Cut and Run (Criminal Profiler 2)

“After all these years.”

“The girls are finally going home,” Faith said.

“Thanks, Doc.”

Faith hung up, changed, and within fifteen minutes was driving to a neighborhood that had been originally built in the 1890s. The homes were modest, but the area’s proximity to the university made it desirable, and many of the older homes were being purchased at a premium and renovated. Diane Saunders’s address was a bungalow tucked back on a wooded lot.

She parked and got out of her car, noting the modest red car in the driveway. She hurried to the front door and knocked. Inside she heard violin music and a small barking dog. The music turned down as a woman shushed the dog. The woman who appeared had gray hair pulled up into a loose bun. She wore glasses, and the deep lines around her mouth and eyes suggested she either laughed or worried a lot. Maybe both.

“Diane Saunders?” Faith pulled out her medical examiner’s badge.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Dr. Faith McIntyre, medical examiner. I’m here about your sister, Kathy Saunders.”

“Kathy has been gone for almost thirty years.”

“I know.” A car drove behind her, and she hated that she was having this conversation on the porch. “Do you mind if I come inside?”

Those lines around her eyes and mouth deepened. “It can’t be good if the medical examiner is here.”

“It’s not good news.”

An old dog wobbled up to Diane, stared up at Faith, and then barked. Diane snatched the dog up. “I’m sorry. She’s protective.”

“It’s okay.”

Diane and her dog stepped aside, allowing Faith inside a house that couldn’t have been more than a thousand square feet. There was a main living room with an overstuffed couch, a flat-panel screen mounted on the wall, and several bookcases that hugged every spare square inch of wall space.

“I teach history at the University of Texas,” Diane said. “I’m a bit addicted to books.”

“They’re impressive. I don’t get as much time to read for pleasure as I’d like.”

“You must stay busy if you’re a medical examiner.” Diane held her hands together so tightly her knuckles were white.

Sometimes the small talk helped families brace for the news they knew was coming. “It does keep me on the go, but I love the work most of the time.”

Diane drew in a breath and motioned for Faith to sit. Faith settled on the sagging cushion while Diane pulled up a wicker chair, cradling her dog in her lap.

“But this is one of those times that you don’t enjoy your job?” Diane asked.

Faith nodded. “There was a ranch outside of Austin,” she said. “We found several sets of remains. We know that one set belonged to your sister, Kathy, because of the metal plate in her leg.”

“The hit-and-run settlement was supposed to help her through college.” She rubbed the dog between the ears until it settled on her lap. “She was fifteen when it happened. She wasn’t at fault. The company that employed the driver settled, and the money was more than enough to repair her leg and cover college. Unfortunately, my divorced mother met a new beau, who in turn convinced her to take the money and run. I was a senior in college and barely scraping by. I tried to help Kathy, but she was strong-willed. She wasn’t interested in college and told me she had a new boyfriend who was going to take care of her. I was heartbroken.”

“What happened?”

“She vanished. One day she was working, and the next she was gone.” She rubbed the dog’s delicate ears. “How did she die?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t know for certain yet. But we’ll keep you updated.”

The dog seemed to sense Diane’s pain and climbed up on old, rickety hind legs to lick her face.

“Do you have any pictures of the boyfriend? Any clue as to who she was hanging out with around the time she vanished?”

“I have a few pictures taken toward the end. I always held on to them because I didn’t want to give up hope.” She rose and, carrying the dog, went to a desk piled high with papers and opened a small drawer. She retrieved a thin collection of pictures and sat on the couch next to Faith.

Diane settled the dog in her lap and handed Faith the first picture. “I only have four pictures. I wish I had more. This one was taken right before the accident.”

Faith lowered her gaze to the smiling girl who was standing with another young woman who looked so much like her. “This is you?”

“I was in school, and she came to visit for the day.”

“You two look a lot alike.” As she studied Kathy’s features, she had an odd sense of déjà vu but could not place why she felt like she knew this girl.

In the next picture Kathy had coiled her hair up into a fashionable twist that she must have thought made her look older and more sophisticated. She wore a slinky black dress and high heels. “When was this taken?”

“December of 1989. She vanished four days later.”

Marissa had been born in May of 1989, so she couldn’t have been Kathy’s child.

Diane handed Faith the next picture. “Kathy sent me this picture and the next because she wanted me to see she was doing well.” It featured Kathy standing with a young Danny Garnet, who actually looked dashing in a tux. The bastard was like a damn cancer. He was everywhere. But the last picture was most telling.

Kathy was dressed in a waitress uniform, and she appeared to be working at a country club. Faith recognized the club. It had been her father’s club. In the background there was a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETER. Peter Slater—her father’s law partner. In 1988, he’d have just turned forty.

Before she could fully process, Faith’s phone rang. It was Dr. Bramley at the hospital. It went directly to voicemail.

“Diane, I’m going to have to return this call, but can I snap pictures of these photos?”

“Sure. Do you have any idea who took Kathy?”

“We do. But it’s going to take more evidence to fill in the entire picture.”

She snapped each photo and then fished out her business card. “I’m going to be in touch.”

“I’ve waited thirty years. Don’t make me wait much longer.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Diane rose and from her desk picked up her card. “This has all my contact information. Whatever you need, just call me.”

Faith stood. “I promise to get back to you soon.”

She called the hospita

l and asked for the nurses’ station on the neuroscience floor. “This is Dr. McIntyre returning your call.”

“Yes, Doctor. I have good news. Macy Crow is awake.”

Faith closed her eyes, almost fearful to ask. “Is she coherent? How is she doing?”

“She’s responding to basic questions. And she seems alert.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Faith said.

She was so focused on getting to the hospital that she barely remembered the drive. She parked in the spot closest to the entrance and raced across the parking lot and up the elevator to the second floor. She tossed a quick wave to the nurses and dashed down the hallway.

When Faith entered Macy’s room, Dr. Bramley was standing by Macy’s bed checking her pupils with a small light.

Faith couldn’t see Macy from this vantage point, and as much as she wanted to insist the doctor get out of her way, she held back, waiting for him to finish his exam.

The doctor had said Macy was awake, but with a brain injury she could be facing a whole host of problems that affected her memory, cognitive skills, emotions, and even her ability to walk and move.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder and then stepped back. “Dr. McIntyre. I understand you and Ms. Crow have not met.”

As Faith gripped the strap of her purse and came forward, Macy’s eyes were not only open but also alert. The instant Macy saw Faith, she blinked and looked to the doctor, back to Faith, and then nodded as if she remembered.

“She’s real,” Dr. Bramley said. “Her name is Faith McIntyre. She’s visited you every day. We believe you two might be related.”

Faith set her purse in a chair and stepped forward. “Hi, Macy. We’ve not formally met. But Dr. Bramley is right. We might be sisters.” Telling her about Marissa would come later. For now, it was about the two of them.

Macy shrank back a fraction before she nodded. She tried to speak, but the words came out garbled. Her brows knotted, and the fingers of her good hand clenched into a fist.

“I was just having a talk with Macy,” Dr. Bramley said. “She’s come out of her coma better than we’d hoped, and she’s responding to questions, light, and small pinpricks. Finding the right words may be a challenge initially. She has a lot to recover from. But I’m very hopeful.”