Maggie O'Dell Collection, Volume 1: A Perfect Evil ; Split Second ; The Soul Catcher

by Alex Kava

  She walked to the window, feeling the men’s eyes follow her. Suddenly she had their attention. Through the sheer curtains she could see the backyard, similar to her own, spacious and secluded by flowering dogwoods and huge pines. None of the neighbors’ houses were even visible, all hidden by the foliage and trees. No one would see an intruder come or go back here. But how would he maneuver the steep ridge and the stream? Had she overestimated the strength of that natural barrier?

  “There really is not much blood,” she continued. “Unless there’s a lot more in the bathroom. Perhaps there’s not a body simply because the victim left on her own.”

  She heard Manx snort. “You think they had a nice little lunch, he beat the shit out of her because she decided not to fuck him, but then she left willingly with this guy? And in the meantime, the whole goddamn neighborhood didn’t notice?” Manx laughed.

  Maggie ignored his sarcasm. “I didn’t say she left willingly. Also, this blood is much too congealed and dry to have happened a few hours ago during lunch. I’m guessing it happened early this morning. She glanced at the medical examiner for confirmation.

  “She’s right about that.” He nodded in agreement.

  “I don’t think they had lunch together. He probably fixed the sandwich for himself. You should bag the sandwich. If you can’t get a dental imprint, there may be some saliva for a DNA test.”

  When she finally turned to face him, Manx stared at her. Only now his frustration had turned to wonder and the crinkles at his eyes became more pronounced. Maggie realized he was older than her initial assessment. Which meant the clothes and the hair might be part of a midlife crisis rather than a youthful indiscretion. She recognized Manx’s stunned look. It was the same look that often followed her on-the-spot, blunt profiles. At times, that look made her feel like a cheap fortune-teller or a psychic. But always beneath their skepticism lay just enough amazement and respect to vindicate that initial reaction.

  “Mind if I check out the bathroom?” she asked.

  “Be my guest.” Manx shook his head and waved her through.

  Before Maggie got to the bathroom door, she stopped. On the bureau was a photograph. She recognized the beautiful blond-haired woman who smiled out at her, one arm wrapped around a dark-haired man and the other around a panting white Labrador retriever. It was the same woman she and Tess McGowan had met the first day Maggie looked at her new house.

  “What is it?” Manx asked, now standing directly behind her.

  “I’ve met this woman before. Last week. Her name’s Rachel Endicott. She was out jogging.”

  Just then, in the bureau mirror, she saw more blood. Only this was smeared on the bottom of the bed ruffle. She stopped and turned, hesitating. Was it possible that whoever had been bleeding was still under the bed?

  CHAPTER 5

  Maggie stared at the bloodied ruffle then slowly walked to the bed.

  “Actually she was walking,” she said, keeping the excitement from her voice. “She had a dog with her, a white Lab.”

  “We haven’t found any fucking dog,” Manx said. “Unless he’s out in the backyard or the garage.”

  Carefully, Maggie got down on one knee. There was blood in the grooves of the hardwood floor, too. Here the intruder must have taken the time to mop it up. Why would he do that, unless some of it was his own?

  The room grew silent as the men finally noticed the blood on the hem of the bed ruffle. Maggie felt them standing over her, waiting. Even Manx stood quietly, though out of the corner of her eye she could see the toe of his loafer tapping impatiently.

  She lifted the ruffled material, avoiding the bloodied area. Before she could get a closer look underneath, a deep-throated growl caused her to jerk her hand away.

  “Shit!” Manx spat, jumping back with such force he sent a nightstand scraping into the wall.

  Maggie saw the glint of metal in his hand and realized he had drawn his service revolver.

  “Move out of the way.” He was next to her, shoving her shoulder and almost knocking her over.

  She grabbed his arm as he recklessly took aim, ready to fire at anything that moved underneath the bed even though he couldn’t see it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him.

  “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

  “Calm down, Detective.” The medical examiner took hold of Manx’s other arm and gently pulled him back.

