“I can’t believe I remembered that much,” Ellis said.
“As I said, you have a sharp mind,” Spencer said. “The final print is ready to be released to the press as you see fit.”
Macy stared at the eyes that jumped off the page at her. The door opened and Nevada stepped in. He took one look at Ellis and his expression hardened.
“Are you all right?” Nevada demanded.
“I’m fine, Mike,” Ellis said firmly.
“As I just told Agent Crow, she did well,” Spencer said.
Nevada exhaled a breath, and Macy sensed he was trying to dissipate the pent-up anger. “Thanks, Agent Spencer.”
“Anytime.” She turned and poured a cup of coffee, which she handed to Ellis before making one for herself. “Ellis did remember her attacker had a distinct smell of sweat and body odor.”
“Like he’d just worked out or was working manual labor.” Ellis crushed the tissues in her hand. “And his front tooth was slightly chipped. I can’t believe I never remembered it before. But when I saw the eyes, it came flooding back.”
“You said he also said something to you,” Spencer said.
“He said, ‘You’ll never forget me.’ The asshole was right.”
“A memory doesn’t have to have power over you,” Spencer said. “Focus on where you are now.”
Ellis sipped her coffee and set it down. “Speaking of which, my coworkers are meeting me in town. We’re headed to the closest bar.” She extended her hand to Spencer. “Thank you for the coffee, but I need something stronger.”
“I don’t blame you,” Spencer said. “Again, excellent work.”
Ellis scooped up her backpack, hugged Nevada, and left. Spencer began to pack up her pencils, erasers, and drawing pad. “And now I must drive to the Roanoke airport and catch a flight to Nashville.”
“What’s there?” Nevada asked.
“A case.” She raised her gaze to him. “I still don’t picture you here, Special Agent Nevada.”
“It’s Sheriff, and it’s home. I belong here.”
“My home is where I set up my easel, preferably far away from where I grew up.” Spencer snapped her art case closed.
Macy couldn’t throw stones at Nevada for moving back home. She lived a mile from the same apartment complex she’d grown up in as a kid. When the shrink she was forced to see after her assault asked why she’d returned to the area, she really hadn’t known. It just felt right.
Spencer took one last sip of coffee. “I believe the sketch will help. I’m disappointed we couldn’t connect with Ms. Kennedy, but I have to go now. If you need me again, it might be a few days.” The tap, tap of Spencer’s heels echoed down the hallway.
Macy sat in a chair, laid the sketch in front of her, studied it for a long moment, and then took several pictures of it with her phone. Sharp eyes. A narrow face. Trim body. All that could have changed. With age, men filled out and grew more muscular or fatter.
“Can we get a copy of the high school yearbook from the 2004 to 2005 year? I’m looking for a boy with a chipped tooth.”
“I’ll get one sent to the office,” Nevada said.
Who the hell are you?
“Where is Debbie Roberson?” Macy asked.
“She’s at her mother’s house,” Nevada said.
“Does she know about Beth?”
“She does. And we have a deputy driving by the house hourly.”
Pointing toward the sketch, she said, “Good, because this guy is not finished with Deep Run yet.”
It was past six and pitch dark by the time Brooke had driven to Roanoke and watched as Beth Watson’s body was rolled in on a gurney and put in cold storage. As she headed back north to Deep Run, she called Matt.
“Mom.” A video game bleeped and buzzed in the background.
“Just checking in, kiddo.”
“Where are you?”
“On the road headed back to town. It’s going to be another long night.”
“What else is new?”
“Speaking of new, Tyler Wyatt said you were hanging out with him.”
Silence. “Just for a few minutes.”
“What were you doing at Lucky’s?” An eighteen-wheeler blasted by her car as it built up speed for climbing the next hill with a full load.
“Just hanging out. No big deal.”
“If I find out you’re drinking, pal, that video game I hear in the background is going in the trash.”
“God, Mom, you don’t have to be so uptight. Weren’t you a kid once?”
“I was. And I made big mistakes that I don’t want you to repeat.”
