Hide and Seek

by Burton, Mary

  Macy studied the keys and noted a small piece of plastic that might have once belonged to a key chain.

  She shifted her attention to the tarnished condom packet. Macy pulled on a fresh set of latex gloves. “Looks like she never intended to make that study session.”

  “The clothing fragments found on the body were a gold metallic. The jeans disintegrated, but the metal button and zipper we found are consistent with a designer pair sold in 2003 and 2004. The shoes were heeled boots.”

  “Maybe she did have a boyfriend.” Nevada worked his hand into a glove. “Greene’s report says there was nothing unusual spotted at the school the day she went missing.”

  “Maybe he charmed her,” Macy said. “An awkward girl might have been thrilled for a little attention. We know Paul Decker showed some interest.”

  “Decker referred to her as the ‘virgin vault,’” Nevada said.

  “Which would have made her a challenge,” Macy said.

  “Decker also placed Cindy Shaw with Tobi and said Tobi would do almost anything for the team,” Nevada said.

  “Evil comes in all sizes.” Macy all but whispered the last words, and she realized Nevada was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “What else did you find in the pack?”

  With gloved hands, McDaniel picked up the textbook. “That leads me to this. I went through it page by page. Have a look at the pages I’ve marked with a tab.”

  Macy opened the inside cover. Tobi Turner’s name was listed on the third line of LEASED TO. The other names had been neatly crossed out. She flipped to the first marked page and saw pencil writing in the margin.

  Test on Tuesday. Section Two.

  “It appears she liked to doodle and write in the margins,” Macy said. “How do you know it’s hers?”

  “Handwriting matches the signature on the front cover,” McDaniel said. “Have a look at the last page in the book.”

  She flipped to the end and saw another note in bolder pencil.

  Bonfire. 8:00 p.m. Thursday.

  “Decker called the bonfires their good luck ritual,” Nevada said.

  “He said ritual?” Macy asked.

  “He did. The coach wanted them to burn away all their fears and doubts.”

  “Odd.”

  “Why?”

  “Ritual can also mean something primitive, like a sacrifice.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tuesday, November 19, 12:30 p.m.

  When Macy and Nevada arrived back at the sheriff’s office, a collection of news vehicles was waiting for them. She hadn’t been expecting the media. “Did you move up the press conference?”

  “No. Bennett confirmed it was later this afternoon,” Nevada said.

  As they crossed the lot, she was grateful she could keep pace with Nevada. The leg felt decent, which was great. She didn’t need the distraction.

  Inside, they found several reporters with cameras crammed into the lobby. On the other side of the glass, Sullivan spoke into his headset.

  The door opened and Bennett appeared, her hat in hand, wearing a stoic expression. “I need to ask everyone to step outside. A representative will be out soon to make a statement. I need you to clear this space.”

  A rumble of comments rolled over the room as Macy opened the exterior door. Several folks passed without incident, but a young reporter with a thick crop of dark hair paused.

  “You’re the FBI agent,” the reporter said to Macy.

  “I’ll brief you in a few minutes,” Nevada said.

  Dark eyes narrowed and the young reporter persisted. “What’s the FBI doing here? Are you investigating the murder of Tobi Turner or the rapes?”

  “Save your questions for the briefing,” Nevada said.

  The other reporters hovered close, as if fearful they would miss a morsel of news, and several snapped pictures of her walking alongside the sheriff.

  They pushed their way through the crowd, dismissing the reporters’ questions. When the door closed behind the reporters, Sullivan waved them behind the secured door. As soon as it latched and they had stepped out of sight of the reception glass, Macy said, “I thought we hadn’t agreed on a briefing yet.”

  “We hadn’t,” Bennett said. “They called me about a half hour ago. Someone tipped off several reporters about the DNA matches and the FBI presence.”

  “Who tipped them?” Nevada asked.

  “Did you visit with Greene?” Bennett asked.

  “We did,” Macy said.

