Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(29)

Macy had remained on point and she had felt sharp during the interview, but now that she was alone with Nevada, she dropped her guard a fraction. The long day was taking its toll, whereas a year ago she’d have blown right through it with energy to spare. Nevada hadn’t made a comment, but his frown suggested he was worried about her.

“What did you think about Jenna Montgomery?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Appeared helpful and all smiles.”

“But?”

She ran her hand over her short hair as if it were longer and still draped her shoulders. “At this stage I don’t fully trust anyone’s account. If Jenna knows something that contributed to Tobi’s death, she might be afraid to talk even after fifteen years.”

“Or she was shooting straight with us.”

“Time will bear it out.”

“What’s next?” he asked.

“I want to talk to Hank Greene. He was sheriff at the time of these attacks,” Macy said. “This is a small town, and word will travel fast. I don’t want him overly prepared for when we meet.”

“We’ll go right now.”

“I want to be the one to question him,” she said.

“Your reasoning?”

“You just beat him in a contentious race, which I’m sure is still bothering him. And how does he feel about women in law enforcement?”

“He hired Deputy Bennett, and according to her, he was a solid mentor and treated her like all the other deputies.”

“Good. At least we won’t have to jump that hurdle.”

“Want me to call ahead?” he asked.

“No. If he’s any good, he’ll know we’re coming.”

Ten minutes later Nevada parked in front of a two-story home that stood at the end of a long gravel driveway. The house was painted a deep gray with white trim and black shutters. An American flag hung from a polished silver pole by the front door, and smoke meandered out from a tall chimney. The upstairs rooms were dark, but the downstairs front room glowed with the light from a large-screen television.

Nevada had nestled the car close to a sidewalk, making it easier for her to exit the vehicle. Though he was trying to slow his pace for her sake, she forced herself to keep up.

Macy rang the bell. They both stood to the side as a matter of course, thanks to so many years in the field.

Heavy footsteps thudded inside, a curtain flickered back, and then the front door opened to Hank Greene.

An outsider might write off Hank Greene the moment they saw his plaid shirt stretching over a big belly, the Sig Sauer holstered to a worn belt holding up crisp jeans and dusty work boots. But to discount the former sheriff would be a mistake. A former marine, Greene had returned to Deep Run in his midthirties and served as a deputy for ten years before running for sheriff, a position he then held for nearly twenty years. He’d planned to serve one more four-year term until Brooke Bennett discovered the untested evidence kits in the storage locker.

Macy still wasn’t sure why Greene hadn’t sent the kits for testing. Best case was due to budget concerns. Worst case ranged from incompetency to conspiracy.

As Macy raised her identification badge, she said, “Special Agent Macy Crow.”

Greene didn’t bother to glance at the badge. “I was wondering when you’d find your way out here, Agent Crow. Sheriff Nevada, have you been hired out as her guide and driver?”

Macy and Nevada remained silent, letting the comment pass.

Greene shook his head, making a sucking sound. “Come on inside.”

“Are we intruding?” Macy asked.

“You know you are. You’d think losing the election would mean I could watch a television show in peace, not worry about interruptions, but I guess not.”

Nevada seemed to accept Greene’s bluster, as if sensing Greene liked being in the action and hated the sidelines. She and Nevada were no different, and she’d bet, like her, he didn’t want to end up tossed aside.

Inside the house, the spicy scents of coriander and cumin from what must have been a Mexican dinner hung in the air as the sound of a dishwasher came from a now-darkened kitchen.

Greene waved them down a narrow hallway filled with dozens of pictures featuring the former sheriff in his uniform at a variety of local events. There was also a picture of Greene leading the Christmas parade with the cruiser Bennett now drove.

Greene flipped on the kitchen light. “Can I make you some coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Macy set her bag on the counter as if she were staking a claim.

She made it a habit to refuse all offers of refreshments from victims. She always insisted she not impose. And as pointed as her questions were, she tried to soften every word and syllable with compassion. However, with Greene, she was willing to show up without calling, accept his hospitality, and drop her belongings on his counter.

As Greene set up the coffee maker, she walked around the room, studying more framed pictures hanging neatly on the walls.

She leaned closer to a picture featuring a fitter Greene from a couple of decades ago. “It’s clear you love this town, Mr. Greene.”

The coffee maker began to hiss and gurgle. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. I love Deep Run.”

“You were sheriff for twenty years?” she asked.

“Twenty-five.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arm over his belly as if he were humoring her. “I bet you were in grade school when I got my start.”