She jogged across the street into Jordie Tanner’s yard and looked up into the trees until she spotted the camera. It was painted green and brown and reminded her of the cameras used by hunters to monitor game. She took a few pictures with her phone and then, with her line of sight, followed the angle of the lens. If BB had come running through this area, that camera had caught her.

As she walked back to her car, she dialed Jordie’s number. The call went to voicemail. She left her information and asked him to return her call as soon as possible.

She knocked on four more doors, but as Ms. White had suggested, no one was at home. An hour after, the sky had fully darkened as she headed back to the other side of Cox Road. Then she knocked on more doors but noted the local officer had left his card wedged in several of them.

By the time she was behind the wheel, her skin was broiling. The car’s AC first blew out only hot air as it cranked up, so she kept her car door open until it slowly cooled off the interior and her. She sat and reached for her phone. Curious about Agent Jerrod Ramsey, she typed his name into the search engine. She had been intrigued by the guy since she had seen him waiting for her in the TBI’s lobby. Tall, dark, and imposing.

Ramsey had left few digital footprints. Not surprising. She was careful about that as well. Piecing together the bits of information, she learned he had been with the FBI for almost fifteen years and now headed up a team that worked a variety of violent crime cases across the country. Most recent included a series of cold cases near Austin, Texas; in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia; and in his own backyard of Alexandria, Virginia.

She found only two images of him, and both were official FBI portraits. He looked like he had ten years ago, only his face had filled out a little and there was now some gray hair.

There was nothing about the man or his personal life. Made perfect sense. A guy like that did not want nor did he need the attention.

Habit again had her glancing toward the watch that was not there. She dialed the hospital and spoke to the charge nurse, who reported that Elena had had no visitors. She thanked the nurse, turned the car around, and pressed the accelerator.

“BB, you didn’t just vanish, girlfriend. Someone saw your ass running from that accident, and it’s a matter of time before I catch you.”

As she approached the stop sign, her phone rang. She saw Ramsey’s name on her phone. “Yes, sir.”

“Please, no sir.” Normally, his voice was rough like sandpaper rubbing against wood. Nothing like the polished suit, tie, and shoes that cost more than she had spent on rent last month. This time, he sounded almost chagrined by the title.

“Sorry. Force of habit. I just canvassed the homes on Cox. Located a security camera and have put a call in to the owner but for now, nothing.”

“We’ll definitely want that camera footage.”

“I’m on it.”

“I’m at the medical examiner’s office. Can you stop by?”

The state medical examiner and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation offices were on the same campus and were less than a few blocks apart.

“I’m about fifteen minutes out. Have you pulled prints?”

“We have been able to get readable prints on two of the fingers so far, and they have been submitted to AFIS. Hope to have an identification when you arrive.”

A jolt of excitement zipped through her like it always did when a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Having the name of a victim would likely tell them something about the killer and maybe lead them to BB. “I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER TEN

Monday, August 24, 9:00 p.m.

Ramsey did not need to see Agent Melina Shepard to know she was approaching the autopsy suite. Her defined footsteps, like her voice and mannerisms, were clear and direct. Even the slight southern accent that wove through her husky tones was not willowy or soft but strong and sharp like barbed wire.

Her face and body were angled and honed but with enough curves to turn heads. She might not have noticed the men at the crime scene stealing glances at her, but he had. If she had caught them, her direct stare, which had a way of dissecting layer by layer, would have challenged them until they had the good sense to look away.

The one time her expression had softened had been when she had spoken to Elena. Then, genuine concern and empathy had warmed her voice. Most cops, especially those with children, could not escape the emotions of an injured child. Whether she had a kid, or she had been hurt as a child, she’d had a real connection to Elena.

Shepard rounded the corner. She still wore the dark jacket over a fitted blouse, long black slacks, booted heels, and her badge clipped to her belt. Her olive skin had a faint glow of sun likely picked up while canvassing the neighborhood.

“Agent Ramsey,” she said. “Secured an identification yet?”

No small talk. Which in all honesty, he did appreciate. Talking about the weather, music, or whatever bullshit people filled the airways with at times like this never sat well with him. Shepard did not play politics. She simply did not care whose feelings got hurt. That was noble but shortsighted if she had any ambitions to rise through the ranks.

He understood strategy and looked upon office politics like a necessary evil. He was good at it. And for that, he was able to get whatever his team needed.

“We now have two identified,” he said. “The doctor has given us the use of his conference room. I can brief you, and then we can meet with him.”

“Perfect.” She moved away from him and opened the conference room door in her habitually expedient way. She flipped on the lights and crossed to a small refrigerator and plucked out two bottled waters. As he entered the room, she held one up for him, but when he declined with a shake of his head, she replaced it. She twisted off the top and was drinking greedily as she sat.

He took a seat and pulled the tablet from his briefcase. “I’ve been in contact with my agents at Quantico, who fast-tracked the identification of the prints.”

She removed a notebook and a pen from the backpack slung over her shoulder. “I suppose we’re lucky this killer opted to save fingers and not ears. And why ring fingers?”

“Other than the obvious symbolism of love and romance?” Ramsey asked.

“Left ring finger is supposed to be a direct line to the heart.”

“It’s not a random choice, Agent Shepard.”

“He’s arrogant or a fool. Otherwise why save such telling evidence?”

“He preserved mementos precisely because they can be easily identified.”

“Taunting the law?”

“I think so.”

“Jesus.” She shook her head, then finished off the bottle. “What do you have?”

He pulled up emails from Agent Andrea “Andy” Jamison, who worked on the ViCAP database. “These are from Andy Jamison at the bureau. She tracks monsters with her computer.”

“That’s efficient.”

“Andy is good at her job. When I told her that we have six severed fingers, she dug into her database and found one hit immediately.” The ViCAP system relied on local law enforcement to input the data from their local violent crimes.

“Does she have any cases involving missing ring fingers?”

“No cases submitted with that particular detail. If this killer moved from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, a cop might not find it odd enough to bother with a ViCAP application.”

Shepard frowned. “I get it. Especially if it’s a small locality with minimal staff.”

“Andy identified Cindy Patterson, age thirty-eight, as one of the victims who has an arrest record. Patterson was murdered December 2007. She vanished after a concert at the arena in Kansas City, Missouri. According to statements, her friends saw her leaving the venue about 11:00 p.m., and she was walking toward a parking garage. She insisted she was meeting her date and would be fine.”

“Did they ever ID the date?”

“No. None of her friends reported ever meeting the guy. He apparently was from out of town, and Cindy hooked up with him in a bar. Bottom line, she never made it to her car, which was found by police in the parking garage after she had been reported missing.”

Shepard tapped the side of the empty plastic bottle. “Was her body found?”

“Two days after Patterson vanished, the area was hit by a wicked ice storm that dropped two inches on the area. Over a quarter of a million homes and businesses were without power with downed trees everywhere.”

“Meaning the search didn’t really get off the ground.”

Ramsey heard the frustration in Shepard’s voice. “Delayed at best. Nothing really thawed out until the following spring, when her body was found thirty miles outside of the town. Remains were badly decomposed, but the medical examiner did get DNA from the teeth that eventually identified Patterson.”

“Were the police able to determine if the ring finger was missing? Out in the open, animal activity does a number on a body.”

“The remains were badly compromised. We might not have connected Cindy to this if not for her arrest record.”

“What was she arrested for?” Shepard asked.

He pulled up the mug shot. Cindy had been blond, with blue eyes and a long narrow face. Full lips turned down in a frown. “Drug dealing and fraud.”