  Bennett shook her head as her lips flattened into a grim line. “He’s your leak. He called a few friends in the media.”

  “To get back at me,” Nevada said.

  “Payback,” Macy said.

  “You’re shining a light on his failures, so he might think he has nothing to lose at this point,” Bennett said.

  “I should have expected pushback,” Nevada said.

  Frustration, though tempting, wasn’t productive. “We have the media’s attention a little sooner than we’d planned, but let’s make the best of it,” Macy said. “I have summarized the case facts so I can answer questions. I assume you can do the same.”

  “I can,” Nevada said.

  Bennett adjusted her uniform. “You want to tell the public the rapes are connected to the murder?”

  Nevada looked at Macy. He was making this her call. “I do. Better for us to inform the media than Greene.”

  Bennett didn’t look convinced. “Do you really think someone would come forward after all this time?”

  “I do,” Macy said.

  Sullivan leaned back in his chair. “I have Deputy Melvin on the phone. He said he drove by Debbie Roberson’s house again, and there’s still no sign of her vehicle. He knocked on her door, but no answer.”

  “And Ms. Roberson’s cell?” Bennett asked.

  “Not emitting a signal.”

  “That’s a worry,” Macy said. “How old is Debbie Roberson?”

  “She’s twenty-one,” Bennett said.

  “Unearthing the body of a girl he killed fifteen years ago is a hell of a trigger,” Macy said.

  “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Bennett asked.

  Without taking his gaze off Macy, Nevada said, “Bennett, I want to know the status of Debbie Roberson as soon as you do.”

  “Understood,” Bennett.

  “For now, we won’t bring up her disappearance to the media,” Macy said. “I want the focus on the older cases that we know for a fact are linked.”

  “Roger.” Bennett settled her hat on her head, and Macy set her backpack in the chair.

  On reflex, Macy reached for the brush in her backpack, but then, remembering her very short hair didn’t need any attention, she followed Nevada and Bennett outside to face a half dozen cameras and twice as many reporters.

  Bennett raised her hands over the rumble of conversation. “If I can have your attention,” she shouted. “The sheriff would like to say a few words.”

  When the crowd grew quiet, Nevada stepped up to the podium, moving with a confidence that testified to years of investigations and media interaction. “As you may know, the sheriff’s department was awarded a generous grant that allowed us to have the DNA kits in our evidence room tested.” In a clear, steady voice, he shared their discovery of a serial rapist operating in the valley, as well as the evidence connecting Tobi Turner’s murder to the rapes.

  Almost before he had spoken the last syllable, a bevy of questions started firing in his direction. Did the police have a person of interest? How had victims and families reacted to this new development?

  Nevada was cool, collected. As he spoke, Macy’s gaze skimmed over the gaggle of reporters and then beyond to anyone else who might have been standing on the sidelines watching. Several cars driving by the sheriff’s office on the main road slowed, but none stopped.

  “Why is the FBI involved?” a reporter asked.

  “This is a serial offender case,” Nevada said. “And the FBI has access to resources
we do not. I feel we’ll be more effective solving this case with their participation.”

  Nevada introduced Macy and offered her a spot beside him at the podium. Macy moved forward, comfortable in a role she’d filled before. Since last June she had triumphed with a series of small victories, but this one made her feel more like her old self than any other.

  “As the sheriff said, local law enforcement and the FBI are looking for a serial offender. Based on eyewitness testimony, he wore dark clothing and always had a ski mask covering his face. His fascination with strangulation steadily grew more violent until it escalated to murder. We are now reaching out to the community and asking everyone if they saw or heard something around the dates of the attacks that might be of help.” She turned to Bennett. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Deputy?”

  The deputy looked slightly taken aback for a split second, and then she stepped up to the podium. “If there are any persons out there who believe they were a victim of this man, please contact us. We want to help.” She repeated the office’s phone number and waited for the questions to fire in her direction.

  The set of questions was almost identical to what had been thrown at Nevada. She simply repeated his answers verbatim. They were a united front.

