by Alex Kava
Was this any way to raise a teenage daughter, teaching her that she would receive some material thing for good behavior? Instead of analyzing it, he simply said, “Sure. Let’s go this afternoon.”
“All right!”
He watched her practically skip back to her room while he got up and wandered over to the coffee table. He found the file folder and slid it out from under one of the piles. He flipped it open and started going through the file: a police report, a copy from a DNA lab, a plastic bag with a pinch of metallic-flecked dirt stapled to an evidence document, a medical release form from Riley’s Veterinary Clinic.
Last night Detective Manx had given him the file marked Rachel Endicott, the missing neighbor O’Dell suspected Stucky had taken. Now, from the looks of the evidence and a recent DNA lab report, even the arrogant, stubborn Manx had been able to figure out that Ms. Endicott may have indeed been kidnapped. After seeing how close to the edge O’Dell was this morning, Tully wondered whether or not he should show her the file. Because according to the lab’s DNA test, Albert Stucky had not only been in Rachel Endicott’s house, but he’d helped himself to a sandwich and several candy bars. And now there was no doubt in Tully’s mind that Stucky had also helped himself to Ms. Endicott.
CHAPTER 62
Maggie drove without a destination, hoping only to burn off the mounting anger. After an hour, she pulled into the busy parking lot of a pancake house, thinking some food might settle her nerves and her stomach. She was at the door of the restaurant, her hand on the door handle when she spun around, almost bumping into two customers before hurrying back to the car. She didn’t dare have breakfast. How could she possibly risk another waitress’s life?
Back on the road, Maggie’s eyes darted all around her, checking the rearview mirror and every car alongside her. She pulled off the interstate, drove several miles down a deserted two-lane highway, then returned to the interstate. Several miles later, she exited at a rest stop, circled around, parked, waited, then headed back onto the interstate.
“Come on, Stucky,” she said to the rearview mirror. “Where the hell are you? Are you out there? Are you following me?”
She used her cellular phone and tried to call Nick, but he must have already left for Boston. Desperate for a distraction, any distraction, she dialed her mother’s phone number. Maybe she could drive down to Richmond. That would certainly take her mind off Stucky. Her mother’s answering machine picked up on the fourth ring.
“I can’t come to the phone right now,” a cheerful voice answered, and Maggie immediately thought she had dialed the wrong number. “Please call back another time, and remember, God watches out for those who can’t watch out for themselves.”
Maggie snapped the phone shut. Oh God, she thought, wishing the voice had not been her mother’s, and that she indeed had the wrong number. However, she recognized the raspy, cigarette-smoking tone despite the false cheerfulness. Then she remembered what Greg had said about her mother being out of town. Of course, she was with Reverend Everett—whoever the hell he was. They were in Las Vegas. Where else would manic-depressed alcoholics go to find God?
She noticed the gas tank getting low so she pulled off the interstate and found an Amoco station. She had the gas cap off when she realized the pumps were not set up for credit cards and a pay-at-the-pumps. She glanced over at the station’s shop. As soon as Maggie saw the female clerk’s blond curls, she replaced the gas cap and got back into the car.
It took two more attempts and about twenty more miles before she found a pay-at-the-pumps station. By now her nerves were rubbed raw. Her head hurt and the nausea had left her feeling hollow and sick to her stomach. There was nowhere she could go. Running away would not solve anything. Nor could she coax Stucky into coming after her. Unless he was already waiting for her. She decided to take her chances and return home.
CHAPTER 63
Tess ran, her ankle throbbing. Her feet ached and were now bleeding despite her attempt to wrap them with what once were the sleeves of her blouse. She had no idea where she was headed. The sky had clouded up again, bulging gray and ready to burst. Twice she had come to a ledge that overlooked water. If only she had learned to swim, she wouldn’t have cared how far away the other side appeared to be. Why couldn’t she escape this eternal prison of trees and vines and steep ridges?
