Luke greeted her in the front office. “Murphy’s coordinating with all local search-and-rescue organizations, along with department personnel and the police academy,” he said. “We’re putting together a team of volunteers and cadets tomorrow morning at dawn. In the meantime, we’ve issued a countywide BOLO, and the night shift will be canvassing for information on Bunny’s whereabouts. Everyone is aware. Everyone is concerned.”
He led the way through a maze of hallways toward the impound lot’s suite of storage rooms on the ground level, past the entrance to the multilevel parking garage. He unlocked the storage suite, flicking on the lights as they walked into a windowless room, where the contents of Bunny’s shopping cart were spread across the cement floor, fluorescent lights buzzing distractedly above their heads.
“Technically,” Luke explained, “this cart is stolen property, so it’s legal for us to search it without a warrant.”
The room smelled bad. Natalie studied the items of soiled clothing, crumpled aluminum cans, several rolls of toilet paper, a broken MP3 player, moldy food in wrappers, receipts for coffee and snacks, a few battered paperbacks, a tattered blanket, old shoes, and more.
“We found the shopping cart inside the barn,” Luke explained. “No sign of a struggle. The cart was upright. Bunny had lined dozens of water bottles and empties against the wall next to her sleeping bag, and nothing had been disturbed. We’re having the blood on the army jacket tested. I’ve made it a priority. Also, we found this in the cart.” He bent down and picked up an evidence bag with a dead crow inside.
Natalie’s heart began to race. “Another one?” She took the bag and studied the dead bird. Its neck had been broken and twisted around several times so the head flopped over to one side. The tattered wings were pinned against the bird’s body with a length of heavy-duty twine. “This looks like an initiation binding,” she said, a sick awareness curdling inside her.
“What’s that?” Luke asked.
“During Wiccan initiation rites, you stand with both arms behind your back, and the priest or priestess will loop a red cord over your left wrist, tie it with a square knot, then loop it over the right wrist, and up around your neck. It’s called a binding, and it forms an inverted triangle.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Joey used to say ‘Treat every crime scene like a psychiatric examination, and you’ll get closer to the heart of the matter,’” Natalie said. “What if the Crow Killer is initiating his victims? Maybe he has his own private version of Wicca?”
“A delusional version.”
Something passed through her. A blurry awareness. She noticed the pink corner of a box sticking out from underneath a pile of clothes. “What’s that?”
“Just an empty bakery box.”
She pawed through the smelly clothing, shirtsleeves and pant legs braided together. Printed on the lid in red cursive was Sweetie’s Bakery. She opened it. There was nothing inside but crumbs and smears of chocolate icing. “Daisy snuck out of the house a few weeks ago and bought these cupcakes for Bunny, according to Brandon.”
“What do you mean—snuck out of the house?”
“She made up some excuse about needing more milk, but Brandon said they had some in the fridge. So he got suspicious and followed her across town to Sweetie’s Bakery, then to the Hadleys’ farm, where she gave Bunny the cupcakes.”
“Why would Daisy lie about something as innocent as that?”
“I don’t know.” She dug through the rest of the trash, pulling things out and hoping to find other clues, but there was nothing of significance.
She sat back on her heels, peeled off her latex gloves, and said, “When I ran into her the other day, Bunny told me the Devil was watching her. So now I’m wondering … what if the Crow Killer’s been to the Hadleys’ farm, staking it out. Maybe he figured Bunny was an easy target?”
“Why leave so many clues behind? Nine dead crows. The markings on Teresa’s grave. And now this crow in the shopping cart.”
She repeated her theory. “He wants us to see him.”
“Catch him, you mean?”
“No. See him. He feels invisible. He wants to tell his story.”
“Or else it’s a game,” Luke said cynically. “Like walking up to the edge of a cliff without falling off. Maybe he thinks he’s impervious.”
“Or else he figures we aren’t all that bright.”
“He’s right,” Luke admitted. “All these years later, we’re fucking clueless.”
“Not anymore,” she said.
“No. Not anymore.”
She stood up and dusted off her hands. “I hope this is all a misunderstanding. I hope he doesn’t have Bunny. God, I hope not. No way this turns into the Missing Ten. Not on my watch.”
He shook his head, then said, “If he wants our attention, he’ll like the name we’ve given him. The Crow Killer.”
“Maybe if we put it out there, he’ll contact us?”
“I’ll give it a shot. In the meantime, we need a picture of Bunny for the missing-person poster.”
She felt a spike of self-consciousness, as if someone were maliciously singling her out. “I know where to find one.”