Wednesday, November 20, 6:30 a.m.
When Macy and Nevada rolled up on the scene, emergency lights from local and state cop cars lit up the night sky. Bands of morning sun nudged against the darkness as they slowly warmed the frigid air.
Macy burrowed her hands in her coat pockets, hoping forensic arrived soon to cover the body with a tent and protect it from the heat and any possible news helicopters filming from above.
She focused on the flap of the crime scene tape encircling the body of a woman who lay a couple of feet from a turnaround. The victim, wearing only an oversize T-shirt, was left on her back with legs and arms bound by red ropes. Her long dark hair splayed out behind her as if it were staged.
After removing latex gloves from her backpack, Macy slowly worked her fingers into them as she moved toward the victim. She’d never gotten used to moments like this.
She crossed the graveled road to the tape, ducked under it, and gingerly knelt by the body. Her leg moaned in protest, but she used her discomfort as a reminder that she was alive.
Nevada came up beside her, his ball cap hiding his expression as he, too, cataloged the scene’s details.
Macy keyed in on the woman’s neck, ringed in black-and-blue bruises in various stages of healing and discoloration. The killer had used his hands to strangle the victim multiple times, over what Macy estimated were several days.
The victim’s wrists and ankles were discolored with bruises, likely caused by restraints during the assault.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Choking someone to death was a very personal form of murder. Using a gun or even a motor vehicle were both profoundly effective forms of killing, but neither required the touch and eye contact of strangulation.
Macy leaned forward, studying the body’s position. The manner of death, a body’s final positioning, also said something about the killer. Killers in a rushed panic left remains in a dumpster or field, a shallow grave, or even a hay chute.
More methodical killers took the time to display their bodies. In the case she’d worked in Denver, the murdered sex workers had been left naked and spread eagle with their right breast removed. The killer had wanted to humiliate them.
“What do you think?” Nevada asked.
As tempting as it was to link this case to Tobi’s, she paused. “Locked-in thinking has sidelined too many investigations.”
“I want your assessment.”
At the risk of repeating last night’s mistake, she stuck with her gut. “It’s the guy we’re looking for.” A quiet breeze fluttered through the ends of the victim’s long hair.
“Why leave her body out here?” Nevada asked. “He hid Tobi’s body.”
“Best guess, Tobi was his first kill. Tobi was intoxicated, he lured her to the hayloft, and something went wrong. Maybe she was inebriated. He wasn’t getting the jolt of fear he hoped from his rape victims, so he graduated to strangulation. God knows how long it went on.”
Nevada studied the woman’s pale features. “She looks like Tobi.”
“I know. Any word from Bennett on the roommate?”
“Not yet.” His gaze skimmed the area around them. “Why leave her out for us? There’s enough open land around here to ensure a body wouldn’t be found for weeks, months, or even years.”
“You know the answer to that,” she said. “He saw the press conference, and he wants you to know he’s here and still a force to be reckoned with.”
Macy rose, wincing a little as her right knee groaned. She walked around the body, searching for something that would make her better understand this killer. “How he is perceived matters to him. He values his reputation.”
“I see a monster,” Nevada said.
“No argument here. But the nuances matter to him,” Macy said. “If it’s the same killer, he’s matured in the last fifteen years. He’s craving a greater challenge. When stalking didn’t satisfy him, he raped. And when that wasn’t enough, he killed. I’ll bet money he’s killed in other jurisdictions.”
“In the moments when he has his victim all to himself, he’s everything to her,” he said, almost to himself.
“And when he takes life, he sees himself as a winner. And when he gets away with a crime, he wins yet again.”
“Leaving this body here is going to make it easier for us to catch him.”
“He’s upped the stakes of the game,” Macy said. “He keeps raising the stakes. I’m almost certain he’s gotten away with other rapes or murders. And now he craves a greater challenge to prove he deserves the win.” She shook her head as the insects buzzed around her.
Boots crunched on the gravel behind her as Bennett walked up. She stared at the body, unable to take her eyes off of it.
“What is it?” Macy asked.
“I went by to check on Debbie Roberson. She was packing to spend the night at her parents’ house. But her roommate, Beth Watson, was still not at home, so I asked Debbie for a picture. I snapped copies with my phone.” She turned her phone around to reveal the stern, unsmiling face of a young woman in her late teens. Macy glanced at the body.
It matched the image on the deputy’s phone.
“He wasn’t watching Debbie, but Beth,” Nevada said.
“He could have been stalking them both, but Debbie went out of town unexpectedly,” Macy said.
“Leaving Beth behind,” Bennett said.
As they studied the body and the area immediately around it, the sun rose just as the state’s forensic van crested the road and parked in front of the sheriff’s vehicle. Two technicians exited. Both were dressed in dark-blue slacks and gray shirts with the Commonwealth of Virginia emblem over the right breast pocket.