  “This dog might be your only witness,” Maggie said, getting down on her knees again but staying back a safe distance.

  “Oh right. Like a dog’s gonna tell us what happened.”

  “She’s right,” the M.E.’s voice was amazingly calm. “Dogs can tell us a lot. Let’s see if we can get this one under control.”

  Then he looked to Maggie as if waiting for her instructions.

  “Most likely, he’s wounded,” she said.

  “And in shock,” the M.E. added.

  She stood and looked around the room. What the hell did she know about dogs, let alone how to subdue one?

  “Check the closet and grab a couple of jackets,” she told him. “Preferably thick, something like wool and something that’s been worn and not laundered. Maybe there are some clothes on the floor.”

  She found a tennis racket leaning against the wall. She rummaged through the bureau’s drawers then noticed a tie rack on the back of the closet door. She snatched a silk pinstripe and knotted one end of the tie to the handle of the racket. She made a slipknot at the other end.

  The medical examiner came back with several jackets.

  “Officer Hillguard,” he instructed. “See if you can find some blankets. Detective Manx, get at the end of the bed. We’ll have you lift up the bedspread when we’re ready.

  Maggie noticed Manx’s impatience did not extend to the doctor. In fact, he seemed to regard the older man as an authority figure and willingly took his post at the end of the bed.

  The medical examiner handed Maggie one of the jackets, an expensive wool tweed. She sniffed the sleeve. Excellent. There was still the faint scent of perfume. She pulled the jacket on backward, pushing the sleeves over her bare arms but keeping enough at the end to ball up in her fists. Then she grabbed the tennis racket and kneeled about two feet from the bed. The doctor kneeled next to her as Officer Hillguard set a quilt and two blankets on the floor beside them.

  “Are we ready?” The medical examiner glanced at all of them. “Okay, Detective Manx. Lift the bedspread up, but slowly.”

  This time the dog was prepared, his eyes glazed, teeth bared, the growl deep and low. But he didn’t lunge at them. He couldn’t. Underneath the bloody mess of fur that was once white, Maggie spotted the main wound, a gash just above the shoulder and barely missing the throat. The matted fur must have temporarily stopped the bleeding.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Maggie told the dog in a quiet, calm voice. “We’re going to help you. Just relax.”

  She scooted closer, extending a part of the sleeve and letting it hang beyond her hand. He snapped at it, and Maggie jerked backward, almost losing her balance.

  “Jesus!” she muttered. Had she completely lost her mind? She tried not to think of her aversion to needles, yet found herself wondering if the treatment for rabies was still six shots.

  Maggie steadied herself. She needed to stay focused. She tried again, more slowly this time. The dog sniffed at the dangling sleeve, possibly recognizing the scent of his owner. His growl turned into a whine and then a whimper.

  “It’s okay,” Maggie promised in a hushed tone, uncertain whether she was trying to convince the dog or herself. She inched closer with the tennis racket in her other hand, the tie’s loop hanging down, moving in while the dog watched and continued to whimper. She let the dog sniff the tie. He didn’t resist when she slipped it over his snout. Gently, she tightened the knot.

  “How’re we gonna get him out from under there?” Officer Hillguard was now on his knees on the other side of Maggie.

&n
bsp; “Let’s unfold one of those blankets and get it next to him.”

  But as soon as Officer Hillguard’s hands got close, the dog snapped and snarled, growling and struggling against the makeshift muzzle. He jumped toward the officer, and Maggie used the opportunity to grab the dog’s collar from behind. She yanked him forward onto the blanket, all the while holding the tennis racket and keeping the muzzle tight. The dog yipped, and immediately Maggie worried that she had opened one of the wounds.

  “Holy shit,” she heard Detective Manx say, but this time he kept his revolver in its holster.

  “We got him.” The medical examiner stood and waved Officer Hillguard over to his side. The two men tugged on the blanket corners and pulled the dog out from under the bed. “We can use my van to transport him to Riley’s Clinic.”

