by Burton, Mary
She thought for a moment and lightly touched the side of her nose. “I rarely am.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday, November 19, 5:00 p.m.
As Bennett parked her cruiser behind Macy’s car in front of the Roberson’s small brick rancher, Macy finished checking her emails and tucked her phone away. She looked up at the Roberson’s two-story house. It was painted in white and was chipped in several spots. The lawn was neatly raked with several mature trees still clinging to a few orange and gold leaves. A row of boxwoods ran along the front of the house in a freshly mulched bed.
Out of her car, Bennett settled her hat on her head and drew in a breath. “I don’t want to make a death notification to this woman.”
Macy had made a few death notifications, and each had left an indelible image in its own way. “I can never decide which reaction is worse. The stony silence of an elderly woman who’s lost her forty-year-old son or the hysterical tears of a man who’s learned his runaway daughter has been murdered.”
“How do you handle it?”
“Tuck the feelings away in a small box. Later, when you have time, you can deal with them.” Macy rang the bell. “Don’t even think about death notifications right now. Mrs. Roberson will sense it. As far as we know, Debbie is alive and well.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Instead of answering, Macy notched back her shoulders. “Let me ask the questions.”
“Sure.”
When no one came to the door, Macy rang again. This time a dog’s bark echoed in the house. Bennett’s gun belt creaked several times as she shifted her stance.
Footsteps echoed in the house, along with a soft command for the dog to be quiet. The door snapped open to a tall, thin woman wearing worn jeans, a football sweatshirt, and her hair pulled into a ponytail.
“Deputy Bennett,” the woman said.
“Mrs. Roberson. Is your husband here?”
“Yes, he’s in the TV room. You’ll have to go in there if you want to speak to him.”
“Mr. Roberson has ALS,” Bennett explained to Macy. “Mrs. Roberson, this is Special Agent Macy Crow from the FBI.”
“FBI.” Her brow knotted as if she knew a federal presence meant the scope of the case had grown. “Tell me that you’ve found my Debbie,” Martha said.
“We have not,” Macy said. “But we’d like to talk to you and your husband.”
“Nothing? That’s good news, right?”
“I don’t know what it means, ma’am,” Macy said gently. “May we come inside?”
“Of course.” The woman stepped aside and led them down a small hallway to a room outfitted with a hospital bed and a large nightstand crammed with medicines. Across from the bed, a large television playing a game show sat on an old dresser.
In the bed lay a man propped up on pillows with a thick quilt tucked up almost to his chin. Long and broad shouldered, he had been a big man before the disease had chewed away his nerve endings, had robbed him of movement and left him with a thin, withered frame.
Behind the hollowed features were alert, dark eyes that regarded Macy with keen interest. He moved his lips, but only a garbled sound could be slightly heard.
“Ronnie,” Martha said, “you remember Deputy Bennett. With her today is Special Agent Macy Crow with the FBI.”
His gaze narrowed as he searched Macy’s face.
“Good to meet you, sir.” Macy took his cool hand and shook it. After the HNR, most of the hospital staff had been great, but there were a few doctors and a physical therapist who had treated her like a potted plant. It was a life lesson that would forever change how she treated the injured. They were crippled, but damn sure not pathetic.
Mr. Roberson’s fingers flickered as he tried to squeeze her hand in response.
“Sheriff Nevada requested an FBI agent to investigate a different matter. I happened to be along with Deputy Bennett when we received your call.”
The fingers twitched.
Macy directed her question to the Robersons. “When did you last see Debbie?”
“It’s been a week,” Martha said. “She’s good about coming by, but sometimes all this here gets to be too much. She and her dad are very close and it’s hard. Last week she was upset, so I told her to take a break and not visit for a couple of weeks. She didn’t like the idea of that, but I insisted.” Martha looked to her husband. “She was supposed to call every day, but I haven’t spoken to her since Friday night.”
“No second-guessing, Mrs. Roberson,” Macy said. “That’s only going to chew you up inside.”
The older woman dug a tissue from her pocket and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “You’re right.”
“Was there anyone in her life who was a problem for her? Threats, unwanted gifts, visits that felt more like stalking?”
“I’ve been thinking about that all night. And I remember her saying she thought she saw a man outside her house one night a few weeks ago.”
“Did she recognize who it was?” Macy asked.
“No. She said he was wearing a dark hoodie and his face was shadowed. He had what looked like a notebook in his hand.”
Some killers stalked their victims before they committed their crimes. In some cases they spent weeks or even months gathering information about habits, patterns, and schedules. “Did she ever see him again?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me.”
Bennett shifted her stance. “She never called in a report to my office.”
Maybe the man on the street corner was no one. And if it had been the man who took her, he might have been spooked after being spotted. Or maybe he was more careful with his reconnaissance.
“Debbie was also dating a new guy. She wouldn’t tell me his name so I wouldn’t make a big thing of it. She’s been through a lot with her divorce. Ronnie and me just want her to be happy.”
“That’s normal for a parent to want the best for their child, Mr. and Mrs. Roberson,” Macy said. “When did she go on this date?”
