“It’s consistent with a fall, blow to the chest, or even CPR.”

“CPR? He tried to save her?” Nevada asked.

“Possibly,” Dr. Squibb said. “Perhaps he strangled her and panicked.”

“Or maybe he tried to revive her so they could keep playing,” Macy said.

“God, I hope you’re wrong,” Nevada said. “No kid deserves to die like this.”

Anger and sadness strengthened Macy’s drive to solve this case as she laid her hand on the top of the skull. “Tobi, your dad said he loves you.”

As she pulled back her hand, a heavy silence settled in the room. The doctor carefully covered Tobi’s bones and then closed the drawer.

After Macy and Nevada left the medical examiner’s portion of the building, they crossed the lobby to the forensic side. Macy felt a bit like a wimp pushing the elevator button instead of taking the stairs to the third floor. However, she needed to be practical. The less mileage on the leg meant the farther she could go. This wasn’t about her proving her stamina. It was about catching a killer. Nevada, to his credit, didn’t make a comment.

On the third floor they found their way to the office of a John McDaniel, the forensic expert who’d examined Tobi’s backpack. McDaniel was a pudgy man in his late sixties. His graying hair curled over the edges of his collar, and a thick mustache gave him a quirky, almost cartoonlike appearance.

“Mr. McDaniel.” Nevada introduced them both, and each showed their badges. “We understand you have Tobi Turner’s backpack.”

McDaniel stood, shook both their hands with a surprisingly iron grip, and nodded for them to follow. “It’s in the other room on the light table.”

In the next room, there was a fingerprint chamber, microscopes set up at various stations, and a gun ballistics firing chamber. Resting on a light table was a faded red backpack, unzipped and opened. Beside it was a series of items that they hoped might tell the tale of Tobi Turner’s last hours.

“I ran the backpack through a fingerprint chamber to see what I could pull. I did get a partial thumbprint off the strap of the backpack. It’s a match to a print lifted from Susan Oswald’s windowsill. I’ve run it through AFIS, but so far no matches.”

“What’s in the backpack?” Macy asked.

“Have a look. Pair of jeans, a sweater, sneakers, textbook, pencils, lipstick, hand sanitizer, a candy bar, and a condom. There’s also a set of keys, including a car key that matches the make and model of the Turner family van.”

Macy studied the keys and noted a small piece of plastic that might have once belonged to a key chain.

She shifted her attention to the tarnished condom packet. Macy pulled on a fresh set of latex gloves. “Looks like she never intended to make that study session.”

“The clothing fragments found on the body were a gold metallic. The jeans disintegrated, but the metal button and zipper we found are consistent with a designer pair sold in 2003 and 2004. The shoes were heeled boots.”

“Maybe she did have a boyfriend.” Nevada worked his hand into a glove. “Greene’s report says there was nothing unusual spotted at the school the day she went missing.”

“Maybe he charmed her,” Macy said. “An awkward girl might have been thrilled for a little attention. We know Paul Decker showed some interest.”

“Decker referred to her as the ‘virgin vault,’” Nevada said.

“Which would have made her a challenge,” Macy said.

“Decker also placed Cindy Shaw with Tobi and said Tobi would do almost anything for the team,” Nevada said.

“Evil comes in all sizes.” Macy all but whispered the last words, and she realized Nevada was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “What else did you find in the pack?”

With gloved hands, McDaniel picked up the textbook. “That leads me to this. I went through it page by page. Have a look at the pages I’ve marked with a tab.”

Macy opened the inside cover. Tobi Turner’s name was listed on the third line of LEASED TO. The other names had been neatly crossed out. She flipped to the first marked page and saw pencil writing in the margin.

Test on Tuesday. Section Two.

“It appears she liked to doodle and write in the margins,” Macy said. “How do you know it’s hers?”

“Handwriting matches the signature on the front cover,” McDaniel said. “Have a look at the last page in the book.”

She flipped to the end and saw another note in bolder pencil.

Bonfire. 8:00 p.m. Thursday.

