Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(75)

“Yes. And also about Beth and the schedule switch with Debbie. I still think there is something there, but I won’t know it until I see it.”

Macy dialed Bruce Shaw’s number. The phone rang once and went to voicemail. “This is Dr. Bruce Shaw. I’m not available. Leave a message. And if this is a medical emergency, call 911.”

“Dr. Shaw, this is Special Agent Macy Crow. Call me. I have a few questions for you.”

They each donned latex gloves and paper booties and entered a house that could easily pass for the homes of the other victims. “Once we search the property, we can view the autopsy,” Nevada said.

“Is Deputy Bennett joining us?”

“She texted me. She’s touching base with her son and then coming by.”

Bruce Shaw had lived in several cities as he had earned his medical degree and then fulfilled his internship and residency. Had there been an uptick in crimes when he’d moved to a new town? “Guys like this just don’t give up the best gig of their sorry lives.”

Macy dialed Andy’s number. Andy picked up on the third ring. “Tell me you have a ViCAP hit.”

“And good evening to you, Agent Crow.” Andy chuckled, clearly used to Macy’s abrupt approach. “As a matter of fact, I have two possible hits. In Baltimore in 2007 a masked man raped two women. He used red rope to secure their hands. A woman was strangled to death six months after the rapes. Again, red rope was used. In Atlanta, 2012, there were two deaths. Both women had been strangled repeatedly and their hands bound with red rope. Oh, and all the victims lived in one-story homes. I’ve asked for the DNA taken at all the crime scenes to be sent to Quantico, along with their case files.”

“Nice job.”

“It is, if I do say so myself,” Andy said.

“Baltimore and Atlanta are within driving distance of Deep Run,” Macy said.

“I’ll keep searching,” Andy said. “There could be more cases. I’ll call you when I have more information on the Baltimore and Atlanta cases.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Macy, it’s not luck. It’s communication and computers.”

As an afterthought, Macy added, “See what you can find out about Cindy Shaw. She was a high school senior who vanished about the same time as my murder victim.”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Andy, I take back everything I said about computer people.” Macy hung up to Andy laughing. “Did you get most of that, Nevada?”

“Yep.”

The front door opened to the small living room she’d seen through the window yesterday. Now inside, she could see the blue couch was worn, but at one time had been top of the line. A couple of green upholstered chairs also looked older, but expensive. The same could be said for all of the furnishings she observed.

In the hallway, they both stared at the stacks of unopened paint cans, rollers and brushes, piles of newspapers, and plastic tarps.

“I think my aunt Susan had a couch similar to that one. Same color, but not as expensive,” Macy said. “Only she covered hers in plastic, and whenever I sat on it in shorts, my skin on the back of my legs stuck as I tried to stand up.” She ran her fingers over an end table, tracing a line of dust. “Looks like the folks at the retirement center or their families handed down furniture to Debbie. She must be popular.”

Nevada’s gun belt creaked as he shifted his weight. “Several families requested her, and she was able to work a great deal of overtime.”

“Leaving Watson here alone often?”

“Adding more to my theory that Watson’s death feels planned, not impulsive.”

“Agreed.”

Most murders were unplanned. In those cases the amateur killers accidentally left something behind that more often than not led to their capture. Called Locard’s exchange principle, it meant that no one entered a scene or left it without leaving some trace such as DNA, hair fibers, fingerprints, trash, or a footprint.

Macy entered the kitchen. The table was a throwback to the eighties with a set of six matching chairs. Debbie or Beth had placed two square green place mats out, as if she expected to share her breakfast with someone.

“Our rapist took one item from each victim’s home,” Macy said. “He liked to break up sets.” She walked up to the counter and keyed in on a prince figurine. She picked it up and shook a dash of salt on the palm of her hand. “Where’s his princess?”

Nevada looked around the room. “I don’t see it.”

She noted the back door handle had been dusted for prints. It was ajar. She made a note to check with the investigative crew to determine if they had found the door this way.

The refrigerator was stocked with a dozen cans of beer, a nearly empty jar of peanut butter, a jar of kosher pickles, a bowl full of butter packets, and various other condiments.

Macy checked the cabinets, revealing more hand-me-down dishes, cups, and glasses. “Reminds me of Mom and her crazy collection.”

“She passed away when you were in college, correct?”

She was surprised he remembered the detail. “Yes.”

“Did she ever talk to you about your adoption?”

Macy didn’t look anything like her adoptive parents and had become accustomed to answering queries about adoption from an early age. “Not much. When I asked her years ago about my birth mother, she said she didn’t have any details about her.”