“A few weeks ago, I guess.”
“Did she know Rafe Younger?” Macy asked.
Martha frowned. “Rafe and she were a passing thing. I think the two were both on the rebound and lonely. She moved on from Rafe, and I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“He can’t hold a job. And he likes to drink. Not a good combination.”
“What do you know about Rafe?” Macy asked.
“He worked with Debbie at the assisted living place.”
“And he lives nearby?” Macy asked.
“Last I heard, he was living in a tiny place just west of here. Do you think Rafe took Debbie?”
“He was seen at Lucky’s on Saturday the same time Debbie was, but so far that’s all I have. They simply could have bumped into each other. What about handymen? Cable guy? Delivery man?”
“Nothing that she told me about.” Martha squeezed her husband’s hand. “And we’ve racked our brains for any kind of clue.”
“Mrs. Roberson, do you have Rafe’s phone number?” Macy asked. “Or an address?”
“No. Debbie said his phone was disconnected and he moved around a lot.”
Mr. Roberson’s face twisted in a mixture of frustration, sadness, and futility. He tried to speak, but again it was garbled. His wife patted him on the hand. “Ronnie, I’m going to show these ladies some pictures of Debbie. We’ll be right back.”
His eyes cut to his wife. He knew she was shielding him from this stress. Finally, he nodded, and Martha led them down the hallway toward the front door.
“There are no pictures,” she whispered. “But I can’t bear to have any stressful conversation in front of him. It upsets him and he only ends up getting sicker.”
“Is that why you asked Debbie to take a little time off?” Macy asked.
“Debbie wanted to put her father in the Deep Run assisted living facility. I didn’t agree, and we argued. I’m not sending my husband away from the only home he’s had. He grew up i
n this house. He needs me.”
“And your daughter saw it differently?” Macy asked.
“She did. She works at the facility and thought she could negotiate the price down. Even with a discount, I couldn’t afford it. Not that I would even if I could.”
“Mrs. Roberson,” Bennett said, “we did find your daughter’s car at the state park entrance. We found her purse and keys, but there was no sign of her. What would she have been doing there?”
“Hiking. She loves those woods. She likes being outside. Is it good or bad that you found her car?”
“It’s a starting point,” Bennett said. “She was last seen at the convenience store, and now we have her car.”
Martha took Bennett’s hand in hers. “Find my daughter. I know Ronnie and I weren’t kind to you when you pulled him over a few years ago. I know we even made it worse for you when we filed a complaint, but please help us.”
“I swore to do my job, Mrs. Roberson, and that is exactly what I’m going to do,” Bennett said.
Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes as she nodded and released the deputy’s hand.
As Bennett stepped outside, Macy handed her business card to Martha. “If you think of anything, no matter how small, call me.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Don’t give up,” Macy said.
Macy followed Bennett outside and toward their cars. “What happened with Mr. Roberson?”
“I arrested him for drunk driving four years ago. He became belligerent and tried to hit me. I defended myself and he filed charges. Dashcam footage backed up my story. The judge sentenced him to thirty days in jail.”
“Does he have a history of violence?”
“He’d never been arrested before.”
“What did he do before he got sick?”
“He taught history at Valley High School for twenty-five years.”
“While Tobi Turner was there?”
“Yes.”
The mask rubbed against the stubble on his face as he caressed the soft skin of her neck. He loved the way her bruises matured from faint red marks to deep purple. Soon they would grow angrier and band around her slender neck like a collar.
Now that he was alone with her, a sense of power raced through his body, and the pressures of the world didn’t feel so overwhelming.
Her eyes fluttered open. It took several moments for her gaze to focus on him and register where she was. When she did, she flinched and tried to scurry away. A swift knee placed adeptly on her abdomen stopped her retreat and held her firmly in place.
She knew she was trapped. She knew she was going to die, and she was terrified.
“You shouldn’t be afraid now,” he said. “You know what’s coming next. This is our special time together.”
“Please.” Her voice was raspy, like rough sandpaper.
He’d done his share of begging, pleading, and borrowing from those who mattered most of his life, and it felt so damn good to be on the receiving end. “Please what?” he asked.
“Please, let me go. I won’t tell. Please.”
He rubbed his index finger over her lips. “I love it when you beg.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, November 19, 6:00 p.m.
The sun had just set and the temperature was dropping on the trail, but Nevada and Ellis were moving at a good clip. They’d discovered signs of bears and deer but nothing suggesting that Debbie Roberson had hiked this way. Nevada was an expert at tracking people, and he could tell this trail had been well traveled in the last few days. If Debbie Roberson or anyone else had trekked this path coerced, there was no way of knowing if any of the shoe depressions in the moist soil, bent leaves, possible signs of a struggle, or other clues had been left by Debbie.
With each passing minute, Nevada believed more strongly that she had never entered the park. “A shelter is up ahead. Let’s take a break and regroup.”
“The trail is wet and the climbing is harder. Do you really think she made it this far?” Ellis asked.
“No. I don’t.” He glanced up through the thinning canopy of brown, yellow, and red leaves toward the bright light of the half moon. “But let’s finish it.”
