Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(14)

“They’re in Roanoke at the Regional Forensic Center. Tobi Turner’s father wants his daughter’s remains released, so we’ll want to view them tomorrow.”

He wasn’t dwelling on the past, but moving forward, and for that she was grateful.

“Understood. What about the girl’s mother?” Macy asked.

“She died of early onset Alzheimer’s four years ago.”

She hoped the disease had erased the woman’s worst memories. “Can you give me a recap of what happened here?”

He pointed to the splintered wood of the partially dismantled shaft and recounted the grim discovery. Medical examiners had officially confirmed Tobi Turner’s identification with dental records.

“Where’s the backpack now?” Macy asked.

“Also with the state’s forensic lab in Roanoke. We can see it when we view the remains.”

The medical examiner’s office and forensic lab were both housed in a newly renovated facility. Good. It maximized her time.

“Has the medical examiner determined the cause of death?” Macy asked.

“He has not issued the final report yet. But if I had to guess, I’d say strangulation.”

“Based on?”

“The interviews done with the rape victims.”

“I want to read those,” Macy said.

“They aren’t very detailed.”

She tapped her finger against her thigh. “And time of death can’t be determined.”

“Correct.”

“The killer’s semen was found on Tobi Turner’s backpack.”

“Yes.”

Wedged in the chute, it would have been protected from the elements. “I want to interview the rape victims. Each reported their abuser held them up to an hour. They might help me piece together what happened to Tobi and identify this bastard.”

“My deputy is in her office waiting for us with the case files.”

She lingered for a moment, staring at a toppled yellow crime scene tent. Fury whetted her appetite for justice. “Those girls should have been worrying about homecoming and football games and not fighting for their lives.”





CHAPTER SEVEN

Monday, November 18, 2:00 p.m.

The town of Deep Run was over two hundred years old and one of the oldest towns in the Shenandoah Valley. Unlike many of its neighbors in the valley, Deep Run hadn’t been damaged in the Civil War. Its picturesque buildings were now home to artists and galleries and often served as a backdrop to period movies.

Macy parked behind Nevada in front of the municipal center housing the sheriff’s office. A blend of 1930s art deco and 1980s brick storage box, the building was an awkward marriage of quaint and functional.

Out of her car, Macy looked toward Nevada, who remained in his vehicle and on the phone. A small-town sheriff’s job was a constant tug-of-war between large and small priorities. Everyone wanted to bend his ear.

Grateful for a moment to herself, she ran her hand over her hair, ignored the case’s high stakes, and hoisted her backpack on her shoulder. Through the front door, she crossed a small lobby toward a deputy sitting behind thick glass at a communications console. In his midforties, the deputy had thinning red hair, a round face, and silver-framed glasses. His badge read SULLIVAN.

Sullivan glanced up and pressed an intercom button. “You must be Special Agent Macy Crow. Sheriff Nevada said you’d be coming this morning.”

“Sheriff’s right behind me.”

A buzzer sounded, a lock clicked open, and she reached for the door handle. The fresh scent of coffee reached out.

Sullivan got out of his chair and beckoned for Macy to follow him toward a closed door at the end of the hallway, where a woman’s voice drifted from the room. He rapped softly on the door.

“Enter.”

Sullivan pushed open the door as the deputy ended her call. “Special Agent Crow is here.”

Deputy Brooke Bennett rose and moved around a long metal desk, her hand outstretched. She was tall, slim, athletic, and about Macy’s age.

The deputy’s direct gaze stared unapologetically at Macy as she also sized her up. “Special Agent Crow. I’m glad you found us. I assume you had no trouble finding Sheriff Nevada at the crime scene?”

Macy shook her hand. “No issue. I’ve found my share of crime scenes in my career.”

Behind Bennett’s desk were three community service awards and a framed picture of Nevada dressed in full uniform with Bennett, a smiling teenage boy, and an older woman. The boy looked exactly like Bennett, leading Macy to guess he was either a brother or even a son.

Sullivan returned to his desk, saying, “Call if you need anything.”

Macy followed Bennett out of her office and into a conference room outfitted with a large whiteboard, an oval-shaped conference table covered in a faux wood grain, and four cushioned chairs. On a credenza by the whiteboard were stacks of files, a couple of dry-erase markers, and a gurgling coffee machine.

Bennett reached for a Styrofoam cup. “How do you take it?” she asked Macy.

“Three sugars and two creams.” Macy set her backpack on the table. “While we’re waiting on Nevada, I’d like to get background on the missing girls and the rape cases that preceded them.”

“Of course.”