Nevada ducked back under the yellow tape and strode toward them. He introduced himself, and the three spoke briefly before the technicians began to unload their equipment.
Bennett stared at the body, her face an ashen color.
“You’ve worked death investigations before, correct?” Macy asked.
“Car accidents, a meth lab explosion, and a convenience store robbery. Nothing as evil as this.”
Macy stared at the rolling hills around them, covered in a fresh carpet of fall leaves. “Easy to think it can’t come to a remote and beautiful place like this. But it’s always here. In fact, it never left.”
“Do you think he’s gotten wiser regarding DNA?” Bennett asked.
“DNA is what tied his rape cases to Tobi Turner’s murder. It’s his signature. If it truly is the same guy, and he left Beth Watson out here to be found, he’s left DNA on the body to be found. He wants us to know it’s him.”
A rumble of noise washed over the growing crowd, and Bennett turned and immediately muttered a curse only Macy could hear. “Greene is here.”
“It’s the biggest case this part of the state has seen in years. You should have expected it.”
Greene wore khakis, a white shirt, a windbreaker, and a white Stetson. He could have passed for law enforcement, and she guessed that was exactly the kind of look he wanted to project.
“Has he always worn the hat?” Macy asked.
“Nope. That’s a new look,” Bennett said.
“Riding in to the rescue?” Macy asked.
Bennett glowered. “I’m sure he sees it that way.”
Macy had juggled her share of local politics. The actors might vary, but the basic dynamics were the same. Everyone thought their way was the best. Everyone wanted to look their best. Including the perpetrators.
And honestly, Macy wasn’t so different than the former sheriff. She wanted to solve this case herself. She wanted the win in her column.
Bennett glared at Greene. “There was a time I really believed in that guy. I still want to. But when I think about those kits under the carpet, I question everything I knew about him.”
“And he lost because of what he did. But for now, don’t alienate Greene,” Macy said. “He knows this county better than anyone. One day soon he might come in handy.”
Hank Greene approached Nevada. The old sheriff was grinning as he extended his hand. Nevada gripped the old man’s hand, but didn’t smile as Greene leaned in slightly and spoke. Nevada released his hold and shook his head.
“Nevada has dealt with dozens of men like Greene before,” Macy said. “If Greene thinks he’s going to do an end run around Nevada, he’s sadly mistaken.”
The news crew moved toward Nevada, who made a brief statement before excusing himself. As he strode back toward them, Greene tugged off his white Stetson and held it over his chest, like a humble public servant. The boom light snapped on, a reporter’s microphone was thrust in his direction, and the questions started flying.
Greene was at ease and serious all at once. He turned toward the crime scene, seemingly explaining his take on the scene. His views might or might not have been right, but that didn’t really matter if the sound bites for the morning news were good. Perception was everything.
“Why didn’t you talk longer to the press, Sheriff?” Bennett asked.
“Talking to the reporters feeds into this killer’s ego. It’s news blackout until we have DNA. We control the narrative.”
“They’ll want a statement,” the deputy persisted.
“Let the reporters, the public, and the killer wait.”
Nevada surveyed the crowd and then brought his focus back around to Macy. “Do you think he’s watching?”
“Killers often return to the scene of their crimes to witness the carnage.”
“Agreed,” Nevada said. “Deputy Bennett, pick two deputies and make sure their dashcam and vest cameras are on and rolling. I want film of who’s here.”
“Will do,” she said.
Hank Greene approached the crime scene tape and, out of habit or arrogance, appeared ready to duck under it. Nevada stopped him.
Greene frowned briefly and then recovered with a smile. “Special Agent Crow, good to see you again.”
Macy nodded. “Couldn’t stay away, I see.”
He grinned. “I’ve been sheriff of this county for almost thirty years. You know if you don’t get hard leads in the first forty-eight hours, the investigation can drag on for months or years.”
“Like the Turner case?” Macy asked.
His smile dimmed, but before he could answer, a helicopter’s blades cut through the air above them. She looked up to see a television station logo. The story would be statewide, possibly national, by midmorning, putting her successes or failures on a bigger stage.
Energy tingled through him as he watched the telecast of the gathering crowd along the street where he’d dropped Beth’s body.
He’d left clues at other murder scenes, expecting the cops to pick up on him. But so far, no one had linked his crimes. However, it seemed Macy Crow was sharper than most, and she was fitting together some of the pieces.
He smiled as he replayed the broadcast. He’d expected attention, but this kind of notoriety was more than he had ever dared to hope for. This crime wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon.
He should have relaxed and bathed in the prickle of excitement, but already he wondered how he would up the stakes. Go big or go home.
As he’d watched Macy and Brooke, he’d known killing one of them would bring down heaven and earth on this town. Each was strong and would put up one hell of a fight. Taking one of them might be his undoing, but the challenge was too tempting to resist.
The only question was, which one?