Hidden Creed

by Alex Kava

  The wilderness cams were less predictable than the ones he hid in buildings. Weather affected them, of course. And the live video feed wasn’t perfect, but it had been good enough to tell him when the sheriff’s department’s men had arrived on the water. It alerted him a second time when the tall man and little dog launched his boat.

  Late last night when he saw the fresh tire tracks at his favorite launch site he realized he had to use another. For years he’d been using that place, but finding another route wasn’t hard at all. He knew Coldwater Creek and all the tributaries that forked in and out. There just weren’t many areas to park and launch a boat. It meant a longer walk, so he needed to leave. Unfortunately, he needed to get back and get to work. But hopefully, this little incident would delay things.

  He scratched at his neck, again. Swatted a couple of mosquitoes away. Then he pulled at his shirt, stretching it away from his skin to get a look at his shoulder.

  Damn it!

  The rash was growing and turning into tiny, little blisters.

  Chapter 39

  Baptist Hospital

  Pensacola, Florida

  Jason felt fine, except for the sick feeling in his gut. He couldn’t stop worrying about Scout. And he couldn’t stop blaming himself.

  The ER doctor had checked him out and said he was good to go. Ryder had already texted him a couple of photos. Said Scout was doing really well. He wasn’t showing any more symptoms, but Dr. Avelyn wanted to keep him in the clinic for observation. By bedtime Scout would be able to return to Jason’s doublewide.

  All of that should have made Jason feel better. Instead, he kept playing it over in his mind, finding that bag of trash. He should have seen it sooner. Dogs relied primarily on their noses to process information. Humans used their eyes, and Jason certainly had a higher vantage point than Scout. How did he miss it? And why didn’t they stumble across it yesterday?

  The black, plastic bag had been left open, tossed into the grass with some of the contents spilling out. Jason was pretty sure animals hadn’t ripped it open.

  He left the ER and found a hallway that led into the main hospital. It was almost lunchtime, and Benny wouldn’t be here for another hour to pick him up and give him a ride home. Jason had insisted that Ryder drop him off. He appreciated Ryder’s offer to stay, but he didn’t need a babysitter. If he couldn’t be with Scout, he wanted Ryder to be there.

  Even before they got to the hospital Jason knew he was okay. He knew what it felt like to have opioids in his system. In the early days, right after the IED went off and took half his arm with it, he’d been on a regiment of pain pills.

  After the amputation and during rehab, doctors offered him pill after another pill without Jason asking. If he mentioned he couldn’t sleep, he was handed a script for sleeping pills. None of them really helped, and he hated the side effects, but he never refused any of them. Instead, he had collected a treasure trove for what he called in his mind—never out loud—his Option B.

  On the boat, Ryder reminder Jason that he had two doses of naloxone in his own daypack, so they had enough for Scout and one for Jason. Neither dog nor handler needed it. They took Scout to their clinic and left him with Dr. Avelyn. When Jason said he was fine, Ryder waved him back to the Jeep.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Ryder told him. Then he added, “We need to make sure you’re okay. Scout will need someone to watch him for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Jason didn’t argue. Ryder was a smart guy. He knew Jason might be lax in taking care of himself, but he’d do anything to take care of this dog. Ryder knew that was true even before Jason knew it himself. It was exactly how he’d gotten Jason to give up his Option B.

  He took a detour making his way around to the front of the hospital. He wanted to check on Sheriff Norwich at the information desk. Maybe they were allowing visitors. They were not. He knew better than to ask how she was doing.

  When he arrived at the cafeteria it was crowded. He contemplated the process and which line he wanted. There were several, and people seemed to know their way through the maze. He felt a nudge from behind and realized he was probably in the way.

  “Hey, it’s one of those few good men.”

  “Excuse me?” But when he turned, he immediately recognized the woman, despite her blond hair in a ponytail and despite the nurse’s uniform.

