“This is some property,” she said.

Ramsey drove up the steep driveway, maneuvering around the switchbacks with practiced ease. He rounded the last corner, and the SUV suddenly nosed into a circular driveway with a brick house with a wide front porch. The lights were off in the house, and the two rockers on the porch looked as if they had spent the better part of the winter and summer exposed to the elements. The shades on all the windows were drawn. The yard looked as if no one had been there in months.

Ramsey shut off the engine and they both got out. They shifted so that their weapons were easily accessible as they walked up the gravel pathway to the front steps. As she stood to the side, Ramsey tried the front door. After discovering it was locked, he banged his fist on the door.

The sound echoed in the house, rattling around like a marble in an empty jar. She peered between the window frames and the shades covering them. Each sliver of opening revealed views into what appeared to be empty rooms.

“How long has he owned this property?” she asked.

“Thirty years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Serial killers generally begin with violent fantasies and then graduate to arson and then rape. Out here, he could have had total control over his victims.”

“As far as we know, he’s killed prostitutes exclusively,” she said.

“They are the perfect victims.”

She studied the thick front door and then tested the handle herself with a twist. It was definitely locked. “I could break the glass.”

“I wish. We don’t even know we have the right guy. And whatever you find in there won’t be admissible in court.”

She peered again through the small gap between the curtain and the edge of the window. The back of her neck tightened just as it had when the Key Killer had approached her.

“Maybe there’s a back door that’s unlocked,” she said.

“We still don’t have a warrant.”

She turned from the window and went down the front steps. He followed, and the two walked through the tall grass around to the back side of the house. All the windows were covered in thick curtains, and it was impossible to get a good look inside.

Melina faced away from the house, staring at the small open field behind the structure. “Those two women I was looking for have still not been found.”

“This killer discarded the bodies of his other victims. It doesn’t make sense he would bury a victim on the property.”

She stared at the dense line of woods. “He’s getting older,” she said. “There are more surveillance cameras in the world. It’s harder to get away with murder. And I stuck him good.”

She walked toward the woods, not really sure what she was searching for. “He dumped his former victims in the woods. If I were older and wiser, I’d definitely stick close to home. He has perfectly good woods near this house.”

Ramsey nodded. “What better way to relive the fantasy of killing a woman than to step out on your porch and stare into the woods where she’s buried. He’s far from any nosy neighbors here.”

Several more steps and she caught the first whiff of death’s rancid scent. It had been hot the last two weeks, so any creature or human left out here would decompose quickly.

“Do you smell it?” she asked.

“I certainly do,” he said.

Both drew their weapons and moved closer to the tree line. Melina was ten feet away when the stench hit her full in the face. She coughed, raised her hand to her mouth.

“There it is,” he said. “Do you see it?”

She narrowed her gaze and searched the underbrush until she caught sight of an outline of decomposed remains.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Thursday, August 27, 4:30 p.m.

Search warrant in hand, Ramsey and Melina watched as a locksmith opened the front door to Mecum’s house. A faint sense of excitement churned in Ramsey. This was the closest he had come to this killer, and the idea of catching him now was painfully tantalizing.

The medical examiner had arrived, along with a half dozen marked police vehicles. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung and a tent and multiple tables erected to create a mobile workstation. Agent Jackson was on scene overseeing the search of the woods for more bodies and any trace of Mecum.

The lock turned and the first uniformed cop pushed open the door. That officer and two others entered the house and searched it. They came out ten minutes later. “All yours,” the officer said.

Latex tightened against Ramsey’s skin as he flexed his fingers. He did not reach for the light switch but waited as the technician dusted for prints. As much as he wanted to search the house, he did not want to destroy vital forensic evidence that would help them nail this guy.

When the scene was all clear, the two walked through the first floor into an outdated kitchen that looked out over a den and a tall fireplace.

She ran her finger over the counter, collecting a thick coating of dust. She opened the refrigerator, which released a stale, musty smell from no use. The freezer was the same.

The two made a methodical search of the first and second floors, but each room was like the last. Dusty and empty.

“I bet he’s busy outfitting his new van,” she said. “He wants it just right before he hunts again.”

“A guy like him might have multiple locations,” he cautioned. “There’s no sign that he brought anyone inside, so perhaps this was strictly a dump site.”

“He’s definitely not been inside for a while,” she said.

Ramsey considered setting up a perimeter on the property and waiting for Mecum’s return. It would only be a matter of time before he came back. But as much as Ramsey wanted to stay in Nashville and see this case to the end, he had a finite amount of time remaining before he had to return to Washington.

As if sensing his thoughts, Melina asked, “How much longer are you going to be in Nashville?”

“A few more days at most. I’ve got to get back.”

“Hopefully you’ll be around for the takedown. It would be a shame to miss the party,” she said.

“It’s been a while since I was involved in an arrest.” Again, he flexed his fingers as adrenaline rushed through his body. God, he missed this part of the job.

“I should go back out on the street near the Mission,” Melina said. “You said this killer circled back on one of his victims.”

“No way.”

“If he doesn’t know the cops have found this place, he soon will. If we don’t catch him now, he’ll take his money and fly away.”

His phone chimed with a text. “It’s from Andy. She has the DMV picture of Mecum.”

She inspected the picture, studying it closely. Mecum was attractive. He had dark hair salted with enough gray to make him look distinguished. His face was long, lean, and tanned. He had a patrician nose and stark brown eyes that were so dark they reminded her of a great white shark’s lifeless gaze. “It’s impossible to tell. My guy was wearing a wig and it was dark.”

“How did he move? Did he move like a sixty-two-year-old man?”

“He was strong as hell. No couch potato could have pulled it off.”

“We need a solid identification on this guy.”

“Is that a yes or a no to putting me on the street? I’d do it myself, but I’m on thin ice with the boss.”

“And rightly so.” They stepped outside onto the back porch, and he surveyed the property. The forensic team had set up several tents and worktables. They got into the car, and he nosed it down the driveway. Gravel crunched under the tires, and she found herself drawn back to the night she had been left on the side of the road not too far from here.

“I can show this picture around the Bottom,” she said. “One of the girls might have seen him out of disguise. I’ll also ask Sarah.”

“It’s a start. And our only play.”

“A john with a limp is also memorable.”

It was possible but likely a long shot. Only a fool would return to old hunting grounds knowing the cops were canvassing the area. “Okay.”

Melina rolled her shoulders as her gaze skimmed the wooded countryside. “While we’re out here, there’s a diner I’d like you to see.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “But you just ate.”

She shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s true that I’m always hungry. But that’s not the reason I want to see this diner. When I was a child, whoever called the police and reported I was on that roadside did it from that diner. Seems plausible that Sonny may have been back to it.”

He understood the reasoning behind the visit, but he wanted to hear her thoughts. “Explain.”

“Bonnie commented that Sonny was sentimental. Couldn’t let go of the past. Maybe that’s where he goes to mourn the sister he could not save. Like you said, killers are creatures of habit.”