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  I looked over at Scott and Bill. “They left the vehicle they arrived in here. They’re either on foot or took something else.”

  “They could have come in two cars,” Beth said.

  “They could have. But they have been traveling in a single vehicle since they started their little road trip,” Scott said.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from the empty carport. I doubted they took a big rig, which left the chance of an RV. The thoughts started flowing on how it was the perfect vehicle for two people on the run. “Captain, can you have your deputies knocking on doors, asking what the homeowners had, if anything, parked in that carport?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get them asking,” Partridge said. He made the call over his shoulder radio, and someone confirmed on the other end.

  “I bet they went west if they were driving,” Scott said.

  “Still think they’re headed to Montana?” Bill asked.

  “Don’t know for certain one way or the other, but if they were continuing north, they would have stayed on I-35. We’re ten miles west of the city, just off I-80,” Bill said. “They could be taking I-80 into Omaha and then going, well, pretty much any direction.”

  “They’re probably still on I-80 if they are headed toward Omaha straight from here,” Siegfried said. “It’s about an hour-and-forty-five-minute drive. Maybe a touch more with getting over to the interstate from here.”

  The captain’s radio came alive with the words, “Neighbors confirm recreational vehicle.”

  “Tell him to get whatever information he can on the RV and get back up here,” Scott said. “I’m making the call to get the birds circling.” He stepped to the side and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  Beth stared over at the empty carport and looked at me. “Think that’s what they’re in? An RV?”

  “If there was one here, probably. Think about it. An RV would let them move around and be self-contained. Hell, if they were going to Montana and planned to vanish, they could just park the damn thing in the woods and live in it. You could stay in it for days on end without people being able to identify you. It’s perfect. They could lie low until the heat dies down and then try to cross the border if that’s their goal.”

  “It is perfect,” she said.

  I walked over to the carport to have a bit of a look around, and Beth followed. I hoped that something stacked along the outside wall of the garage could be related to the RV, and give us a make or model. The blacktop driveway turned to gravel underneath the tin-roofed carport. Some miscellaneous cut wood was stacked in the front corner. Beyond the wood was an old lawn mower and a big tarp. I continued farther into the carport and spotted a few cinder blocks stacked along the side of the house. That was it—nothing that would help.

  “See anything?” I asked.

  Beth shook her head. “Nothing. Want to check the garage?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We exited the car port and made a right to enter the garage. A fireman stood nearby, looking over at us.

  “Is it safe to enter in here?” I asked.

  “It should be fine,” he said.

  Beth and I walked in and slipped down the center between the car and truck. A workbench took up the entire back wall of the garage—random tools were strewn about. I glanced at the shelves on my right, filled with cleaning supplies and miscellaneous junk. Back to my left, Beth was looking around a pair of garbage cans. The walls themselves to our right and left were bare.

  “Nothing in here,” Beth said.

  As we walked from the garage, I glanced to the right just in time to see through the area of the front of the home that had burned away. Two charred bodies lay on the kitchen floor in unnatural positions. I knew I’d have to have a further look, but I was fine with waiting a little longer.

  Beth and I walked back toward the fire chief, the captain, Scott, and Bill. Beyond them, a deputy walked up the driveway with another man. Beth and I met our group the same time those two did.

  “This is John Cate,” the deputy said, “the neighbor with the RV information.”

  All of our eyes went to the man.

  He looked distraught. “Um, it was Bruce’s father’s RV. He’d passed away a year or so back. Bruce had it parked on the side of the house there under the carport, and his dad lived in it—close enough where Bruce and his wife Nancy could keep an eye on him but still his own place. This last spring, Bruce got it all overhauled and had been trying to sell it all summer. No luck, though.”

  “Year, make, model, tag number?” I asked.

  “Um, it said Dolphin on the front. I don’t know if that is a brand or model. It was kind of a light-blue-and-cream color.”

  “Made by National,” Bill said.

  “I’ll put the description out to our air support and have the Omaha office distribute it to everyone,” Scott said. “We’re still going to need an exact year and tag, though.”

  “Do you know what his father’s name was? Was the vehicle registered to his father?” Bill asked.

  “His dad’s name was Irvin,” the neighbor said.

  Bill pulled his notepad from his pocket. “Last name Crawford?”

  “I would assume so,” the neighbor said.

  “Okay, let’s try running this in one of the cruisers and see what we get,” the captain said.

  We thanked the neighbor, and the deputy saw him back to the end of the driveway. Bill, Beth, and I walked with the captain to one of the sheriff’s cruisers, to see what we could come up with on the RV.

  CHAPTER SIX

  We’d put the year, make, model, description and tag number of the 2001 National Dolphin RV across the wire—the vehicle was still registered to Irvin Crawford. Scott had the two helicopters from the Omaha office covering a grid all around Omaha—so far, we hadn’t gotten any word. All local law enforcement was informed of the BOLO on the vehicle.