  “Jason, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  He couldn’t believe she was standing directly in front of him. She was almost as tall as him, and this close, her eyes were strikingly blue with a hint of green.

  “And you’re Taylor,” he said without breaking eye contact to look at her name badge. And he did it all without stumbling over his tongue.

  “So are your guys with you?”

  “My guys?”

  “The poker players?” She was looking around, but he knew she wasn’t looking for Benny or Colfax. She had stopped to say hello and was now looking for an exit strategy. Or she was meeting someone. Either way, he was familiar with this part.

  “No, only me. I just got out of the ER.”

  “ER?” And suddenly, he had her full attention.

  “No big deal. I’m fine. I’m a K9 handler. My dog found a trash bag full of drug paraphernalia. We both had to be checked out.”

  “Is your dog okay?”

  “I think so. I hope so,” Jason said and was surprised at the emotion still in his voice. He was a little embarrassed by it and looked away, pretending to check out the progress of the cafeteria lines. “I was just going to grab a bite. Any recommendations?”

  “Stay away from anything pre-packaged. I usually do the salad bar, but I’ve heard some of the grill’s specials are decent.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The place was filling up, and he knew she probably had a short lunch break. He was getting ready to excuse himself and make it easy on her. Then she gestured to a table on the other side of the room.

  “How bout you grab that table, and I’ll get us some lunch. If you don’t mind trusting me.”

  That wasn’t at all what Jason expected.

  “Um...let me give you some cash.”

  “We can figure that out later.”

  And she was gone, swallowed up into the crowd of likewise scrubs and lab coats. He stared after her then realized he needed to pick his jaw up off the floor and go grab that table.

  Ryder had ribbed him once about using his dog to pick up women, but he never thought it might actually work.

  Chapter 40

  “One thing I learned,” she said, “from living with a group of guys, you don’t mess with their food.”

  “You lived with a group of guys?”

  “Northern Afghanistan. I was with an Army FFST.”

  “That’s sort of like a mobile medical unit?”

  “Fast-Forward Surgical Teams. We moved with the troops or set up close to the fighting forces. My unit had two surgeons, an anesthetist, an operating room nurse and a critical care nurse. I was the only woman. Our main goal was hemorrhage control within that golden hour. We patched you guys up and prepared you for medical evacuation. But we never got to see the end results.”

  She pointed at his arm with her fork, and said, “Impressive hardware.”

  “The best of DARPA.”

  “DARPA?”

  “Yeah, I’m experimental.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Jason felt the back of his neck go hot. Was she flirting with him?

  “So that explains the Segway House,” he said, searching to get a grip, before she completely threw him off balance. “You’re a veteran.”

  “I just moved here from Virginia three weeks ago. I don’t know too many people.”

  “Well, you really are welcome to play poker with us. Benny and Colfax are there most nights.”

  “But not you?”

  “I work pretty long hours.” And he suddenly remembered Scout. He hadn’t checked on him in almost an hour. He resisted the urge to slip
his cell phone out. “I owe you for lunch.”

  “A whopping six dollars. Buy me a drink sometime,” she waved him off, but unfortunately, she took it as an opportunity to end their lunch. “Speaking of work. I need to get back to it.” She stood up and he followed suit, both gathering up their discarded napkins and silverware.

  “How about dinner to go along with that drink?” Jason offered. Too much, too soon. God, he really was not good at this.

  When she hesitated, he jumped in to rescue her before she turned him down. “It’s okay,” he told her. He had already checked for rings, but he knew that might mean nothing with healthcare providers who were constantly pulling on gloves and washing their hands. “I understand. You’re probably seeing someone.”

  “Actually, I just broke up with someone.”

  “That’s great.” He heard himself say it before he could stop it from falling out of his mouth. He shook his head. What was wrong with him? “That’s not what I meant.”

  But she was smiling at him now.

  “I don’t think I’m ready just yet,” she said.

