"Brandenburg, Kentucky. Eight months before the Gibson murders. Home invasion, middle of the night. A teenage boy, fifteen, and his nine-year-old sister were home alone. Parents were out of town visiting relatives, held up on the highway because of a wreck."
"How'd he get in?" Knight asked.
"Back door. Lock was old, easy to force. No alarm system."
"What happened to the kids?" Miranda asked, in a tight tone.
"The boy was doing homework in the living room. The intruder hit him with something and knocked him out. The sister heard her brother yelling at her to run. She hid in a closet in her parents' bedroom."
"He didn't find her?" Miranda asked.
"He found her. Pulled her out. But then headlights came up the driveway. A neighbor was on her way home from a shift at the gas station. She’d spoken with the parents at the gas station earlier that night, and they’d told her they would be out late. She’d kept an eye on the kids before. She saw the man fleeing when he saw her headlights. She saw the back door standing open and called the police from her car. But…dark out, adrenaline. You know how witness statements are."
"He ran when there was a threat,” Knight said. “Against his plan?”
"Case went cold within six months. No forensic evidence worth anything. No witnesses other than the two kids, and the neighbor, and their descriptions were too vague to work with. On the surface—just a random home invasion. I just included it because of location, really."
"What made you flag this one?" Miranda asked. “You have that creepy look in your eyes that says there is a reason.”
"Mostly what the boy said. The guy just knocked the kid out of the way, asking ‘where is your mom?’ And the mom physically resembled Aimee Gibson. Enough that it really stood out.”
"What else?" Knight asked.
"Owensboro. Six years before the Gibsons. Different victim profile on this one. Elderly man, seventy-eight years old. Lived alone except for his dog."
"How'd the intruder get in?" Knight asked.
"Front door. The old man answered it. Late afternoon. Around five. Neighbors said the victim was the type to open his door to anyone. Trusting. Old-fashioned about it. The kind of man who still believed people were generally good. Damn it, he deserved better."
"What happened to him?” Miranda asked.
"Single gunshot wound to the forehead. It’s listed as robbery/homicide. He was found just inside the entryway, by the daughter who sometimes spent the night there when she was in the area. Hadn't even made it out of the foyer. But the photos—to me, it looks very, very posed. And a lot like how Derek and Cruz were found. Hands…folded…almost. Now, you know profiling is not my thing, but I wanted you both to see it."
"Why a robbery? What was taken?” Miranda asked, swatting at the man taking over her space. They were so cute together, always squabbling like a little old married couple. Dani was in charge of the betting pool. Those two would get together eventually, she was counting on it.
"Over six thousand dollars taken from a lockbox in the bedroom closet. The victim's daughter said he didn't trust banks and kept his cash at home. Everybody in his social circle knew about it. What got me about it is the dog…the killer shot the dog, too. Shot once, same as the owner. A cattle dog mix, around forty pounds. The dog was found in his owner’s arms. Like he was cradling him. Combined with how…posed…yeah, anyway, not a profiler and I know it, but?—"
“Trust your instincts,” Knight said. “I’ll take a look at it.”
"What's the third case?" Miranda asked.
"Lawrenceville, Illinois. Eleven years ago. But the preliminary report was enough to get my attention. Woman, thirty-six years old. She lived with her elderly parents and her young daughter. All survived—her parents were out for the day, and the kid was at her dad’s. They found the victim beaten and shot—bullet lodged between her skull and skin. Supposition is the killer thought she was dead. But…she couldn’t identify him—TBI. No recollection of the attack. I’m still waiting on more details.”
"What's the geographic spread?" Miranda asked.
"Brandenburg is about ninety minutes south of Washington. Owensboro is maybe two hours southwest. Lawrenceville is an hour northwest, just across the Illinois border. All are really within two hours or so of your epicenter Washington, Indiana."
"Send us what you have and we’ll get started comparing to knowns in our file,” Miranda said. Anything else?"
"Not yet. But I'm still looking. If there are more cases out there, I'll find them."
Chapter 29
Bryan had been thinking about what Asa had told him all night. He’d confirmed with his eldest boy, too. B.J. had made it clear John had been agitated about something—and Cass had been upset. She hadn’t said anything when she’d gotten home—it had been a rough shift in the ER—but she had wanted Bryan to hold her. Of course he had. He’d hold that woman every minute of every day for the rest of his life, if he could just make that happen. She was his heart and soul.
But he knew…John had upset her first. John had liked upsetting her for years. He got off on it for some reason. He always had. Ever since John’s wife had left him so long ago—it was like he’d had a problem with Cass and all of Bryan’s sisters-in-law since. It had gotten so bad for a while ten or twelve years ago, Bryan had banned John from getting anywhere near Cass. His two other brothers barely talked to John now at all.
John had said it was because they all had a different mother than he did. That it was all Bryan’s mother’s fault. John…John just couldn’t seem to accept responsibility for his actions any longer. Hell, John was fifty-six years old. When would he grow up?