  The Omaha agents and a forensics team had just arrived, and Scott was standing with the fire chief and the captain of the sheriff’s department, giving the newcomers an overview of what had occurred. Beth, Bill, and I were looking into the smoldering remains of the home. The couple lay in what had been the kitchen of the house. Both bodies had been burned beyond recognition and seemed contorted over each other—my guess was that their position was due to them having been attached to the table surface when it collapsed. The smaller of the two, whom I figured to be the woman, was draped over the larger body. Both of the remains were charred black and lay in the muddy mix of charcoal and water from the firemen’s hoses. A bit of red showed through each body where the burned skin had cracked.

  “Is forensics even going to be able to get us anything out of here?” Beth asked.

  I figured it more of a rhetorical question than her actually looking for an answer. I didn’t respond.

  “I don’t know what they’re going to be able to get,” Bill said. “The coroner will have to go by dental records to get positives, would be my guess. We know who committed the crime. The forensics teams will do their work here, search around, and call us if they get anything, but I’m sure any evidence that was here was either burned or washed away by all the water. The assisting agents will get it written up and added to the file. Same as the last victim and the ones before and the ones before that.”

  I couldn’t help but notice an air of defeat in Bill’s voice—which was understandable. He and Scott had been on the guy, and now the woman, for the better part of three weeks. The entire time, especially the last week, had been spent witnessing the aftermath of the crimes Nick Frane—and now also his female companion, Molly McCoy—had committed.

  “We’ll catch up to him,” I said. I figured it to be the right thing to say at the moment.

  Bill didn’t respond.

  I glanced over at the group Scott was standing with—Scott had a phone to his ear, and the forensics team, consisting of three men, looked to be splitting up to handle their duties. The two agents that had just arrived walked toward Beth, Bill, and me. One
looked to be an inch or two over six foot—his partner, much taller.

  The shorter of the two, with a blond buzz cut, held his hand out for a handshake, which I gave him. “Agent Matt Gents,” he said.

  “Hank Rawlings.”

  “This is Agent Terry Makara,” Agent Gents said. He motioned to the man that had walked up with him.

  “Hank Rawlings,” I said again and shook the man’s hand, which was in an odd position because of the man’s height. I looked up at him. “You have to get it all the time, but I have to ask,” I said.

  “At least once a day. Seven one,” he said.

  I looked up at him. He was thin and wore what had to be a custom-tailored suit. The black color, combined with him being thin, only seemed to add to his height.

  The two agents introduced themselves to Beth and Bill.

  “It doesn’t sound like we got much from here other than what they’re now driving, huh?” Agent Makara asked.

  “About it,” Bill said.

  “Do we have people speaking with the neighbors and all that?” Agent Gents asked.

  “Locals, yeah,” Beth said. “The neighbor is the one who gave us the information on the RV.”

  “Nobody saw the couple out here, though?” Gents asked.

  “Not that we’ve heard,” Beth said.

  “Well, I guess Makara and I can take care of getting this added into the file,” Gents said. “Forensics guys should have whatever they have for us later.”

  Bill walked away without saying a word.

  I nodded to the agents, and they walked over toward their forensics guys.

  Beth rested her hands on her hips. “Well?”

  I shrugged. “Waiting game until we get a hit on the RV. Hopefully, these two are in it when we do.” I watched the firemen gather their equipment and the forensics guys wading through the black wreckage. I shook my head.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “Why the fire? This wouldn’t have been found for who knows how long, otherwise. Hell, the neighbors could have thought the Crawfords here went away in the RV for the winter. Unless some family couldn’t get a hold of them and stopped by, I have to think this would have gone unnoticed for days, weeks, longer.”

  “You think they want us on their tail?” Beth asked.

  “Who knows? We had that torched car that didn’t make any sense and now a torched house that doesn’t make any sense. This guy never did any of this shit prior to the girl joining up with him.”

  “Think this is her doing, maybe? Girl who likes fire?”

  “I don’t know. You’d think that this guy would be smart enough, if they are in fact trying to evade us, to tell her to not leave us breadcrumbs.”

  Scott walked toward us fast and hard enough to catch my attention. I looked at him and past him to see Bill heading for the street.

  “We might have the RV,” Scott said.

  I saw Agents Gents and Makara walking over.

  “Are they in it?” I asked. “And what do you mean might have?”

  “You found them?” Gents asked. He and Makara stopped at Beth’s shoulder to join the conversation.

  “I just got word that one of the helicopters spotted an RV matching the description at an interstate rest stop off I-80, not too far from here,” Scott said. “The RV hasn’t been approached. Captain Partridge already dispatched deputies to the area. The helicopter pilot informed the Omaha office that he’s going to hover at the next exit up, three miles or so away from the rest area, in case they leave, but to avoid them knowing that we have their location. Let’s go.”

  “Do you need us to lead the way?” Gents asked. “We have an official vehicle here.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said.

  “We’ll meet you on the street,” Gents said. He and Makara walked toward their forensics team to tell them they were leaving, I assumed.

  Beth and I jumped in our rental, and she fired up the motor. Bill and Scott said a few words to Gents and Makara at Bill and Scott’s rental car ahead of us. Makara stopped at Beth’s window, which she lowered.

  “Agent Matthews just gave us the location. Follow us,” he said.