  After fifteen minutes of back-and-forth, Nevada replaced her at the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, and followed Macy and Bennett back into the building. When they stepped behind the locked doors, the sound of ringing phones greeted them.

  Sullivan looked up from his console. “Deputy Bennett, one of our guys found Debbie Roberson’s car.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “At the entrance to the state park.”

  “Are there signs of a struggle?” she asked.

  “The car is unlocked, and her purse is tucked under the front seat. He popped the trunk and found red rope.” The ringing phones forced Sullivan back to his console to answer the barrage of incoming calls.

  Macy stepped forward. “Ask the deputy to string crime scene tape around the car and stay with it until we arrive.”

  “I’ll drive out and have a look at the car,” Bennett said. “I’ll call you as soon as I appraise the situation.”

  “She worked at the Deep Run assisted living facility, correct?” Macy asked.

  “Yes,” Bennett said.

  “Bruce Shaw works there, so I can kill two birds with one stone and ask him about her,” Macy said.

  “I’m coming with you,” Nevada said.

  Nevada was a pace behind Macy as they strode through the front door of the Deep Run assisted living facility thirty minutes later. At the front desk of the new Adele Jenner Wyatt wing of the facility, he asked to speak to Dr. Bruce Shaw. After procuring a promise to page him, Nevada and Macy waited in a small conference room off the main lobby.

  He caught her staring at a stack of magazines featuring articles on the latest diets, fashion, and desserts. She thumbed through one. She didn’t appear curious about the text but seemed distant and sad.

  He remembered the call from Dr. Faith McIntyre, medical examiner in Austin, Texas. Faith had said that she was scrolling through contacts on Macy Crow’s phone, and he was listed under favorites. And then she had told him how badly Macy had been hurt.

  He’d immediately called a contact in the Texas Rangers and learned the details of the attempt on her life, as well as the case she’d been investigating when she’d been attacked.

  After closing the magazine abruptly, Macy dropped it to the table and moved to a pamphlet rack. She inspected the brochures absently, but he noted her hand trembled slightly.

  “You look agitated,” he said.

  She carefully replaced a pamphlet on long-term care. She faced him and with a shrug said, “I spent weeks in one of these. I worked my ass off because I knew if I didn’t, I was screwed in terms of my career and my personal life.”

  “And you did a hell of a job. There’s nothing to be nervous about now.”

  She ran her hand over her short hair. He was sorry he’d respected her wishes to tackle physical therapy alone. He should have been at her side. “And here you are, back in the game.”

  The door opened, and a man dressed in a white lab coat entered. In his midthirties, he had short dark hair brushed off his narrow, angled face. Bruce Shaw had been the quarterback for the Dream Team, and he’d had more girls chasing him than any teenage boy could imagine. He had maintained a lean, fit body.

  Nevada rose. “Dr. Shaw, thank you for seeing us.”

  Shaw shook his hand. “Anything to help, Sheriff. I just caught your press conference on the television. Hell of a thing. No one ever thinks that kind of thing could happen in a town like Deep Run.”

  “No, sir,” Nevada said. “I’d like to also introduce you to FBI Special Agent Macy Crow. She is working the case with my department.”

  Shaw shook her hand. “Pleasure, Agent Crow.”

  The three sat around a small, round conference table. Macy pulled out her yellow legal pad and flipped to a clean page. “Dr. Shaw, our visit has two purposes. The first is to ask about an employee, Debbie Roberson. Her mother hasn’t spoken to her in days, and she’s worried.”

  His eyes widened, and he reached for his phone. “Let me check the schedule.” He scrolled for several seconds, frowned, and then said, “She’s supposed to be on duty.”

  “Could she have switched shifts with another employee?” Macy asked.

  Shaw shook his head as he typed a text. “It’s policy that she inform her manager. I’ve just asked Mrs. Bland, her supervisor, to check.”