“I’m a guy. I can’t get pregnant.”
The barb hit her hard in the heart, and she counted to ten. “I’m talking about trusting the wrong people.”
“Sorry, Mom. Low blow.”
“Kids like Tyler Wyatt use money to get out of trouble. You and I don’t have that luxury.”
“I get it. I really do.”
“I hope so.” She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Is Grandma home?”
“She said she’d be here in a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“You, too, Mom.”
She hung up, dropping the cell phone in her lap. The days of her protecting Matt from all the ugly truths in the world were quickly coming to a close.
A half hour later, she pulled into the parking lot of the assisted living facility. The parking lot, illuminated by large lamps, was half-full of cars. There was a woman juggling a flower arrangement as she headed inside and also a man pushing a much older man in a wheelchair along the sidewalk.
Out of her vehicle, she walked inside to the front desk. “I’m Deputy Bennett. I’m here to see Dr. Bruce Shaw.”
“He left about an hour ago,” the receptionist said.
“Do you have a number for him?” she asked.
“Sure.” The receptionist wrote down the doctor’s number on a sticky note.
Brooke thanked the woman, and back outside, she called Bruce. He picked up on the third ring.
“Dr. Shaw.” His voice was deep and unsettlingly breathless.
Brooke reintroduced herself. “I’m hoping we can meet. I have a few questions for you about one of your employees.”
“Didn’t you hear? Debbie is safe and sound.”
“Yes, I know that. My questions concern someone else.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not get into this on the phone.” In the background she heard cheering. “Where are you? I can come to you.”
“I’m at a soccer game. I’m the coach, so now is not the best time.” More cheers in the background, and Bruce shouted, “Good job.”
She thought about the buccal swab in her car. “So when?”
“How about I meet you back at my office in two hours. I’ll be finished up here and can swing back by.”
“I’ll see you here at seven.”
She hung up and walked toward her car, and the streetlights hummed around her as a cold gust of air washed over her. As she reached for her car door handle, a shiver rattled up her spine and an uneasy feeling knotted in the pit of her stomach.
Brooke’s hand went to her sidearm, and she surveyed the parking lot. The man who was pushing the wheelchair was now heading inside. The lights snapped and hissed. But there was no one else in the lot.
She slowly got in her car. Behind the wheel she waited and watched—for what, she didn’t know.
A sudden need to see her son overtook her. If life had taught her anything, it was to listen to her instincts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wednesday, November 20, 8:00 p.m.
Nevada and Macy arrived at the house Debbie Roberson had shared with Beth Watson. The state forensic van was on scene, and per Nevada’s orders, everyone was treating this house as part of the crime scene.
Debbie Roberson stood outside her house, her arms folded over her chest as she spoke to the deputy securing the scene.
“I thought Ms. Roberson was at her mother’s house,” Macy said.
“Apparently not,” Nevada replied.
“She doesn’t look happy.”
“She’s damn lucky to be alive,” Nevada growled.
As they strode up to the woman, Macy said, “Ms. Roberson.”
Debbie turned from the deputy, her face a mixture of anger and fear. “They won’t let me inside to get my things.”
“The house is a crime scene,” Macy said. “They can’t let you in right now.”
“How could it be a crime scene? Beth wasn’t found here.”
“But this is likely where the crime originated,” Macy explained. “The crime scene encompasses all the places the killer and victim interacted during the abduction and murder.”
“Her car isn’t here. Does that mean you’re going to do all this to her car?”
“As soon as we find it, yes,” Nevada said. “It’s very likely he transported her or her remains at some point in that car.”
Debbie shook her head. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Beth is dead.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nevada said. “What can you tell us about her?”
“Before she moved in with me, she’d lived in town for about six months,” Debbie said. “She was a friend of a friend who needed a place to live. We became good friends. She’s from a small town in southwest Virginia. Her dream was to be accepted into the university’s CNA program. She wanted to be a nursing assistant.”
“What about family?” Macy asked.
As police personnel came and went from her house, Debbie shook her head. “She has a brother. His name is Mark, but I’ve never met him.”