“It’s not very detailed,” she said. “I’m frustrated I didn’t remember more. I’d have thought I would be the perfect witness, but not so much.”
“It was less than a minute of high-adrenaline interaction,” Ramsey said. “Not conducive to memory.”
“For the average citizen,” she countered.
Ramsey’s frown deepened as if he understood her frustration. “Mr. Piper, I want you to dismantle this van. I don’t want one square inch left untouched. No one cleans up all the evidence.”
“Understood,” Matt said.
“Agent Jackson, you said you studied the security footage of this area?” Ramsey asked.
“We did,” Jackson said. “We have the van rolling into this warehouse three minutes after Reverend Beckett’s 911 call.”
Ramsey crossed the warehouse to a section where tire tracks imprinted the dust. “Do you have footage of a car leaving the warehouse?”
“Not on the same camera,” Jackson said.
“There’re two entrances to the warehouse,” Matt said.
“He had a second car stashed here,” Ramsey said.
“That’s a lot of work on his part,” Melina offered.
“He has won every time,” Ramsey said. “It’s why he’s operated for so long. Check the cameras on the west side of the warehouse. See what vehicles were traveling the area minutes after the initial time stamp.”
“Will do,” Jackson said.
Melina shifted her attention back to the van. “It’s not a cheap vehicle. Even used, it would have cost some money.”
“But it’s older. I’d say a 2007,” Ramsey said. “He’s comfortable with it. It’s part of him. There’s a lot of sick history between the two.”
“He clearly didn’t use it in the early murders,” Melina said.
“I think he settled on it after some practice.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “A used van is cheaper and doesn’t stand out as much. It also doesn’t have GPS.”
“He has to have some serious mechanical skills,” Matt said. “The modifications are professionally done.”
“Very likely,” Ramsey said.
“Does he strike in any particular season?” Melina asked.
“Spring and summer,” Ramsey said.
“Not fond of the cold?” Jackson asked.
“All evidence suggests victims vanished in the warm-weather months,” Ramsey said.
She stepped back from the van, feeling a familiar tension ripple through her as she walked around to the driver’s seat. “You said he’s not in CODIS. Have you uploaded his DNA to an open-source site and traced him through a possible relative?”
“When we matched the DNA on your knife, that idea came up for discussion,” he said.
Tracing criminals via DNA and family lineage was a new technique and still required a judge’s approval before a law enforcement agency could traipse through family trees. “Ancestry is a hot topic these days,” Melina said.
As an adoptee, she had always had an interest in ancestry sites. However, she rarely discussed this with anyone, because she was never comfortable sharing anything more personal than her favorite football team, barbecue joint, and country music band. The real personal stuff stayed locked away.
“It’s worth a try,” Ramsey said. “I have an agent at Quantico who’s used this technique on another case.”
The ideal match in an ancestry search was a sibling, half sibling, first cousin, or parent. That was the DNA equivalent of hitting gold. The further back the matches went, the more family trees branched and would have to be built out. But it was a start. Melina had had her DNA analyzed about a year ago but could not force herself to look at the results.
“As far as we know, this guy has not struck for almost five years,” Ramsey said. “We thought he might have died or just gotten too old. Now we know he’s still active and in your backyard. And thanks to you, we just might catch this guy.”
“Tell that to my boss,” Melina said.
A faint smile tipped the edges of his lips. “I’d like to meet Reverend Sarah Beckett.”
“The Mission is right around the corner.”
“Perfect.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday, August 24, 2:00 p.m.
Fatigue born from endless cases stacked up back to back was settling into Ramsey’s shoulders. He would power through today and get enough shut-eye tonight to fuel him for the cases waiting for him back at Quantico. But right now, it was one foot in front of the other. This kind of fatigue was worrisome because it led to mistakes and missed leads. He was too close to catching the Key Killer to make a mistake now.
Ramsey and Shepard left Jackson with the van. The two walked back to the vehicle and climbed in.