  “Okay. Then just a drink? Or coffee. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

  He saw she was thinking about it, even as her eyes continued to roam around the cafeteria. Groups were leaving, only to be replaced by new ones.

  “You know Walter’s Canteen on the beach?” she finally asked.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I get off around seven.”

  “That sounds great.” Then he wanted to slap himself. “Wait, I can’t tonight. I’m sorry. Scout. My dog. He’s supposed to be under observation for twenty-four hours.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  But Jason could see that it was a problem. She’d put herself out there, and he turned her down. After he’d prodded and convinced her to give him a chance.

  “What about another time?” he asked carefully, not wanting to push.

  “Sure. Some other time. I really need to get back upstairs. You know where to find me.”

  She turned and was gone. Weaving and blending in until she was out the door.

  That’s when he realized he didn’t know where to find her. He was pretty sure that was her way of saying, “Oh, hell no.”

  Chapter 41

  Margaritaville Beach Hotel

  Pensacola Beach, Florida

  Maggie stood back two feet from the sliding glass door to her hotel room’s balcony. It was still a magnificent view of the Gulf despite rain and wind pelting the glass. Flashes of lightning illuminated the dark clouds. The waves rolled and crashed.

  She was grateful that today she wasn’t out in the middle of the storm. They had called it quits early. Two new deputies had boated to the scene, scheduled to secure the area until the recovery efforts began again the next day. They had brought with them duffel bags of gear, but she couldn’t imagine spending the night out there.

  Ryder had texted several updates about Scout and Jason. But he’d also sent her the following message:

  I DON’T THINK THAT TRASH BAG WAS THERE YESTERDAY.

  Ryder and Grace had spent a good deal of time at the crime scene before any of the rest of them had arrived. Maggie remembered all of the surveyor flags planted across the area. But Jason and Scout had gone deeper into the woods. She suspected Ryder was thinking Grace would have alerted to the bag. Unlike Scout, Grace was a multi-task dog. She was also trained to find and alert to drugs and explosives. Last fall the little dog had tried to tell them about a booby-trapped bomb when they thought they were digging up a grave.

  Maggie wanted to tell Ryder that Grace might not have gotten to the trash bag. There was so much decomp, and that’s what Ryder had asked her to find. Instead, Maggie let it go for now. The tarps they had left to cover the bodies hadn’t been touched. If the killer had come back, he’d want to destroy evidence, not add more. It didn’t make sense.

  But Maggie had to admit this guy was a puzzle. For most serial killers, the killing was the gratifying part. And yet, this killer had left one of his victims alive.

  She hoped the victims would tell them more about the killer than his handiwork.

  So far, they had recovered three bodies: the man Brodie had tripped over (who they labeled John Doe #1); the second man they’d found lying in the grass (John Doe #2); and the presumed woman or whatever was left of her. But they knew from Grace and Scout that there were more victims.

  The medical examiner seemed anxious to start the autopsies. The gunshot wound in John Doe #1 brought new insight and evidence. Originally, because of the wound on the back of his head, they believed the man had been bludgeoned and left for dead.

  She remembered the dirt and grass under his fingernails, the scratch marks that indicated he might have crawled his way out of the shallow grave. Maggie had witnessed some horrendous murders over her tenure as an FBI profiler, but in her mind, the worst were those killers who inflicted the most pain. Those who enjoyed hearing the screams, encouraged the begging, and waited for the final whimpers of resignation.

  Those guys were the most dangerous.

  Their level of depravity left no room for bargaining or negotiating. Their victims were as good as dead from the moment they were targeted.

  But this killer...what category did he fit into? Gut instinct was telling her the killer had left believing John Doe #1 was dead. And the shallow grave was intentional. Just like he’d left the other bodies out in the open. He expected nature to clean up his mess, to hide his secrets.

  But why did he kill them?

  That was the question bugging her. And there was something else.

