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“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.”
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“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.”