“Decker called the bonfires their good luck ritual,” Nevada said.

“He said ritual?” Macy asked.

“He did. The coach wanted them to burn away all their fears and doubts.”

“Odd.”

“Why?”

“Ritual can also mean something primitive, like a sacrifice.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tuesday, November 19, 12:30 p.m.

When Macy and Nevada arrived back at the sheriff’s office, a collection of news vehicles was waiting for them. She hadn’t been expecting the media. “Did you move up the press conference?”

“No. Bennett confirmed it was later this afternoon,” Nevada said.

As they crossed the lot, she was grateful she could keep pace with Nevada. The leg felt decent, which was great. She didn’t need the distraction.

Inside, they found several reporters with cameras crammed into the lobby. On the other side of the glass, Sullivan spoke into his headset.

The door opened and Bennett appeared, her hat in hand, wearing a stoic expression. “I need to ask everyone to step outside. A representative will be out soon to make a statement. I need you to clear this space.”

A rumble of comments rolled over the room as Macy opened the exterior door. Several folks passed without incident, but a young reporter with a thick crop of dark hair paused.

“You’re the FBI agent,” the reporter said to Macy.

“I’ll brief you in a few minutes,” Nevada said.

Dark eyes narrowed and the young reporter persisted. “What’s the FBI doing here? Are you investigating the murder of Tobi Turner or the rapes?”

“Save your questions for the briefing,” Nevada said.

The other reporters hovered close, as if fearful they would miss a morsel of news, and several snapped pictures of her walking alongside the sheriff.

They pushed their way through the crowd, dismissing the reporters’ questions. When the door closed behind the reporters, Sullivan waved them behind the secured door. As soon as it latched and they had stepped out of sight of the reception glass, Macy said, “I thought we hadn’t agreed on a briefing yet.”

“We hadn’t,” Bennett said. “They called me about a half hour ago. Someone tipped off several reporters about the DNA matches and the FBI presence.”

“Who tipped them?” Nevada asked.

“Did you visit with Greene?” Bennett asked.

“We did,” Macy said.

Bennett shook her head as her lips flattened into a grim line. “He’s your leak. He called a few friends in the media.”

“To get back at me,” Nevada said.

“Payback,” Macy said.

“You’re shining a light on his failures, so he might think he has nothing to lose at this point,” Bennett said.

“I should have expected pushback,” Nevada said.

Frustration, though tempting, wasn’t productive. “We have the media’s attention a little sooner than we’d planned, but let’s make the best of it,” Macy said. “I have summarized the case facts so I can answer questions. I assume you can do the same.”

“I can,” Nevada said.

Bennett adjusted her uniform. “You want to tell the public the rapes are connected to the murder?”

Nevada looked at Macy. He was making this her call. “I do. Better for us to inform the media than Greene.”

Bennett didn’t look convinced. “Do you really think someone would come forward after all this time?”

“I do,” Macy said.

Sullivan leaned back in his chair. “I have Deputy Melvin on the phone. He said he drove by Debbie Roberson’s house again, and there’s still no sign of her vehicle. He knocked on her door, but no answer.”

“And Ms. Roberson’s cell?” Bennett asked.

“Not emitting a signal.”

“That’s a worry,” Macy said. “How old is Debbie Roberson?”

“She’s twenty-one,” Bennett said.

“Unearthing the body of a girl he killed fifteen years ago is a hell of a trigger,” Macy said.

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Bennett asked.

Without taking his gaze off Macy, Nevada said, “Bennett, I want to know the status of Debbie Roberson as soon as you do.”

“Understood,” Bennett.

“For now, we won’t bring up her disappearance to the media,” Macy said. “I want the focus on the older cases that we know for a fact are linked.”

“Roger.” Bennett settled her hat on her head, and Macy set her backpack in the chair.

On reflex, Macy reached for the brush in her backpack, but then, remembering her very short hair didn’t need any attention, she followed Nevada and Bennett outside to face a half dozen cameras and twice as many reporters.