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“Enter,” Spencer said.
Macy pushed open the door and found Ellis clutching a handful of tissues. She had red-rimmed eyes and was slightly pale.
“Are you all right?” Macy asked.
“I’m fine,” she said with a faltering smile. “For some reason, I just got emotional. I haven’t in years, but when I saw the sketch, I lost it.”
“That’s good progress.” Or so she’d been told.
“Cathartic,” Ellis said.
Macy turned to the tall, slim woman making the final touches on a sketch. Zoe Spencer was in her late twenties and had joined the FBI after graduate school. She was not only one of the best sketch artists but was also a leading expert on art forgery. She wore simple, fitted black pants, a gray V-neck sweater, and a silk scarf around her neck; her auburn hair was coiled into a neat bun. Her flawless skin required only red lipstick and mascara.
“Agent Crow.” Spencer rose. “It’s good to see you again.”
They’d crossed paths on a case last year, and Macy had found Spencer to be highly effective. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thank Agent Ramsey. He’s the one who authorized the visit. He said this case now takes the highest priority on his docket.”
“Did you make any progress with the sketch?” Macy asked.
Spencer’s stoic expression softened when she looked toward Ellis. “Ms. Carter did an excellent job. She has wonderful recall.”
“It didn’t do that much good,” Ellis said. “I only saw a guy in a mask.”
Spencer turned the sketch toward Macy. The pencil sketch, drawn with exacting detail, gave them all the first glimpse of Ellis’s attacker. The man had a long, lean face, a thick neck, and vibrant blue eyes that stared back with an unsettling sharpness. His lips were full, and his jaw appeared more pointed than square.
“It’s not a full likeness,” Spencer concluded. “But it’s a start.”
“I can’t believe I remembered that much,” Ellis said.
“As I said, you have a sharp mind,” Spencer said. “The final print is ready to be released to the press as you see fit.”
Macy stared at the eyes that jumped off the page at her. The door opened and Nevada stepped in. He took one look at Ellis and his expression hardened.
“Are you all right?” Nevada demanded.
“I’m fine, Mike,” Ellis said firmly.
“As I just told Agent Crow, she did well,” Spencer said.
Nevada exhaled a breath, and Macy sensed he was trying to dissipate the pent-up anger. “Thanks, Agent Spencer.”
“Anytime.” She turned and poured a cup of coffee, which she handed to Ellis before making one for herself. “Ellis did remember her attacker had a distinct smell of sweat and body odor.”
“Like he’d just worked out or was working manual labor.” Ellis crushed the tissues in her hand. “And his front tooth was slightly chipped. I can’t believe I never remembered it before. But when I saw the eyes, it came flooding back.”
“You said he also said something to you,” Spencer said.
“He said, ‘You’ll never forget me.’ The asshole was right.”
“A memory doesn’t have to have power over you,” Spencer said. “Focus on where you are now.”
Ellis sipped her coffee and set it down. “Speaking of which, my coworkers are meeting me in town. We’re headed to the closest bar.” She extended her hand to Spencer. “Thank you for the coffee, but I need something stronger.”
“I don’t blame you,” Spencer said. “Again, excellent work.”
Ellis scooped up her backpack, hugged Nevada, and left. Spencer began to pack up her pencils, erasers, and drawing pad. “And now I must drive to the Roanoke airport and catch a flight to Nashville.”
“What’s there?” Nevada asked.
“A case.” She raised her gaze to him. “I still don’t picture you here, Special Agent Nevada.”
“It’s Sheriff, and it’s home. I belong here.”
“My home is where I set up my easel, preferably far away from where I grew up.” Spencer snapped her art case closed.
Macy couldn’t throw stones at Nevada for moving back home. She lived a mile from the same apartment complex she’d grown up in as a kid. When the shrink she was forced to see after her assault asked why she’d returned to the area, she really hadn’t known. It just felt right.
Spencer took one last sip of coffee. “I believe the sketch will help. I’m disappointed we couldn’t connect with Ms. Kennedy, but I have to go now. If you need me again, it might be a few days.” The tap, tap of Spencer’s heels echoed down the hallway.
Macy sat in a chair, laid the sketch in front of her, studied it for a long moment, and then took several pictures of it with her phone. Sharp eyes. A narrow face. Trim body. All that could have changed. With age, men filled out and grew more muscular or fatter.
“Can we get a copy of the high school yearbook from the 2004 to 2005 year? I’m looking for a boy with a chipped tooth.”
“I’ll get one sent to the office,” Nevada said.
Who the hell are you?
“Where is Debbie Roberson?” Macy asked.
“She’s at her mother’s house,” Nevada said.
“Does she know about Beth?”
“She does. And we have a deputy driving by the house hourly.”
Pointing toward the sketch, she said, “Good, because this guy is not finished with Deep Run yet.”
It was past six and pitch dark by the time Brooke had driven to Roanoke and watched as Beth Watson’s body was rolled in on a gurney and put in cold storage. As she headed back north to Deep Run, she called Matt.
“Mom.” A video game bleeped and buzzed in the background.
“Just checking in, kiddo.”
“Where are you?”
“On the road headed back to town. It’s going to be another long night.”
“What else is new?”
“Speaking of new, Tyler Wyatt said you were hanging out with him.”
Silence. “Just for a few minutes.”
“What were you doing at Lucky’s?” An eighteen-wheeler blasted by her car as it built up speed for climbing the next hill with a full load.
“Just hanging out. No big deal.”
“If I find out you’re drinking, pal, that video game I hear in the background is going in the trash.”
“God, Mom, you don’t have to be so uptight. Weren’t you a kid once?”
“I was. And I made big mistakes that I don’t want you to repeat.”
“I’m a guy. I can’t get pregnant.”
The barb hit her hard in the heart, and she counted to ten. “I’m talking about trusting the wrong people.”
“Sorry, Mom. Low blow.”
“Kids like Tyler Wyatt use money to get out of trouble. You and I don’t have that luxury.”
“I get it. I really do.”
“I hope so.” She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Is Grandma home?”
“She said she’d be here in a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“You, too, Mom.”
She hung up, dropping the cell phone in her lap. The days of her protecting Matt from all the ugly truths in the world were quickly coming to a close.
A half hour later, she pulled into the parking lot of the assisted living facility. The parking lot, illuminated by large lamps, was half-full of cars. There was a woman juggling a flower arrangement as she headed inside and also a man pushing a much older man in a wheelchair along the sidewalk.
Out of her vehicle, she walked inside to the front desk. “I’m Deputy Bennett. I’m here to see Dr. Bruce Shaw.”
“He left about an hour ago,” the receptionist said.
“Do you have a number for him?” she asked.
“Sure.” The receptionist wrote down the doctor’s number on a sticky note.
Brooke thanked the woman, and back outside, she called Bruce. He picked up on the
third ring.
“Dr. Shaw.” His voice was deep and unsettlingly breathless.
Brooke reintroduced herself. “I’m hoping we can meet. I have a few questions for you about one of your employees.”
“Didn’t you hear? Debbie is safe and sound.”
“Yes, I know that. My questions concern someone else.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not get into this on the phone.” In the background she heard cheering. “Where are you? I can come to you.”
“I’m at a soccer game. I’m the coach, so now is not the best time.” More cheers in the background, and Bruce shouted, “Good job.”
