his taste in women. He could really pick them. “Please? Please, what?”
“Let me go,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”
They all made meaningless promises of silence, loyalty, or acquiescence. How many women had begged him for their life and freedom? Their pleas invigorated him and made him feel strong.
Suddenly, he was impatient with the tired script played out so many times. He grabbed a handful of her dark hair and yanked her forward so that her face was inches from his.
Her breath caught, and her pulse thumped in her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. The fear burning in her gaze offered him some hope that this could still be rewarding.
His erection throbbed, and a sharp rush of adrenaline cut through his body in the most exciting way. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to do this again. I forgot how much we both will love it.”
“Don’t hurt me.” Her eyes were wide and watery as the hoarse whisper crept over her lips.
He shoved her hard against the floor and was on top of h
er before she could scamper away. He wrapped his gloved hands around her slender white neck. She tried to pry his grip free, but she was no match.
He slowly squeezed. “It takes sixty seconds to strangle someone to death. It’s all I can do not to climax. One, two, three.”
“No,” she gasped as he kept counting.
“Eight, nine, ten. We’re almost there, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, November 18, 7:00 p.m.
Nevada called Jeb Turner and asked if he could visit again and also bring Macy. The man agreed, an iron determination humming under his weary sadness.
As he drove east of town, he noted Macy was alert and taking in the scenery as if committing it to memory. He pulled into another small enclave of homes tucked off a back road east of the interstate.
The yard was neatly trimmed and there was a large oak tree in the front yard, its near-naked branches barely clinging to a few orange and gold leaves. Tied to almost every branch was a yellow ribbon. Some were fresh and bright, some slightly worn, while others were so weathered and frayed they were little more than wispy, colorless strands.
The house was a one-story, white-brick rancher that backed up to a new housing development. The land for the development had been cleared six months ago, and at the time of Tobi’s disappearance, the property had been thickly wooded.
Out of the car, the two walked to the front door, and Nevada rang the bell. Inside, steady footsteps followed, and curtains covering the large picture window to their right flickered. The door opened to a lean, fit man in his late sixties. His face was deeply lined, but his hair was trimmed and his plaid shirt freshly pressed. Jeans and new athletic shoes completed a crisp appearance.
Recognition flickered in the man’s eyes when he saw Nevada. “Mr. Turner, you’ve had a lot to deal with, sir,” Nevada said. “May I introduce Special Agent Macy Crow?”
“I’m Jeb Turner,” he said, extending his hand.
“I am truly sorry for the reason behind our visit,” Macy said.
His nod was subtle; he was clearly trying to keep the pain in check. “Good thing you called before you came. The reporters have been hounding me for an interview, so I’ve stopped answering my door.”
“I can send a deputy by your house more often, if you think that might help,” Nevada said.
“It’s not necessary,” Turner said. “Reporters don’t scare me.” He stepped aside and invited them in.
As before when he’d visited, Nevada noticed the home’s interior was as neat and well kept as the exterior. The wall facing them displayed a collage of pictures, including a woman wearing a white wedding dress, the same woman holding a baby, and then pictures of Turner, the woman, and the growing girl over the years. A lifetime of moments captured and condensed on one wall.
This part of the investigation was never easy for him. He’d much rather be trading bullets with a suspect than dealing with the emotions of the victims’ families.
“That was my wife, Cathy. She died four years ago of Alzheimer’s.”
“My condolences,” Macy said.
“The disease was a blessing. She forgot that Tobi was missing and kept waiting for her to visit. At the assisted living facility, there was a girl on the kitchen staff who looked like Tobi, and Cathy often got them confused. Sara, the girl, was kind enough to play along. Toward the end she was the only one who could give Cathy peace.”
Turner indicated for them to sit. Macy perched on the edge of the green couch, and Nevada took the other end.
Turner settled into a well-worn recliner. “How can I be of help?”
Macy wrestled her yellow notepad from her backpack. “When was the last time you saw Tobi?”
“It was a Thursday night, and she was headed back to school for a study session for her history midterm.”
“What school was that?” Macy asked.
“Valley High School.”
“There’s another school nearby, correct?” Macy asked.
“Mountain State High School. That’s west of here and a different district, but the kids at the two schools crossed paths enough.”
“Tell me about that last day with Tobi,” Macy asked.
His demeanor relaxed for just a moment, as if it were fifteen years ago and everything was as it should be. “Tobi almost forgot her backpack, but her mother saw it by the front door and ran it out to her. She was so focused on getting to the study session she almost forgot her books.”
“She was a good student?” Macy asked.
“Straight As,” he said with pride. “She worked and studied hard. She was on the verge of submitting her college applications. Her grades needed to be top notch so she could get a scholarship.”