  Maggie sat back on her feet, only now noticing that she was soaked with perspiration.

  “Shit.” Manx was back to his belligerent mood. “That means all the blood by the door and in the bathtub is probably the fucking dog’s blood, and we don’t have a damn thing.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Maggie said. “Something violent happened here, and the dog’s owner may have suffered the brunt of it.” She watched the doctor and officer cover the trembling dog and secure their blanket stretcher, grateful they were too busy to notice how much effort it took for her to stand.

  “I’m guessing this guy—” she pointed to the Lab “—tried to stop whatever happened. He may have gotten in a couple of good bites. There’s a chance some of the blood, especially here by the bed, may be the intruder’s. Your forensics people should be able to get a sampling even though it’s been wiped up.”

  “You think you can allow me to do my own investigation?” Manx shot her a look of contempt.

  Maggie wiped strands of hair off her forehead. Jesus! Couldn’t this guy give her a break? Just then she realized she had blood on her hands and now had blood on her forehead and in her hair. When she glanced at the medical examiner, he was shaking his head at Manx and giving him a warning look as though he, too, was fed up with Manx’s arrogance.

  “Yes, of course, the investigation is all yours,” Maggie finally said, and grabbed a corner of the blanket to help the men move the swaddled dog. “I’m sure the whole neighborhood will sleep soundly tonight, knowing you’re on the case.”

  Manx seemed surprised by her sarcasm, then turned red when he noticed the two men would not be coming to his defense. Maggie caught the medical examiner smiling. She didn’t turn to see if Manx had caught it, too.

  “Just keep your big FBI badge and your pretty little butt out of my investigation,” he said to her back, determined to get in the last word. “You got that, O’Donnell?”

  She didn’t bother to look at him or answer, the ungrateful son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have even found the dog if it wasn’t for her. Now she wondered if he would bother to take blood samples, simply because it had been her suggestion.

  She held her corner of the blanket tight and followed Officer Hillguard and the medical examiner. As they reached the landing, Maggie turned to look at Manx, who had stayed in the bedroom’s doorway.

  “Oh, Detective Manx,” she called to him. “One more thing. You might want to check out this mud here on the steps. Unless, of course, you’re the one who tracked it in and contaminated your own crime scene.”

  Instinctively, Manx lifted his right foot, taking a look at the sole before he realized his defensive reaction. The M.E. laughed out loud. Officer Hillguard knew better and confined himself to a smile. Manx’s face went red again. Maggie simply turned, concentrating on keeping their patient steady and calm while they hauled him down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tess McGowan stuffed a copy of the closing papers into her leather briefcase, ignoring its worn sheen and cracked handle. A couple more sales and just maybe she could afford a new briefcase instead of the hand-me-down she had bought at the thrift store.

  She jotted a note on her desk blotter, “Joyce and Bill Saunders: a dozen long-stemmed chocolate chip cookies.” The Saunderses kids would get a kick out of them, and Joyce was a chocoholic. Then, she wrote, “Maggie O’Dell: a garden bouquet.” Quickly, she scratched out the notation. No, it was too simple, and Tess liked to customize her thank-yous to her customers. They had become one of her trademarks and paid off big-time in referrals. But what would O’Dell like? Hey, even FBI agents liked flowers, and O’Dell seemed nuts about her huge backyard, but a bouquet didn’t seem right. No, what seemed right for Agent O’Dell was a killer Doberman. Tess smiled and jotted down “a potted azalea” instead.

  Pleased with herself, Tess switched off her computer and slipped on her jacket. The other offices had gone silent hours ago. She was the only one nuts enough to be working this late. Though it didn’t matter. Daniel would be at his office until eight or nine and not ready to think about her for several more hours. But she wouldn’t dwell on his inattentiveness. After all, she’d be running in the other direction if Daniel was constantly calling her, infringing on her independence or pushing for a commitment. No, she liked things just the way they were—safe and uncomplicated with very little emotional investment. It was the perfect relationship for a woman who couldn’t handle any real commitments.

