The FBI's swift response didn't necessarily mean that local police departments would fully cooperate. Even with JJ's excellent communication skills ensuring smooth information exchange, she couldn't magically force officers to monitor every suspicious vehicle on the highway.
"Jack, I've got the footage from the doorbell camera," Hannah called out. She and Jubal had been working downstairs while the others examined the upstairs bedroom. They had finished extracting the surveillance data and clipped the relevant footage from the time of the incident.
The doorbell camera, equipped with a built-in surveillance system, had recorded everything. This modern version of a peephole allowed residents to view visitors via a small screen and provided 24/7 video monitoring, storing footage directly to the home's computer.
Unlike JJ, who pursued behavioral analysis training to become a profiler, Hannah had taken a technical route. With her love of video games and solid computer skills rivaling Jack's, she decided to learn practical software tools.
Her progress was slow—writing code was still a struggle—but having a mutual hacker friend like Justin helped. He provided her with a plethora of user-friendly hacking tools, from password crackers to IP trackers, complete with idiot-proof guides. Most tasks required nothing more than a few mouse clicks, which only fueled Hannah's interest.
She often practiced by hacking into Jack's computer to check his writing progress, claiming it was for training. Thankfully, Jack's work on overly dramatic romance and fantasy novels was done on an offline tablet, sparing him from discovery.
The team gathered around Hannah to watch the footage. The timestamp showed just past 9 a.m. A man and a woman rode bicycles up to the Hargrove residence, wobbling awkwardly as they approached the front door.
They casually discarded the bikes on the lawn. Ronnie, hands in his pockets and wearing a smug grin, swaggered to the doorbell and pressed it. Behind him, the young woman hobbled along unsteadily, her blank expression and limping gait giving her an eerie appearance.
"Can you rewind that?" Clay asked suddenly.
Hannah replayed the clip. Pointing to the woman following Ronnie, Clay remarked, "Look at the way she walks. I've seen similar behavior at the veterans' rehab center—head trauma survivors often move like that."
Jubal nodded in agreement. "It seems we're looking for a survivor of some kind of accident. Update the video and this detail for Alice. Have her run facial recognition through the database. Do we have footage of them leaving?"
"We do, but only Ronnie was captured," Hannah replied. She fast-forwarded the footage until Ronnie reappeared close to noon.
The camera showed him leisurely strolling into view, twirling a keyring around his finger. He suddenly paused, turned to the camera with a twisted grin, leaned in, and licked the lens before stepping back and waving mockingly.
"Disgusting." Clay's fingers flexed and curled into a fist, as though ready to draw his gun.
Jack gritted his teeth. "Ronnie knows he's being recorded. This wasn't impulsive or unplanned. He's fully aware of what he's doing. Leaving so many clues is deliberate—he's treating this like a game."
"Does the missing Chevrolet Malibu have a navigation system?" JJ asked Agent Dodd, who was also watching the footage.
"No, but the license plate information has been sent to the state police. Hopefully, they'll find something," Dodd replied.
Jubal, feeling slightly uneasy without a pencil in hand, cleared his throat and gave instructions. "Okay. Jack, Clay, and Hannah, stay here for now. JJ, head over to coordinate with the state police. I'll meet up with Aubrey and Alice—they should be arriving soon."
There was no need to bring the mobile command unit to the crime scene. The FBI didn't have a field office in such a small town, but the local police station's parking lot was a good alternative. The team had brought ample supplies, so they could replenish the water tank and use the RV for necessary overnight accommodations.
Still, this wasn't the wilderness. Only one or two people needed to stay with the vehicle. The rest could sleep in a motel nearby.
Jack, Clay, and Hannah spent another two hours combing through the scene. Jubal's update finally prompted them to leave.
The overwhelming amount of evidence in such a chaotic scene often led to diminishing returns. While the crime scene provided ample material for prosecution, it offered little actionable intelligence for tracking the suspects.
Ronnie's identity was already on the wanted list. For now, the best lead was the stolen Chevrolet. Finding it depended on the efficiency of the state police.
That evening, the team gathered at a steakhouse downtown. Other than Jack and the ever-hungry Aubrey, most of the team had little appetite. Hannah's steak knife screeched against her plate as she half-heartedly prodded her food.
Alice, having finished a phone call with her daughter, noticed the heavy atmosphere. The team's earlier enthusiasm had dissipated, replaced by grim determination.
Clay, freshly shaven and usually exuding a rugged charm that caught women's attention, now radiated a cold hostility. His sharp gaze and tense demeanor made him seem unapproachable, like a predator on edge.
"How's your daughter doing without you?" Jack asked, having been the one to suggest Alice join the field team.
"She's fine. My parents have always helped take care of her. They're very close," Alice replied. She leaned in and whispered, "Why does everyone seem so angry?"
Jack sighed. "Because we're dealing with a monster. A savage, inhuman beast has a young girl barely out of her teens in his grasp. She's alive or dead—we don't know. It's infuriating, but right now, we're powerless to act."
Jack was no stranger to confronting depraved criminals. Aubrey, having dealt with ruthless Wall Street tycoons, was similarly desensitized. His carefree attitude was almost enviable. When faced with a rotting corpse by a lake, he had vomited violently but then quickly rebounded with a burger and milkshake.
Alice, however, remained unusually calm. She had reviewed every photo and video from the scene, yet her reaction seemed muted.
"Maybe it's because of my previous role," Alice said quietly. "I used to liaise between the fugitive task force and other specialized teams. I've seen too many cases like this.
"There are so many criminals on the wanted list, but capturing them takes immense time and resources. Cases get shelved, reopened, then shelved again until the perpetrator finally makes a mistake or is caught by chance."
Jack nodded in understanding. Field agents might work closely on individual cases, but someone like Alice, who supported multiple task forces, encountered countless cases daily. Even the most empathetic person would eventually grow numb after years of exposure.
(End of Chapter)
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