  Makara and Gents went to their car, behind ours, and made a U-turn in the street. Beth and I did the same, followed by Bill and Scott. We started west and found the interstate, which was fairly light on travelers, a few minutes later. Gents, who was driving lead, averaged around ninety down the interstate, his siren and the lights in his rear window—and, I imagined, in the grille—going full song. Beth and I stayed a few car lengths behind them with Bill and Scott behind us. Our convoy stayed in the far-left lane with the interstate’s sporadic traffic all falling to the far-right lane and slowing as we approached. My cell phone rang. I slipped it from my pocket and clicked Talk.

  “Hey, it’s Bill. We have a pair of cars from the local sheriff’s department on scene. The tags on the RV match.”

  “Did they approach?” I asked.

  “No. They’re waiting on us on the off-ramp for the rest area. One car drove past the RV, confirmed tags, and then looped around. They have eyes on the vehicle, though. It’s still there.”

  “Did they see either of the couple?” I asked.

  “Didn’t say. We’re only a few miles away now. We’ll see in a minute.”

  “Okay, I’ll let Beth know.”

  “Yup,” Bill said. He clicked off.

  I jammed my phone back into my pocket. “The RV is still there. Two local deputies are on the scene, waiting for us.”

  A blue rest-area sign whizzed past. Our exit would be in a single mile. Our group of cars veered into the right lane. We exited and passed the—now three—sheriff’s cars waiting along the shoulder of the ramp. I glanced over my shoulder to see the cars pulling out and getting behind Scott and Bill’s rental. When I looked back out the windshield, past Gents and Makara’s car, I could see the RV parked on the far side of the rest stop, near the tractor trailers. I pointed.

  “I see it,” Beth said.

  Our three cars, with the sheriff’s cruisers following, pulled up and surrounded the RV. Beth and I were directly across from the vehicle’s front door on what would be the passenger side. Makara and Gents were parked a bit farther ahead, and Bill and Scott were stopped directly at the vehicle’s nose. The three sheriff’s cruisers took the driver’s side of the vehicle. I yanked the handle on my door and stepped out as I pulled my service weapon. I rounded the back of the car to the driver’s side and brought my weapon up over the roof—to my left and right, everyone was following suit.

  “Nick Frane, Molly McCoy, exit the vehicle with your hands in the air!” Scott called.

  His instruction received no response. The door of the RV was open, yet I saw nothing inside aside from what looked like a closet directly across from the doorway. The curtains covering the side windows of the RV didn’t move, the vehicle didn’t start and try to plow through our cars… nothing.

  Scott repeated his command, again to no response.

  Scott pointed at the open doorway, signaling he was going to it. Bill went to cover him as Scott took a position at the side of the door. From where he stood, he should’ve been able to see a bit inside.

  “FBI!” Scott shouted.

  No response.

  I looked over at Beth beside me. “Let’s go.”

  We lined up opposite Bill and Scott at the open doorway. “Driver and passenger seats are clear,” I said.

  Agents Makara and Gents came to Beth’s and my sides.

  “On three,” Scott said. He counted two off on his fingers, pointed in and took the RV’s stairs in two steps. “FBI!” he shouted again as I made my way up behind Bill.

  The interior of the RV spread to our left—just the driver and passenger seats, vacant, stood to our right. An empty living room, dining room, and kitchen comprised the main area, with a small hallway leading to an open-doored bedroom at the back. We passed a flowered couch and dining table attached to the wall as we headed toward the bedroom at
the back. Scott kicked in the closed door to our right, pointed his gun in, and continued. As I passed the door he’d booted, I saw it led to a small empty bathroom with a shower. Scott, Bill, and I entered the bedroom to find it empty.

  “Clear,” Scott said. He holstered his service weapon as the rest of us did the same.

  “Dammit,” Bill said.

  “We’re on their heels,” Beth said. “Let’s do a quick sweep and see if they’re still here.”

  We left the RV through the open doorway.

  The deputies that had taken the far side of the RV came to us—five men total, and we didn’t have time for introductions.

  “We need to fan out. Both suspects are Caucasian, and of average height and build. Bald-headed guy, midthirties. Female, twenties, maroon hair,” Scott said. “Deputies, if you want to take the car lot and surrounding areas, we’ll take this side and work our way toward you.”

  “Sure,” one of the deputies answered. They jogged to the far side of the rest area.

  “Agents Makara, Gents, do you guys want to stay with the RV and give it a once-over? Maybe the couple left something behind that could help,” Bill said.

  “Yeah,” Makara said. He and Agent Gents boarded the RV.

  Bill, Scott, Beth, and I headed toward the main building. I looked left to right around the parking lot. The tan building containing the bathrooms and vending machines sat in the center of two parking lots. The lot we were in was for larger vehicles, and standard cars took the far lot. I carried my line of sight across the red tin roof of the main building. A white camera attached to the peak stuck out like a sore thumb.

  I let out a quick whistle to get everyone’s attention and pointed at the camera. “They’ve got video.”

  “Let me find who we need to talk to about getting access,” Beth said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Molly lowered the driver’s window and stopped.

  A man with white hair, wearing a tan button-up shirt, leaned from the window of a guard shack. “Camp site or visitor’s pass?” he asked.

  “A site if there are any available,” Molly said.