  “Has she missed work before?” Nevada asked.

  “She has,” he said. “In fact, she’s on the verge of receiving a letter of reprimand for the last time she switched shifts and didn’t properly communicate it.”

  Macy scribbled a note on her yellow pad. “Has anyone been giving her trouble? Have you noticed any signs of abuse or harassment directed toward her?”

  “No. Debbie is young and somewhat immature. However, the patients like her, and she’s very popular with the families, which is why Mrs. Bland keeps her on. Is Debbie really in jeopardy?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Nevada said. “Just covering all the bases.”

  “You said you were here for two reasons,” Shaw said.

  Macy looked up from her pad. Her face was relaxed, but Nevada sensed she was anything but. “Can you tell us about your sister?”

  “Cindy?” He shook his head. “That’s random.”

  “One of the primary reasons I’m here is to investigate the death of Tobi Turner. Several people we spoke to said Cindy was seen with Tobi close to the time she vanished.”

  “How much do you know about my sister?” he asked carefully.

  “That’s exactly my question for you, Doctor,” Macy said.

  He rubbed the underside of a gold college ring. “We grew up under challenging circumstances. Our mother was addicted to meth and was more worried about her next hit than Cindy and me. Football was my outlet. The team became my family. Unfortunately, Cindy’s outlet was the bottle, and then she started smoking meth shortly before she vanished.”

  “The people we spoke to say she ran away,” Macy said.

  “She did. When I heard she’d left, I drove to the bus station and tried to talk her into staying. But she was determined to leave Deep Run. She was convinced a better life was waiting for her.”

  “When was this?” Macy asked.

  “Early November.”

  “After Tobi vanished?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Did you ever hear from her again?” Macy asked.

  “No. But I also didn’t try to find her. I was drowning at the time, too. I tried in my own way to save her, but she wouldn’t let me. In the end, I had to let her go.”

  “She never contacted you once?” Macy asked.

  “I received a postcard from Dallas about a year after she left. She mailed it to the trailer, and it was forwarded to me at
college. I called the number she’d written in her note, but no one answered.” He leaned back, as if distancing himself from a memory. “You’re both in law enforcement, and you must know the odds for a seventeen-year-old runaway aren’t good.”

  “I’ve seen the odds beaten before,” Macy said.

  “Then why wouldn’t my sister contact me?” Bruce said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Macy studied him silently. “Why would Cindy befriend a band kid, a math geek like Tobi? Seems like apples and oranges.”

  “Cindy was good at working the angles. She needed money for the drugs. She was probably using the girl.”

  “Did Cindy ever mention Tobi?” Macy asked.

  “Not to me.”

  “Did Cindy go to the bonfires?” Nevada asked.

  “Yes. She loved being around the team,” Bruce said. “The football team adopted me, and I guess she hoped they would adopt her as a mascot.”

  “Did they?” Macy asked.

  He dropped his gaze, plucking a thread from his pant leg. “Not really.”

  Macy tapped her index finger against her notebook. Nevada had seen that look before. The wheels were turning, which they would do constantly until she cracked this case.

  “Thank you for your time,” Macy said as she handed him a card. “If you think of anything, no matter how inconsequential, call me.”

  Bruce locked gazes with Macy. “You said you’ve seen the odds beaten before. Do you think my sister is still alive?”

  “Do you?”

  “I hope so.” Bruce looked sincere, but that didn’t mean much. Nevada had seen stone-cold killers convince a judge and jury of their innocence.

  “Call the number after you’ve given our conversation some thought.”

  Macy shifted in her seat, ignoring the discomfort in her leg as Nevada drove by Debbie Roberson’s house. It was a small one-story brick structure that backed up to woods. “Just the kind of place our boy likes,” she said.

  Nevada parked and the two got out. She walked up to the mailbox and opened the door, finding a couple of days’ worth of mail inside. They followed a gravel path to the front door.

  She rang the bell, and both waited for a sign that someone was inside. There was nothing.