“Will do.”
As they approached the open shelter, he shrugged his backpack off and set it down. Without a word, he and Ellis sat, both glad to be off their feet, if only for a few minutes. He reached in the side pocket of his pack and pulled out a water bottle and a PowerBar. Ellis did the same, and for several minutes they ate in silence.
Finally, he pulled out the map of the park and a flashlight and studied the primary trail snaking up and around the mountain. If Debbie had stayed the course, she could conceivably have looped around to the other side and tried to reach her car a different way. There was still a slim chance she’d fallen or was injured. “If we keep going, we could finish the trail in an hour.”
“If Ms. Roberson is truly lost, she could’ve taken any number of the side trails and followed them.”
“Or she could be moving between the trails and going in circles.”
Nevada drained his water bottle and closed his eyes, trying to picture where she could have gone. He did the same when he tracked fugitives. Mentally, he ran pathways, escape routes, and the proverbial trapdoors that his prey might use. Debbie wasn’t his prey, of course, but he hunted her just the same.
“I still can’t believe you gave up the bureau for this kind of work. It’s important, but, Nevada, you were making a difference.”
“It was time for a change. And I’m still making a difference.”
“I’ll grant that you’re good for Deep Run. But what prompted this?”
“I like the solitude.”
“You can take the boy out of the country, but not the country out of the boy? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s bullshit.” She rubbed a callus on her palm. “And please tell me you didn’t give it all up for me.”
“Sorry, it’s not about you, Ellis.”
“Are you sure? I’ll never forget the look in your eyes last summer when I told you about what happened to me.” They’d gone out for dinner and drinks, and she’d had too much wine. If she hadn’t been more than a little drunk, he doubted she’d ever have told him. “I’ve never seen such anger.”
He cracked the knuckles on his right hand. “I’m going to find this guy, Ellie.”
“And then what? You’re going to strap on that starched uniform for the next twenty years?”
“One hurdle at a time, Ellie.”
“Is this about Macy Crow?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Please. When she’s close, you all but vibrate with energy. Are you two an item?”
“No.”
She laughed, wagging her finger at him. She knew instantly she’d caught him in a lie. “You were and still want to be. Is this case your way of sending her flowers?”
The truth irritated him. “You’re being a pain in my ass, Ellie.”
She punched him in the shoulder just like she had when she was a kid. “For what it’s worth, I like her. And I hope it works out.”
He didn’t respond, unwilling to acknowledge a hope that was more a pipe dream than a possibility.
“I guess if you and Macy do hook up, you’ll definitely leave Deep Run.”
He appreciated the peace of this place. It was far from the chaos of Washington, DC, which never stopped moving. Out here he had no immediate neighbors and could take a piss off his back porch anytime he liked. And at night the sky was full of breathtaking stars that couldn’t be seen from a city filled with lights. But Ellie was right. Once he caught this guy and Macy left, it would be hard to stay put.
“I’m committed to a two-year term,” he said.
“Okay, and then you’ll leave.” She shook her head. “I’d like to see Macy stay. Maybe when she’s done proving to herself whatever it is she needs to prove, she might settl
e down. That girl is carrying a wagonload of baggage.”
Again, the assessment was dead on. Nevada was beginning to believe his cousin would have made a better detective than he ever could be.
The crunch of footsteps on the trail had them both standing. Nevada unholstered his Glock. As isolated as the woods appeared, it was more crowded than most realized.
He stepped out of the shelter to see a young couple making their way down the trail. They both wore mud-splattered clothes and boots. When they spotted him, they stopped, and the female took a step back behind the male.
“We’re search and rescue,” Nevada said. He removed Debbie’s picture from his pocket. “Have you seen her?”
The male approached slowly and studied the image. “We haven’t seen anyone on the trail.”
The female approached, looked at the picture, and shook her head. “No, sorry.”
“How long have you been on the trail?”
“Since early yesterday,” the woman said. “We camped out on the top of the mountain and are making our way down the front side.”
“How did you enter the trail?” Nevada asked.
“The north side. We wanted to hike the entire loop.”
They had entered the park from the opposite direction. “And no signs of anyone?” he asked.
“Not in the last couple of hours. It’s been real quiet, which is unusual. It’s busy up here in the fall.”
“What about earlier? Did you see anything in the woods that caught your attention? Clothing? A discarded shoe? Trash that didn’t look right?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the man said.
“What about sounds? Anything that seemed off?”
“No, unless you count the bear we ran into. Thankfully, it was a young one and not interested in us.” Dark eyes narrowed. “Are you a cop? You sound like a cop.”
“I’m the sheriff of Deep Run. But I’m a search and rescue guy right now, trying to do a job.”
“We didn’t see anything,” the woman repeated. “But if we do, can we call your offices?”
“Yes, please.”
He believed the couple hadn’t seen Debbie, but neither had they been looking for her. An untrained eye out here could easily miss signs of her presence. After he collected their contact information, he said, “When you get to the base of the hill, there will be one of my deputies. If you see anything, report it to him.”
