Back at the station, he entered through the side door and headed straight to his office. He closed the door and swapped the uniform for jeans, a light-blue collared shirt, and work boots he’d had for over a decade.

With the uniform back on its hanger behind the door, he scooped up the pile of pink message slips on his desk and made his way to Bennett’s office.

Brooke Bennett was tall and lean, with an athletic build. Black hair coiled into a bun at the base of her neck highlighted high cheekbones and bright brown eyes. He had heard she had been a track phenom in high school, but all that had gone by the wayside when she had become pregnant with her son. The event could have derailed her life, but she went on to earn her college degree and then had joined the sheriff’s department after graduation. She was a dedicated single mom. Her son, Matt, was by all accounts a good kid.

“How is the press release coming?” he asked.

“It’s ready.” Bennett’s gaze lingered on the screen another moment before she hit “Send” and looked up. “It’s printing now for you to review.”

The printer by her desk hummed and spat out the paper. The headline read GIRL MISSING FOR FIFTEEN YEARS FOUND. He wanted to keep a lid on this case for a couple more days, but the chances of a leak were too great. Dozens of cops had now put their hands on the case, and Turner wouldn’t, nor should he, be silent about the discovery of his daughter’s remains.

“When will the agent be here?” Bennett asked.

“Couple of hours.”

Bennett shifted in her seat. “You reached out to them quickly. And yet we’ve barely had a crack at the case ourselves.”

“You’re a solid investigator and a quick learner, but you’ve never worked a case like this before.”

“But you’ve worked dozens.”

“I have. And one of the reasons I asked for Agent Crow is because she’s very good with victims of sex crimes.”

Her mouth tightened in annoyance. “When the media finds out about the untested kits and links it to Tobi Turner, it’s going to be a shit storm.”

“Yes, it will.” He had never asked who in this department had tipped him and the media off about the kits, but he suspected it had been Bennett. Though he understood the reasoning behind the leak, future disclosures would not be forgiven. “Eventually I’ll confirm the connection but not yet.”

“They’re already saying we blew it.”

“Because we did. The heat is only going to get worse. Accept it.” He read the release. “Looks good. Issue the press release. Post it on social media. The world needs to know Tobi was found, but not the connection between the rapes and murder. Assume the killer is paying attention to us. He doesn’t need to see all our cards.”

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Understood.”

He checked his watch. “I’m returning to the barn. I want to have a look at the place now that it’s quiet.”

When Sherman had opened that hay chute, Tobi Turner’s bones had scattered in a dozen directions. Every crack and crevice had been scoured by the state forensic team, who had been determined to find every fragment of bone and evidence. It had taken the better part of several hours for the team, working on hands and knees, to sift through the dirt and dust.

“Do you want me to come along?” Bennett asked.

“Not this time.”

“I want to learn from her.”

“And you will.”

Frustration flashed and vanished in the blink of an eye. “Before you go, I received a call about an hour ago from Martha Roberson. She believes her daughter, Debbie, is missing.”

He remembered Martha Roberson. She had campaigned against him and had gone so far as to suggest his bid for sheriff was a vendetta against Greene, who had arrested Nevada for trespassing as a teenager. “How old is Debbie Roberson?” he asked.

“Twenty-one.”

“Are there any risk factors?”

“No. She broke up with her boyfriend last year, but he is now married and living in Roanoke.”

“Is Martha worried about him?”

“No. But Martha insists Debbie is not the type to take off.” Bennett tapped a few keys on her keyboard, pulled up Debbie Roberson’s DMV picture, and turned the screen toward Nevada. Debbie was pretty with dark hair.

“Drive by Debbie’s house and have a look around. Let me know if you see a problem.”

“I’ll also speak to Debbie’s neighbors and see what they know.”

“Good.”

Nevada left during the lunch hour rush. When he had lived in Northern Virginia, this kind of traffic would have been considered laughable. But five months in Deep Run had lowered his tolerance. He caught himself cursing the four-car backup at the stop sign. “You’re losing your edge, Nevada.”

He worked his way free of the historic downtown area and drove west. After turning off the main road, he followed smaller country roads until he reached the washed-out gravel driveway to the barn.

He parked and, climbing out of his vehicle, stared up at the barn and a stunning backdrop of endless blue sky, white clouds, and orange leaves.

Places like this were perfect spots for teenagers to party. Greene had arrested Nevada in a setting very similar to this one. He had been fifteen and jacked by a football victory. With liquor stolen from his grandfather’s cabinet, he and his football buddies had sat under the full moon by his family’s barn and gotten plowed. Greene had come out of nowhere, arrested them, and tossed the lot in jail. His grandfather had waited until morning to bail him out.

When Nevada had become sheriff, he had pulled his case file and for the first time had learned Pop had filed the trespassing complaint with Greene. His grandfather could be a hard-ass, but when Nevada had needed a home, the old man had stepped up.

Nevada clicked on his flashlight and strode into the barn. The crime scene tape strung six days ago had drooped, and gusts of wind had tipped over several evidence tents marking the locations of the bones.

He cast his light toward the centuries-old hand-hewed ladder and the hayloft. A year ago, he might have theorized Tobi’s death had been an accident. Kids explored a barn and one fell. No one spoke up because they were afraid.

But DNA linked three rapes to Tobi’s death. He needed the medical examiner’s confirmation, but he would bet a year’s salary she was murdered.

How did the killer get Tobi up a wooden ladder? Though it was in good shape, carrying an unconscious or unwilling girl would have been damn near impossible.

Had Tobi’s killer forced her at gun-or knifepoint? Or had she gone willingly, never realizing what awaited her? A young, naive girl was ripe for the picking.

Nevada climbed the ladder Dave Sherman had left behind. Sherman was anxious to dismantle the barn, but Nevada refused to release the scene until Macy saw it.

Nevada couldn’t straighten to his full height of six foot three inches in the loft and was forced to duck slightly as he moved toward the chute.

The forensic team had swept the loft, searching for any evidence that explained Tobi’s death. They had found a knotted strand of red rope among the scattered bones on the first floor but nothing in the loft. Not surprising. Fifteen years erased a lot of evidence.

He stared down the now-three-sided shaft. He theorized the girl had been murdered up here. Best guess, this killing hadn’t been planned, had maybe been his first. After the adrenaline had eased, the killer had panicked. He had needed to dispose of Tobi, so he had tossed her pack and small body down the chute to avoid the ladder. Maybe the plan had been to take her somewhere else and bury her.

But the pack had wedged between the wooden walls, and the body hadn’t jostled it free. They had both gotten stuck.

Nevada walked toward the small window overlooking the valley behind the barn. This structure was off the beaten path, and he recalled the winter of 2004 had been bitterly cold. Her body wouldn’t have decomposed immediately, and anyone searching the barn wouldn’t have smelled death. No one had thought to look in the chute.

Had the killer panicked when Tobi’s body had jammed up? Had he worried when the volunteers combed the countryside? Had he been grateful for the cold? Had he returned to the barn?

Killing altered a person’s behavior. And Nevada hoped someone had noticed.

CHAPTER SIX

Monday, November 18, 1:00 p.m.

Vivid blue sky, white clouds, and golden fall leaves blanketed the Blue Ridge and Allegheny mountains and created a picture-perfect day in the valley. In Macy’s book, the beauty was wasted. If she had God’s ear, today would have been cold, overcast, and damp. Save the pretty days until she caught this killer.