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“She’s a cop, Macy. She accepted the risks of the job. It could just as easily have been you.”
“She’s a deputy in a small town. She’s never seen a case like this.”
“Do you think she’d appreciate the fact that you’re underestimating her? Do you think she’d like hearing she’s just Barney Fife from Mayberry?”
Macy pictured Bennett’s stoic expression. “She’d probably kick my ass.”
“Would she want you blaming yourself or going after this guy?”
Macy drew in a breath. “She’d want me to nail him to the wall.”
“Then why are you still on the phone yammering with me? Go kick somebody’s ass and be quick about it. Call me when it’s done.”
Click.
She stared at the phone in disbelief. No goodbye, no good luck. Faith understood her better than she realized. Nevada strode in. The tightly woven coil inside her eased a fraction.
“How is she?” Nevada asked.
“She’s still unconscious.”
“All right,” he said. “We’ll wait for a little bit.”
“I hate waiting.”
“Macy, it sucks being on the outside, but sometimes that’s all you have,” Nevada said.
“Who are we talking about now?” she asked.
“Me, after your accident.” He laid his hand on hers. “I never want to go through that again.”
She had been focused on herself after the accident. All she had wanted to do was get better. She had thought about him. Several times she had felt so alone it was all she could do not to call him, but she had been afraid of showing any kind of weakness. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”
“I could have dealt with it,” he said. “You didn’t have to fight your way back alone.”
A doctor dressed in green scrubs approached them. “You’re FBI?”
They both stood and she said, “Yes. We brought in Brooke Bennett. Is she awake?”
“Not yet.”
Once Nevada and Macy had spoken to the doctor and learned Bennett wouldn’t likely wake until morning, they returned to the house where they’d found her. Surrounding the house were state and federal officers who were sweeping the structure and grounds for evidence.
Sullivan met them outside. “We were able to locate the clerk from the county land records office. He was not happy to be pulled away from his evening show until I told him about Deputy Bennett.”
“And?” Nevada demanded.
“The clerk ran right into the office and started digging. The land passed through three hands in the last twenty years. It had a reputation for being a party site for the kids at one point. Long story short, a limited partnership called Pocket Inc. purchased the house. I called the attorney of record, and he told me his client was Bruce Shaw.”
“What’s the status of the crime scene?” Nevada asked.
“The technicians are going over the room where they found Deputy Bennett. It’s mostly hair and fiber samples in that room, but in the other bedroom there are journals,” he said.
“What kind of journals?” Nevada asked.
“Apparently this guy liked to make sketches and notes of the women he stalked. There’re notes on hundreds of women from up and down the East Coast.”
“What about Baltimore, Atlanta, and Bluefield, West Virginia?” Macy asked.
“I haven’t been in the room to see,” he said.
“Good work,” Nevada said. “We’ll take it from here.”
“How is Deputy Bennett?” Sullivan asked.
“She’s going to recover with time,” Macy said.
“Thank God for that.”
“Agent Crow, about that Beacon cologne,” Sullivan said. “It’s been bugging me all day.”
“What about it?” she asked.
“Wyatt wore it.”
“You are sure? Rebecca Kennedy said her attacker wore Beacon cologne.”
“Yeah. The guys used to tease Wyatt about it. They were always taking the bottle and tossing it in the trash. They said it made him smell like a pretty boy. I saw the bottle more than a few times.”
Kevin had not given DNA, and now she had a witness who said he wore the rapist’s scent. “Wyatt would have been under a lot of pressure during the Dream Team years.”
“He’s always had a lot on his shoulders,” Sullivan said. “Father wasn’t around much, and his mother isn’t wrapped real tight.”
“Deputy Sullivan, go by Wyatt’s house again,” Nevada said. “If he’s there, bring him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Macy and Nevada each donned latex gloves and booties, gave their names to the officer standing watch at the crime scene tape, and then entered.
Now that she really had time to look at the room, Macy could see it was freshly painted and the floors had been refinished in the last couple of years. There was a stone fireplace, with freshly stacked wood on the grate.
The furniture was new, though nothing fancy, and the flat
-screen television wasn’t connected to cable. Beside it was a DVD player and a stack of movies. Macy perused the titles, which featured older heroes who were former athletic stars and were trying to make a comeback. Blackout curtains were installed over all the windows.
“Sheriff Nevada.”
They both turned to see a man in his fifties wearing a state police forensic jacket. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a clean-cut look that was reminiscent of a Boy Scout. “I’m David Holland from Roanoke. I was called in to run this crime scene.”
Nevada shook hands with him. “Appreciate you coming in. This is Special Agent Macy Crow. What do you have?”
“I’d like to show you the journals we found in the second bedroom,” Holland said.
The three entered the small bedroom, which was equipped with floor-to-ceiling shelves on the far wall. The shelves were filled with hundreds of black-and-white marble composition notebooks. Along the thin spine of each were dates: June 2004. September 2007. November 2019.
“How far do the journals date back?” Macy asked.
“Sixteen years. The first, from what we can tell, was written in April of 2003. The author of the books was making notes on Cindy Shaw.”
“What does he say about her?” Macy asked.
“Rather intimate details of her daily routine. He’s also drawn sketches of her, and in many of the pictures she appears to be dead.”
Macy moved to one shelf with an array of small trinkets lined up in a neat row. Many were single earrings, necklaces, panties, and single high heels. She spotted the princess pepper shaker missing from Beth Watson’s home.
“Are there journals from Baltimore or Atlanta?”
“It appears so. And several other cities.”
Nevada drew in a breath. “Are names listed?”
“Yes. He not only lists his target’s name, address, and phone number, but also a detailed description of likes, dislikes, schedules, and pictures.”
“Any containing Deputy Bennett?”
Holland lowered his voice. “Yes. And some of it dates back to when she was a teenager.”
Eventually, the evidence of Bennett’s rape would come out. “She’s going to need time to heal,” she said. “Give her a chance to regain some of her strength before she has to publicly deal with this. Keep a tight lid on what you can.”
