Nevada slowly held out the back of his hand for Zeus to sniff for several seconds. Zeus settled onto his hind legs. “He’s beautiful.”

She rubbed the dog between the ears and eased her hold on his collar. “He’s a good boy.” With the dog beside her, Susan led them down a hallway. On the right was a narrow avocado-green bathroom with a single sink and toilet, both cluttered with soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. The next door led into a small bedroom furnished with a twin bed, several bookcases crammed with pictures of Susan and an older woman who appeared to be her mother, miniature Wizard of Oz figurines, and a white basket filled with red yarn and knitting needles. “This is where I sleep now. I never could bring myself to sleep in that room again.”

Susan opened the door at the end of the hallway, stepped back, and allowed Macy and Nevada to enter first. It had been relegated to a catchall storage room. There was a dismantled bed frame with no mattress, a walker, a wheelchair, and sealed brown cardboard boxes. The one window was on the opposite side of the room, and the thick shades were also drawn.

“According to the files, he came in through your bedroom window?” Macy asked.

Susan crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s right. It was June of 2004, and I was sleeping with the window open because it had been so warm that day.”

“Do you mind if I open the shades?” Macy asked. “I’d like to look out the window.”

Susan dropped her gaze. “Go ahead.”

Macy tugged the shade, and when she felt it release, she guided it upward. The window overlooked the bend in the road they’d taken as they’d driven to the house and a thicket of woods. This home was off the beaten path, leading her to wonder if this was a crime of opportunity. The assailant could have been driving around, seen the open window, and taken a chance.

The dog trotted past Macy, sniffing around what was most likely an unfamiliar room to him. “It was just you and your mother then?”

“Yes.”

“Would there have been a second car in the driveway?” Nevada asked.

“No. My mother didn’t drive. She was forty-nine but suffered from MS. She slept through the whole thing.”

Macy studied the ground below the window, which was now neatly cut grass. Not a trace of the bushes once surrounding the house remained.

Susan shifted her stance, as if looking through the window had transported her back in time. “The room I sleep in now was Mom’s. For weeks after the attack, I slept on blankets by her bed. When she died the following year, I threw out my bed and mattress and began sleeping in her bed.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. He was wearing a black mask with red trim around the eyes and mouth. The skin around his eyes and mouth was smudged with black shoe polish or something.”

“Did your attacker speak to you?” Macy asked.

“He grabbed my neck and said he’d kill my mother if I screamed.”

“Did he say anything else about your mother?”

“He made a comment about her wheelchair and how it takes a strong person to care for an ailing family member.”

The assailant’s comment suggested he knew her and this wasn’t just a random crime of opportunity. He could have been stalking her days or weeks before the attack, learning her patterns, habits, and weaknesses.

“How did he sound when he spoke to you?” Macy asked.

“Nervous at first. When he spoke, I told him to get out. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. I said he was being foolish and that he needed to just go.”

“How did he react?”

“It made him mad. He said he wasn’t weak and he knew what he was doing. He was looking around the room searching for something. He grabbed my pantyhose from the floor. He used it to tie my hands to the headboard. He scooped one of my socks off the floor and shoved it in my mouth. I started crying and he stopped. He stood there studying me like some lab rat.”

“What happened next?” Macy asked.

“He climbed on top of me and raped me. It seemed like it took forever, but after he was finished, I looked at the clock for some reason. He’d only been on me for minutes.”

“Did he say anything else?” Macy asked.

“He pulled up his pants and looked as if he’d go, but then he climbed on top of me again and wrapped his hands around my neck. He didn’t move for several seconds, and then he readjusted his hands a few times.”

“He didn’t strangle you right away?” Macy asked.

“No. It was like he was figuring out how to do it. But he finally did. Only when I was gasping for air did he get off me. He said he was sorry.”

Reliving the event, even after fifteen years, was upsetting Susan. Macy wasn’t a patient person by nature unless she was speaking to women who’d been traumatized. In cases like this, she was willing to wait until hell froze over if necessary.

Finally, Susan shook her head. “When I remember that night, there’s a lot that really pisses me off, but I think his apology tops the list. Why the hell would he tell me that he’s sorry?”

Macy pulled the shade back down. “There could be any number of reasons. You’re the first known case we have for this offender.”

“Why do you think I’m one of his firsts?”

“He didn’t bring restraints. The way he adjusted his hands on your neck. The apology. All these fit the profile of a person trying something new.”

“But why was he sorry?” Susan asked.

“Perhaps the violence was also a shock to him as well. He might have fantasized about it, but he’d never tried it. Maybe he truly did feel remorse.”

“Did he say he was sorry to any of the others?” Susan asked.

Macy felt Nevada’s close scrutiny. He wasn’t speaking but he had not missed one word. “None of the victims after you reported that he apologized.”

Susan flexed her fingers. “Why is the FBI involved now? It’s been fifteen years.”

“You can thank Sheriff Nevada,” Macy said. “He’s pulling out all the stops to solve this case.”

Behind the anger darkening Susan’s searching gaze, hope flickered. “I’d love it if you could catch him. I want him to feel the anger, fear, and hopelessness he dumped onto me.”

Macy wanted him to spend the rest of his life behind bars. “You’ve been a big help.”

“Sure. You come back any time.”

“One last question. Did he ever contact you afterward?”

“You mean like a call or something?”

“Yes.”

“No, I don’t remember any contact.”

“Good.”

“Should I be worried about him doing something like that?”

“No. I’m glad you have Zeus and have remained strong.”

Susan led them out of the room and closed the door behind her before moving to the front door. “I should have thought to offer you a soda or water.”

“It’s not necessary,” Macy said.

Susan glanced back toward her old bedroom. “It’ll be nice to sleep again one day, knowing he can’t come back.”

“I want to give you a heads-up,” Nevada said. “I’m going on television in the next day or two and sharing what I know about this criminal. I’m asking the community to call me if they have any leads.”

“There could be even more than four victims?” Susan’s expression crimped with worry.

“Yes.”

“You know how hard it is to talk to the cops about a rape,” Macy said. “But not everyone is able. You’re making a difference.”

“I’m not brave,” Susan said. “It’s been fifteen years, and I can’t even sleep in my own room.”

A rape rarely lasted beyond the event for a rapist. But for his victim, the trauma could linger for a lifetime. “If you do receive any strange communication after that press conference, listen but do not engage. And call me right away.”

“Sure.”

Macy took the woman’s hand in her own and squeezed it. A year ago, she’d have avoided physical contact but now felt the need to reassure this woman with more than words. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re strong, and it’ll take women like you to catch this guy.”

Susan held her hand like she was clinging to a life raft. “Could he come back here?”

Macy wouldn’t lie to her. Serial offenders were impossible to predict. She knew the guy wasn’t in prison, which meant he was dead, too sick to act, or still active. “Anything is possible.”

Susan slowly let go of Macy’s fingers and drew back. “If he gets past Zeus, I’ll be waiting with my cell phone and baseball bat.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Macy said.

As they were leaving, she noticed a high school diploma mounted in a thin black frame from a box store. She’d graduated from Valley High School in 2004. “Did you know Tobi Turner?”

“Not well. But I felt horrible when she vanished. She was just found, I hear.”

“Yes.”

“Is what happened to her related to me?” Susan asked.

“We’re still looking into that,” Macy said. “Did you know Cindy Shaw?”

“Everyone knew her. She was wild. I heard she ran away. Why?”

“Just piecing together that year.”

Susan opened the front door. “Call me with updates.”

“I promise. We’re going to look around outside.”