His mind went to the moments he’d spent in Whitney’s bedroom talking to her mother. “The DeVries girl took dance lessons,” he said abruptly. Craw swiveled his head to stare at him. “They didn’t think to include that fact in their original statement because she’d quit months ago.” Omissions like that were a constant frustration and could stymie an investigation. “I’ve got the teacher’s name, and I’ll talk to her, the kids in her classes, and their parents. Maybe there were local competitions that both victims had been involved in, too.” He hadn’t gotten that far with Shannon DeVries, but he would.
He paused, searched carefully for his next words. “You said the Willard case was investigated as if linked to the Ten Mile Killer.” Sensing the other agent was about to protest, he hurried on. “You also seemed to think that was a mistake. You probably heard how it all went down at the time, with your buddy working it. What made them think Willard was a TMK victim?”
Craw glowered at him for a moment, then grimaced. “They found his last victim four months before Kelsey Willard came up missing. That vic had been kidnapped two years earlier. Been exposed to the elements for months, but I can’t say for how long. You ever hear of Luther Sims?” The name rang a distant bell. After trying and failing to retrieve the memory, Mark shook his head. The other man went on. “The closest thing to a profiler BCI had at the time. A senior special agent who’d probably taken a couple of classes at Quantico that got him elevated to expert status in the agency.” His tone bore his disdain. “He’s the one who worked on a victimology profile for the TMK victims.”
“That wouldn’t be rocket science, would it, given the way the killer dressed them at the end?”
“Exactly. But this Sims figured there were girls that hadn’t been found.” Craw tugged at his tie, which was already loosened. “The agency brought him in as a consultant on the case, and he was the one who said Willard fit the TMK’s victim profile. Once that news got out, the media circus hampered every step of the investigation.”
The same was true about many of the cases they worked. Mark kept that thought to himself. Media coverage could taint potential witnesses, or worse, lead to a flood of “tips” that proved to be a waste of legwork. Craw might be letting his friendship with the lead agent on the case color his view of how it played out.
As if reading his thoughts, the other agent insisted, “The focus of an investigation has to be free of preconceived ideas. You have someone inserted in the case that points the needle in a certain direction . . . you start looking at leads differently.”
“So the agency pressured Hannity about how he handled the case.”
“Not at first. But you can bet the postmortem on yet-another unsolved case was filled with finger-pointing.”
Failure to capture the most notorious serial killer in recent Ohio history would have that result, Mark knew. Hannity might have been the latest scapegoat to sacrifice his career to that end. “But Kelsey Willard’s body was never found. That should shed doubt as to whether she was ever a victim of the TMK at all.” Mark’s cell gave a familiar ring. He grabbed it from his pocket and rose to walk to the adjoining door. “I’ll be back in a few. FaceTiming with my . . . hey, buddy!” Delight filled him as his son’s face filled the screen.
“Dad! Guess what I saw! A fire truck. Firemen were cleaning it, and Dad, there was a dog! It had spots, and . . .”
Given Nicky’s excitement about the events of his day, there was little required of Mark beyond an exclamation or occasional question. He was content to listen to his son’s voice, see his chubby face alight with excitement. A bittersweet pang lodged deep in his heart. God, he missed everything about the kid. Tucking him in at night and the hilarious schemes the boy concocted to avoid sleep. Walking into his room later and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep. Longing swept over him. He missed his family.
“Have you caught the bad guy yet, Dad?”
“Not yet.”
“You could have Spider-Man help you.” Nicky’s freckled expression was earnest. “He’s got Spidey senses, and he’d know who was lying.”
Something in Mark lightened. “Spider-Man?” He pretended to consider the suggestion. “I don’t know. Seems like Daredevil is the better detective.”
“You could get both of them! They could work together. And hey! Wolverine could help, too, because he could sniff out—”
“Time to tell Daddy good night, Nicky.” He could hear Kelli’s voice in the background. “Grandma’s got your bath running with all your superheroes in it.”
Mark’s muscles went tight as his wife and son negotiated over how much time Nicky would be allowed to play. Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was already past the boy’s normal bedtime. Apparently the schedule she adhered to so closely at their home in London was more flexible at her parents’ house.
“Okay, bye, Dad. Love you!”
In a contest between further conversation and the prospect of a watery superhero battle, Mark was unsurprised to find himself on the losing end. “Bye, big guy. Kelli?”
His wife’s face came on the screen. She looked good, as always, but her smile was strained, and the blue smudges under her eyes were darker than they’d been a couple of days ago. “Dad took him to the fire station today. He was pretty impressed.”
“Sounded like it.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. Conversations with his wife had turned into a minefield the last several months. A casual misstep could set off a detonation. “Is he being good for you?”
“He misses you.” Mark drew in a breath at her admission. Her smile went wry. “He tells everyone we meet that his dad is a superhero with the NBC.” They both laughed. Nicky had yet to master the acronym for Ohio’s Bureau of Criminal Investigation. “How’s the case?”
“Just starting to come together.” Full days followed by evenings spent going over reports from different investigators—agency and local police entities—who were pursuing avenues as assigned by Craw. “How much longer are you planning to stay in Kentucky?”
“You wouldn’t be home much if we were there, anyway.”
He recognized the evasiveness in her answer for what it was. Mark had been home when Kelli and Nicky had left. But reminding her of that was one of those mines to be avoided, so he continued to step gingerly. “Have you given any more thought to going back to work?”
She’d mentioned it on and off for the last eighteen months, and he was starting to think it might be a good idea. It’d give her something to do besides sit home and brood all day, manufacturing paranoid doubts about their relationship. “You used to enjoy your work for the nonprofit before Nicky was born.”
“My going back to work isn’t going to magically solve our problems.”
“It might be a good first step.”
Kelli’s mouth tightened. “Like my seeing Dr. Brewer again would be a good first step?”
That familiar feeling was back, carving a furrow in his chest. “He helped you with your emotions before . . .”
“When I had postpartum depression! This isn’t a me problem, Mark. It’s an us problem. You’re never home, and when you are . . . there’s such distance between us. Are you . . .” Her lips compressed as her throat worked for a moment. “Are you having an affair?”