Shepard removed sunglasses tucked in the side pocket of her backpack, and within minutes they were headed toward South Nashville. Ten minutes later, they parked in front of the one-story community center.
The board-and-batten siding was a faded blue and looked in need of a fresh coat of paint. But the small patch of grass bordering the front was neatly trimmed with two planters filled with yellow marigolds. The Mission did not have a lot of financial resources, but it made the most of what it had.
“Sarah started her ministry about three years ago. Like I said, she gets women off the streets. As a group, they make herbal soaps and scrubs and sell them in town. The products are quite popular.”
“What’s the percentage of women under her ministry who stay clean and off the streets?” Ramsey asked.
“Over seventy percent.”
“Impressive.”
They got out of the car and walked to the double front doors. He deliberately reached it first, pulling it open.
“You might have to stop doing that,” she said as she passed.
“Opening doors?”
She paused as she raised her gaze to a large cross hanging on the wall. “If any of the guys see you treat me as a prim and proper lady, I’ll never live it down.”
He cracked a small grin, and for the first time in a long time felt a lightness of spirit. “I’m not worried about you. My guess is that you can eat the lunch of anyone at TBI.”
“True. But they can turn into a bunch of middle school kids. And that gets annoying.” She walked up to a bell hanging on the wall and rang it.
Seconds later a petite woman appeared. In her midthirties, she had a thick shock of red hair tied up on her head, ivory skin, and freckles that splashed over the bridge of her nose. Her jeans and sweatshirt were covered in speckles of blue paint. She was wiping the same hue from her hands with an old rag.
“Melina,” she said, smiling.
“Sarah, I’d like you to meet FBI agent Jerrod Ramsey. Agent Ramsey, Reverend Beckett. She runs the Mission.”
Ramsey extended his hand. “Pleasure.”
“I’d shake your hand, but you don’t want to be near me. I know a good suit when I see one.”
His hand remained extended. “I’m not worried.”
She wiped her hands on a rag and grasped his. “Can I get you two some coffee? We just put a big pot on. You can ask me anything you want.”
They followed her into the kitchen where a tall stocky man dressed in jeans and a white apron was setting up a row of plates on a stainless steel counter.
“This is Sam Jenkins,” Reverend Beckett said. “He’s my right-hand man.”
Sam was in his late thirties and was carrying an extra twenty pounds on his frame. Dark brown hair brushed the top of his collar. He wiped his hands on his apron and extended one to Ramsey. “I hope you’re keeping Melina out of trouble?”
Shepard shot him a look that was both familiar and irritated. “Sam.”
Grinning, Sam held up his hands. “I get it. Official business.”
Shepard’s cheeks burned as her shoulders stiffened.
“Agent Shepard is the reason I’m here. She tangled with a man I’ve been chasing for years.”
Frowning, Sam poured three cups of coffee. “We all heard about it. Some of the residents are still upset. Hell, I’m still upset.”
Shepard cleared her throat. “What are you doing now?”
Sam’s brow rose, as if he knew she was trying to divert the conversation. “We’re setting up for a catering class. The goal is to teach the residents practical job skills. In this town, someone’s always looking for food-service workers. Melina’s one of our best instructors.”
“What do you teach?” Ramsey asked.
“Self-defense,” Shepard said.
“And cake decorating,” Sam added. “She makes one hell of a sugar flower.”
Shepard groaned. “You’re killing me.”
Sam winked. “What? Can’t wield a gun and a piping bag?”
Ramsey did not comment as they all took their coffees and left the kitchen, finding their way to a small conference room. The walls were decorated with large snapshots of residents in the kitchen, in Bible study, and in self-defense class. His gaze was drawn to the latter, keying in on a picture of Shepard wearing sweats and a determined grin as she flipped a man nearly twice her size.
Reverend Beckett closed the door and sat. “There’s been no sign of the two missing women. Melina has called twice a day to check.”