  She grabbed her cell phone off the bedside table. She’d taken plenty of photos, but there was one that stuck with her now. She swiped until she found the first shots she’d taken after they rolled the man onto his back. Stomach wounds tended to bleed a lot. The bottom of his shirt was caked with blood. A large oblong stain soaked the fabric. It stretched across his belly.

  She pinched the phone’s screen to enlarge the area of the wound. Then she could see what had caught her attention and hadn’t let go. There was a paper towel drenched with blood, so much so, that it blended in as part of the shirt. She had to look closely to see the edges of the faint pattern.

  Actually, now she could see that it was a couple squares as if someone had torn them from a roll and pressed them to the wound. But the paper towels weren’t wadded up like you’d expect to do, if you were trying to staunch the bleeding. No, these were simply laid across the shirt perhaps in a way to make sure the bleeding didn’t stain anything else.

  Maggie shook her head. She was grasping at straws, or in this case, paper towels.

  She checked her wristwatch. She had enough time to shower, grab something to eat and still be there in time for the first autopsy.

  Chapter 42

  Medical Examiner’s Office

  Pensacola, Florida

  Traffic delayed Maggie. That was one thing about this area. She noticed that she couldn’t go far without driving over a bridge, each of them two-to-three miles long with gorgeous views of water. There wasn’t a quick route anywhere, especially from Pensacola Beach to Pensacola. Thirty-five and forty-five mile per hour zones slowed to a crawl through business districts and over two separate bridges. This time of year, traffic seemed to be crazy in both directions.

  So Maggie was late.

  She texted Vickie and told her to go ahead, but the medical examiner had already started. By the time Maggie arrived, made it through security and gowned-up, John Doe #1 was cleaned up, splayed out and had an organ or two weighed and set aside.

  “He didn’t die from the gunshot,” Vickie announced as Maggie came across the pristine autopsy suite.

  She gestured to the bullet, now on a tray. There were other trays lined up on the counter with other interesting pieces. The medical examiner had been busy. She must have started as soon as she got back from the forest.

  Maggie came in closer to examine the bulle
t.

  “Small caliber,” Maggie said. “It didn’t kill him, but it made him bleed...a lot.”

  “I’m still speculating,” Vickie said, “but I think he got shot first. And I don’t think it happened in the forest.”

  Vickie stopped what she was doing, pulled off her latex gloves and sorted through a stack of photos that had already been printed out.

  “There wasn’t enough blood underneath him,” she told Maggie.

  “Couldn’t it have soaked into the ground?”

  Vickie pulled out several of the photos and put them down, one at a time, side by side on an empty spot of the counter.

  “Take a look,” she said. “Lots of fallen leaves and pine needles. It was pretty thick. The magnolia leaves are large.”

  She pointed to the third photo from the left. Maggie could see where the medical examiner or Hadley, the CSU tech, had raked up a patch of the leaves and needles and put them in an evidence bag.

  She was right. Blood hadn’t made it to the ground.

  “So he was shot somewhere else and brought to the forest to be buried,” Maggie said.

  “Except he wasn’t dead. And I’m betting our bad guy was surprised at that.”

  “Because he didn’t have his gun along, or he would have shot him again.”

  “Hadley bagged a dead tree branch,” Vickie told her, pointing to another counter at the other end of the room. “About three feet long. Lots of blood. Bark’s gone. I’m crossing my fingers we might be able to pull a print.”

  “Why do you have all the evidence?” Maggie asked. “Doesn’t Hadley and the sheriff’s department have a crime lab?”

  “Ours is better,” Vickie said. “My district covers a lot of territory.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow at her, and Vickie stepped back from the counter. She could see the medical examiner contemplate what she was about to say.

  Finally, she put her hands up in surrender and said, “Sheriff Norwich is great, okay? But with her in the hospital...let’s just say there are several of us who don’t trust Chief Deputy Glenn. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s a nice man, but he also loves the media’s attention.”