Cut and Run (Criminal Profiler 2)

She crossed to the small L-shaped kitchen. No dishes in the sink; the counters, though covered in dust now, had been wiped clean; and the washed dishes were in the drying rack. She put her hand over her mouth and opened the refrigerator. Hayden braced, knowing it could be a capsule of revulsion. However, the appliance had been wiped clean, and the freezer emptied.

They entered the bedroom and found the bed made. The towels in the bathroom were hanging neatly on the drying rack, and the trash cans had been emptied. A fine coating of dust covered the counter and faucets.

Faith opened the closet in the bedroom and paused. “Have a look at this, Captain.”

He came up behind her and saw five boxes of newborn disposable diapers. There were also several canisters of powdered baby formula, unused baby bottles, and packages filled with yellow baby blankets.

“An odd thing to be kept at an empty house.”

“Yes, it is.” Hayden opened the door from the kitchen and flipped on a light that illuminated a set of wooden stairs. “Watch your step.”

Faith followed him down the dozen steps to a basement that stretched the length of the house. To the left was an upended cot, as well as a laundry room with clothes hanging on the line. She walked toward the clothes, inspecting them. “Big enough for a pregnant belly. They’re dry.”

He turned to the other side of the room and saw the next door. He tried the handle, but the door was locked, so he called up to the uniformed officer and asked for a crowbar. He banged on the door. “Paige, are you in there?”

They both listened but heard nothing. He didn’t want to imagine the girl unconscious or dead, but the possibility was very real. Footsteps on the stairs had him turning toward a young uniformed officer carrying a crowbar.

The officer handed the bar to Hayden, and he wedged the tip under the lock. With a hard jerk, he popped the lock. The officer held the door handle and stood ready for Hayden to give him the word to yank.

“God, I hope we find her,” Faith whispered.

The door swung open in one quick motion.

As the officer covered Hayden, he moved into the room and flipped on the light. He cut his eyes left, right, and up, making sure that no one had planned an unpleasant surprise. He continued to sweep the room, looking behind a curtain that hid a toilet and shower. When it was all clear, he motioned for Faith to come inside.

“She’s not in here.” He holstered his gun.

She entered the room, her posture tense as she looked around the small space. Her expression was stoic, but her eyes betrayed her distress as she looked at the tiny bath facility, what amounted to a kitchen, and the mattress. Her gaze settled on the chain and the cuff that lay open on the floor.

She knelt, hand outstretched, not touching the cuff but studying it closely. Tears glistened in her eyes before she blinked them away. “There’s dried blood on the metal.”

“We’ll have it tested for DNA,” Hayden said.

She drew her fingers back from the cuff as if they burned. “It doesn’t look that old.”

“I think when Macy came out here, someone was watching the camera feed and saw her,” Hayden said. “Whoever was held here was moved.”

“It has to be Paige. There are large clothes to accommodate a pregnant belly and baby diapers in this house.”

“That blood will tell us if she’s in our data bank.”

“Jack Crow knew about this place, and he left that phone with the address for Macy. He knew he was running out of time and wanted to tell her something.”

She crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer. She inspected various undergarments before she moved to the next drawer, filled with more oversized shirts and pants.

He looked at the dust on the floor and saw that the dresser had been recently moved.

“Let me have a look behind the dresser,” he said.

She stood aside as he gripped its sides and moved the piece of furniture. His gaze went first to the wall, which was solid cement. He then shifted to the back of the dresser. It was cheap particleboard tacked to the flimsy frame. But at the base of the board were letters carved into the wood.

“Officer, help me move this out more.” Together they slid the dresser out several feet so that Hayden could stand behind the dresser. Faith joined him. He looked over the letters, his body tensing when he saw PS.

She drew in a breath. “Paige Sheldon. She was here. And there are three other sets of initials.”

“And three stones outside.”

JJ, OM, KS, PS. “Dear God.” Her voice choked and dropped to a hoarse whisper. “He held them all in this room. JJ. Josie Jones.”

Upstairs, voices of the forensic team drifted around, and he knew it was time. “We need to get out of here and let the technicians do their job.”

She rose slowly as she studied the room again.

“Captain Hayden,” an officer called down the stairs. “We have something.” They climbed the stairs and found Brogan standing on the porch. “Might want to come out and see this.”

Faith glanced up at Hayden, and he glimpsed fear and worry in her expression before she dropped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked out of the house. She stepped out with no hint of emotion on her face.

The warming sun was climbing in the sky now, and it reflected on a new red flag stuck in the ground and gently flapping in the breeze.

Neither spoke as they crossed the dusty yard to the ground-penetrating radar machine. Pollard turned on his computer display and showed them the image. Faith leaned forward, took one look, and instantly knew.

Hayden had seen several images like this over the years, and he knew the odd, apparently random waves demarked bones. “Do you think the remains are human?”

“Hard to say at this point,” Pollard said.

It was easy to assume buried remains must be human, but people did bury pets—or perhaps it was a trash pit with animal remains. These bones were in close proximity, not scattered.

Faith said, “They were discarded in holes like trash.”

Hayden had been to his share of horrific murder scenes, but hearing Faith’s quiet outrage threaded with pain struck him to his core. She was hurting, and that bothered him.

“The spot was marked with a stone, correct?” Hayden said.

“Yes,” Pollard said. “All the stones appear to have been pulled from the area. There’s nothing special about them individually.”

“But arranged as they are, they look like headstones,” Hayden said.

“I know some serial killers like to return to the scene of their crimes and visit their victims,” Faith said. “He would have had no problem remembering where he buried them.”

“Two more stones doesn’t mean two more bodies.” He said the words for her benefit.

“You’re wrong.” Faith reached for her cell. “They’re all headstones, and if Macy had been a few weeks later, there’d be a fresh hole with another dead girl in it.”

“Jack Crow was tortured for a reason,” Hayden said. “Someone was looking for something.”

“This place?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll call the medical examiner’s office and have them send a crew so we can start excavating the sites.”

Josie Jones, 1988

Things I like. Flip-flops. McDonald’s french fries and hamburgers. Rain on my face. Cheers. My birthday. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” Whitney Houston. My sister. And you, most of all. None of this is your fault.

Things I hate. Broccoli. English class. Parachute pants. Perms. My foster family. This room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Wednesday, June 27, 10:00 a.m.

Faith leaned against the medical examiner’s van, studying the collection of three red flags that now fluttered in the warm wind. Officer Pollard had found bones buried under each of the stones, and all appeared to have been in the ground for a long time.