The man grew silent for a moment as his shoulders stiffened. Reality had chased away the pleasant last moments. Neither Macy nor Nevada spoke. Each knew the man needed to tell his story in his own time.
Turner cleared his throat. “Tobi had only been driving on her own for six months, and we got worried when she drove off by herself.” He shook his head. “But there comes a time when you have to let them grow up, right?”
“Tobi never made it to the high school, did she?” Macy asked.
“The cops found our van at a parking lot a mile from the school. Sheriff Greene interviewed all the kids at the study session, but they said Tobi never came into the school.”
“Was she dating anyone at the time?” Macy asked.
“She’d gone out a few times with a kid from the debate team, but he’d been in Ohio at a math competition when she went missing. The cops cleared him right away.”
“Are you sure there wasn’t anyone else?” Macy pressed.
“I’ve been asked that question a lot. And the answer is always no. Tobi was focused on school, not boys.”
Macy knew young girls could and did hide many things from their parents. “When did you know something was wrong?”
“We had given her an eleven p.m. curfew. At half past eleven, I called her friend Jenna Newsome,” he said. “They were close that last year.”
“And what did Jenna say?”
“She said she didn’t know anything,” Turner said. “Jenna still lives in town, but I don’t know the exact address.”
“Was there anyone else close with Tobi?” Macy asked.
“She was friendly with the kids in the band. But she didn’t have much time for socializing. Are you going to talk to Jenna?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Okay, you speak to Jenna, then what?” Turner demanded. “It’s been fifteen years, and the cops came up with nothing. My girl was only found by accident.”
Macy sidestepped the comment. “When did you call Mr. Greene?”
“It was past midnight.” He shook his head. “I should have called the sheriff five minutes after eleven. It wasn’t at all like Tobi to be late, but my wife said to give her a little more time.”
“And did the sheriff launch a search?”
“The sheriff didn’t sound worried, and I remember I lost my temper. He said he’d look into it.”
“And did he?”
“He called me about three a.m. He said he’d heard word there was going to be a bonfire that night and he thought maybe she’d gone there. The football team and cheerleaders held the bonfires to get everyone excited about the game, but basically it was an excuse to get drunk. Tobi was forbidden to go.”
“Didn’t they hold the bonfires near the Wyatt barn?” Macy asked.
“They were banned from that property. I learned later it was in a field by Talbot’s Creek.”
Macy scribbled down the location. “What did Mr. Greene learn?”
“He said the few kids who were left hadn’t seen Tobi.” He shoved out a breath. “I should have driven her to the school that night. But her mother insisted we let her grow up.”
Macy absently doodled the name Cindy Shaw and found herself drawing small circles around the name. “Did you know Cindy Shaw?”
&nb
sp; “I heard the name. She ran away about two weeks after Tobi went missing. I did ask Sheriff Greene about her. The sheriff said not to worry about Cindy.”
“Why would she run away?” Nevada asked.
“I have no idea. You’d have to ask her brother, Bruce Shaw. He’s a doctor at the assisted living facility. He took care of Cathy before she died. Do you think something happened to Cindy like my Tobi?”
“I have no idea. I’m still just asking lots of questions. Could we see Tobi’s room?”
Turner ran his palms over his thighs and stood. “Sure, I’ll show it to you.”
The three of them walked down the narrow hallway lined with more pictures of Tobi, and he opened the back bedroom door.
Macy was taken aback that the room looked as it must have the day Tobi vanished. It was unsettling to see the lavender bedspread that smelled faintly of laundry soap, the stuffed animals leaning gently against fluffed pillows, and the polished dresser still displaying drugstore makeup and inexpensive silver bracelets. A collection of headbands dangled from the dresser mirror along with a gold medal for debate. She was reminded of just how young Tobi had been when she’d been murdered.
Turner smiled. “She loved that group even though her friends thought it was too baby for a high school girl. But my Tobi liked what she liked and stuck to her guns.”
Macy walked to the only window. She carefully pulled back the pink curtains and studied the view of the newly stripped land. “This would have been all woods when Tobi vanished, correct?”
“That’s right. It was only cleared this past spring. It’s supposed to be a big fancy development. I always wonder who’s going to move in to them, but I hear it’s selling well.”
Nevada studied Macy as she looked out over the land. “Was there a road there at one time?”
“A small dirt road. Almost no one used it,” Turner said.
She gently fingered the lock, testing it to see how easy it flipped open. It was tight now, but no telling what it would have been like then. “Was there anything that was missing from her room?”
“Missing? Like what? She had her backpack with her.”
“What about jewelry, shoes, a shirt, or a favorite trinket?”