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The instant Turner had opened his front door, his expression had shifted from mild curiosity to pain. The man had understood immediately why Nevada was there.
Tobi Turner hadn’t been Nevada’s first death notification, but as the old man had wept, he’d felt gutted and angry and prayed he could find the girl’s killer.
“Sheriff, can you hold the plaque a little higher?” the student photographer asked.
“Of course.” Nevada couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around kids who weren’t abused, beaten, or dead.
As the kid took a dozen more pictures, Nevada kept smiling. He wanted this dog-and-pony show over.
When the group finally broke up, he grabbed his gear, ready to change and get back to working the Turner case. The board of supervisor’s chairman, Sam Roche, cut off his exit. Sam was a retired university professor who’d settled in Deep Run and had been on the board five years.
“Sheriff Nevada, how’s your investigation going?” Sam asked.
“It’s progressing.”
Sam frowned and dropped his voice a notch. “The board is concerned about this case. The optics aren’t good. Who’s going to send their son or daughter to the local university or relocate a business in Deep Run if we can’t promise law and order?”
“Deputy Brooke Bennett and I have been in constant contact with the forensic lab in Roanoke, and I’ve also reached out to the FBI’s profiling team.”
“FBI?” Sam asked.
“If you want this case solved quickly, then we can’t ignore the truth. We had a serial offender who operated in this area in 2004.”
“What’re the chances that this person is still here?” Sam asked.
“I have no way of knowing,” Nevada replied. “I’m still trying to determine if we’ve identified all his victims.”
Sam held up a hand. “There could be more?”
The naive question would have been amusing if this weren’t so damn serious. “Not all women who are raped report the crime. Yes, there could be more.”
Sam rubbed a hand over his thinning gray hair. “The media is calling me for a comment. I’m not sure what to say.”
“I strongly advise you to not speak to them,” Nevada said. “The FBI agent will be here in a few hours, and she and I will coordinate communications to the public.”
“What about Greene?”
“What about him?” Nevada was still pissed about Greene’s inaction on the DNA kits. If the lazy, dumb son of a bitch had made an attempt to solve the rapes in the summer of ’04, he might have saved Tobi Turner’s life.
“I don’t want the FBI taking over the case,” Sam said. “I don’t need the world thinking we can’t manage our own problems.”
“The bureau doesn’t take over.” He’d never taken credit for the cases he’d solved. Instead, he’d always stood off to the side when local law enforcement had made an announcement to the media. Now Nevada was the local guy and was on the receiving end of the FBI’s help.
“Just stay on top of this.”
He would swallow every last bit of his pride and accept whatever help was offered to catch this killer. He owed that much to Tobi Turner and the rape victims. “I will.”
“You’ve chased killers like this before?” Sam asked.
“Too many.”
“I never thought we’d see something like that here.”
“No one does.”
Men like Sam ran for the board because they cared about economic development, ribbon cuttings, and policy meetings. They never bargained for high-profile rape and murder cases. “Keep me updated, Sheriff Nevada.”
“Will do, Supervisor Roche.” He strode out of the office and to his car. He checked his watch. A couple of hours left before Macy would arrive.
Back at the station, he entered through the side door and headed straight to his office. He closed the door and swapped the uniform for jeans, a light-blue collared shirt, and work boots he’d had for over a decade.
With the uniform back on its hanger behind the door, he scooped up the pile of pink message slips on his desk and made his way to Bennett’s office.
Brooke Bennett was tall and lean, with an athletic build. Black hair coiled into a bun at the base of her neck highlighted high cheekbones and bright brown eyes. He had heard she had been a track phenom in high school, but all that had gone by the wayside when she had become pregnant with her son. The event could have derailed her life, but she went on to earn her college degree and then had joined the sheriff’s department after graduation. She was a dedicated single mom. Her son, Matt, was by all accounts a good kid.
“How is the press release coming?” he asked.
“It’s ready.” Bennett’s gaze lingered on the screen another moment before she hit “Send” and looked up. “It’s printing now for you to review.”
The printer by her desk hummed and spat out the paper. The headline read GIRL MISSING FOR FIFTEEN YEARS FOUND. He wanted to keep a lid on this case for a couple more days, but the chances of a leak were too great. Dozens of cops had now put their hands on the case, and Turner wouldn’t, nor should he, be silent about the discovery of his daughter’s remains.
“When will the agent be here?” Bennett asked.
“Couple of hours.”
Bennett shifted in her seat. “You reached out to them quickly. And yet we’ve barely had a crack at the case ourselves.”
“You’re a solid investigator and a quick learner, but you’ve never worked a case like this before.”
“But you’ve worked dozens.”
“I have. And one of the reasons I asked for Agent Crow is because she’s very good with victims of sex crimes.”
Her mouth tightened in annoyance. “When the media finds out about the untested kits and links it to Tobi Turner, it’s going to be a shit storm.”
“Yes, it will.” He had never asked who in this department had tipped him and the media off about the kits, but he suspected it had been Bennett. Though he understood the reasoning behind the leak, future disclosures would not be forgiven. “Eventually I’ll confirm the connection but not yet.”
“They’re already saying we blew it.”
“Because we did. The heat is only going to get worse. Accept it.” He read the release. “Looks good. Issue the press release. Post it on social media. The world needs to know Tobi was found, but not the connection between the rapes and murder. Assume the killer is paying attention to us. He doesn’t need to see all our cards.”
Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Understood.”
He checked his watch. “I’m returning to the barn. I want to have a look at the place now that it’s quiet.”
When Sherman had opened that hay chute, Tobi Turner’s bones had scattered in a dozen directions. Every crack and crevice had been scoured by the state forensic team, who had been determined to find every fragment of bone and evidence. It had taken the better part of several hours for the team, working on hands and knees, to sift through the dirt and dust.
“Do you want me to come along?” Bennett asked.
“Not this time.”
“I want to learn from her.”
“And you will.”
Frustration flashed and vanished in the blink of an eye. “Before you go, I received a call about an hour ago from Martha Roberson. She believes her daughter, Debbie, is missing.”
He remembered Martha Roberson. She had campaigned against him and had gone so far as to suggest his bid for sheriff was a vendetta against Greene, who had arrested Nevada for trespassing as a teenager. “How old is Debbie Roberson?” he asked.
“Twenty-one.”
“Are there any risk factors?”