  She passed by the copier room but stopped when she heard shuffling. Her eyes darted to the front door at the end of the hall, making certain nothing obstructed her path in case she needed to run. She leaned against the wall and peeked around the door to the room where a copy machine buzzed into action.

  “Girl, I thought you went home hours ago.” Delores Heston’s voice startled Tess as the woman stood up from behind the machine and shoved a tray of paper into the mouth of the copier. Finally, she looked at Tess and her face registered concern. “Good Lord! I’m sorry, Tess. I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

  Tess’s heart pounded in her ears. Immediately she was embarrassed at being so jumpy. The paranoia was a leftover from her old life. She smiled at Delores while she leaned against the doorjamb and waited for her pulse to return to normal.

  “I’m fine. I thought everyone else was gone. What are you still doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be taking the Greeleys to dinner?”

  Delores punched some buttons, and the machine whizzed to life with a soft, almost comforting, hum. Then she looked at Tess, hands on her ample hips.

  “They had to reschedule, so I’m catching up on some paperwork. And please don’t tell Verna. She’ll scream at me for messing with her precious baby.” The machine beeped as if on cue.

  “Holy Toledo! What did I do now?” Delores turned and began punching buttons again.

  Tess laughed. The truth was, Delores owned the machine just like she owned every last chair and paper clip. Delores Heston started Heston Realty nearly ten years ago and had made quite a name for herself in Newburgh Heights and the surrounding area. Quite an accomplishment for a black woman who had grown up poor. Tess admired her mentor who, at six o’clock in the evening after a full day of work, still looked impeccable in her deep purple custom-made suit. Delores’s silky, black hair was swept up into a compact bun, not a strand out of place. The only indication that she was finished for the day were her stocking feet.

  In contrast, Tess’s suit was wrinkled from too many hours of sitting. Her thick, wavy hair frizzled from the humidity, strands breaking free from the clasp she used to tie it back. She was probably the only woman alive who dyed her naturally blond hair a nondescript brown in order to buy herself more credibility and to avoid sexual advances. Even the eyeglasses, which dangled from a designer cord around her neck, were a prop. Tess wore contact lenses, but didn’t young, attractive women always look more intelligent when they wore glasses?

  Finally, the machine stopped beeping and started spitting out copies. Delores turned to Tess and rolled her eyes.

  “Verna’s smart not to let me touch this thing.”

  “Looks like you’ve got it under control.”
>
  “So, girl, what are you doing here so late? Don’t you have a handsome man you should be home snuggling with on a Friday evening?”

  “Just wanted to finish all the paperwork on the Saunders’ house.”

  “That’s right. I forgot you closed this week. Excellent job, by the way. I know the Saunderses were in a hell of a hurry to sell. How much of a beating did we take?”

  “Actually, it turned out quite well for everyone involved. Plus, we beat their two-week deadline, so on top of our commission we’ll also be receiving the selling bonus they tacked on.”

  “Ooooh, I do so love to hear that. There’s no better advertising than surpassing a customer’s expectations. But that selling bonus is all yours, dearie.”

  Tess wasn’t sure she heard her boss correctly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You’re keeping that selling bonus for yourself. You deserve it.”

  For a minute Tess didn’t know what to say. The bonus was almost ten thousand dollars. That was almost six months’ pay back when she had been bartending. Her look of surprise sent Delores into gales of laughter.

  “Girl, I wish you could see the look on your face.”

  Tess waited quietly. She managed a weak smile. She was embarrassed to ask if her boss was joking. It would be a cruel joke. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time Tess had experienced such cruelty. In fact, she expected it, accepted it, almost more readily than kindness.

  Delores was staring at her again, with a look of concern.

  “Tess, I am serious. I want you to have the selling bonus. You worked your ass off to move that property in two weeks. I know it’s a beautiful house and the asking price was a steal, but with all the paperwork and hedging and negotiating—selling anything right now that quickly, and especially in that price range, is nothing less than a miracle.”