She had spent the morning eating wild strawberries or, at least, that’s what she thought they were. Then she drank from the muddy bank of the river, not caring what algae also slipped into her cupped hands. Her reflection had frightened her at first. The tangled hair, the shredded clothes, the scratches and cuts made her look like a madwoman. But wasn’t that exactly what she had been reduced to? In fact, she couldn’t think of Rachel without feeling something raw and primitive ripping at her insides.
She couldn’t be sure how much time had gone by while she cringed in a corner of the hole. She had cried and rocked, hugging herself with her forehead pressed against the wall of dirt. At times she had felt herself slipping into some other dimension, hearing her aunt shouting down at her from the top of the hole. She could swear she had seen her aunt’s pinched face scowling at her and waving a bony finger, cursing her. She had no clue whether she had spent one night or two or three. Time had lost all meaning.
She did remember what had brought her out of her stupor. She had felt a presence, someone or something rustling above at the ledge of the hole. She had expected to look up and see him like a raptor, perched and ready to jump down on her. She didn’t care. She wanted it to end. But it wasn’t the madman, or a predator. Instead, it was a deer looking into the hole. A young, beautiful doe curiously staring down at her. And Tess found herself wondering how something so lovely and innocent could exist on this devil’s island.
That’s when she pulled herself together, when she decided once again that she would not die, not here, not in this hellhole. She had covered her temporary companion as best she could with branches from a pine tree, the soft needles like a blanket on the battered, gray skin. And then she crawled out into the open. However, there had been no sense of relief in leaving the earthly tomb that, ironically, had become a sanctuary of sorts. Now after running and walking for miles, she felt farther away from safety than she had felt inside that musty grave.
Suddenly she saw something white up on the ridge and through the trees. She climbed with new energy, pulling herself up with tree roots, ignoring the cuts in her palms that she hadn’t noticed before. Finally on level ground again, she was gasping for air, but she had a better view. Hidden by huge pine trees was a huge white, wooden frame house.
Tess’s pulse quickened. She blinked, hoping the mirage would not disappear. An incredible wave of relief swept over her as she noticed a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. She could even smell the wood from the fireplace. She heard a wind chime and immediately saw it hanging from the porch. Along the house, daffodils and tulips were in full bloom. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood finding her way through the woods to her grandmother’s warm and inviting house. Then she realized the analogy might prove more real than fantasy. An alarm seemed to go off in her head. The panic raced through her veins. She turned to run and slammed right into him. He gripped both her wrists and smiled down at her, looking exactly like a wolf.
“I was looking for you, Tess,” he said calmly while she pulled and twisted against his strength. “I’m so glad you found your way.”
CHAPTER 64
Washington, D.C.
Monday, April 6
Maggie couldn’t believe Cunningham had insisted she keep her Monday-morning appointment with Dr. Kernan. It was bad enough that they had to wait for some kind of unofficial permission from the Maryland authorities. How could they be sure Stucky wouldn’t find out? If any of the information leaked, they wouldn’t need to worry about Stucky setting another trap. No, this time he’d be long gone. It would be another five or six months before they heard from him again.
She had made the trip, angry an
d on edge—an hour’s drive in D.C.’s early-morning rush. And now she had to wait some more. Once again Kernan was late. He shuffled in, smelling of cigar smoke and looking as though he had just crawled out of bed. His cheap brown suit was wrinkled, his shoes scuffed, with one shoestring untied and dragging behind him. He had plastered down his thin white hair with some foul-smelling gel. Or maybe it was the Ben-Gay assaulting her nostrils. The man looked like a poster model for homeless mental patients.
Again, he didn’t acknowledge her as he shifted and creaked in his chair, back and forth, until he decided he was comfortable. This time Maggie felt too restless and angry to be intimidated. She didn’t care what strange insights he might probe from her psyche. Nothing Kernan could do or say would reduce or heal the chaotic storm ticking away inside her chest like some time bomb ready to explode without warning.
She tapped her foot and drummed her fingertips on the arm of the chair. She watched him sift through his mess. God, she was sick of everyone’s messes. First Tully’s, now Kernan’s. How did these people function?
She sighed, and he scowled at her over his thick glasses. He smacked his lips together in a “tis, tis,” as if to scold her. She continued to stare at him, letting him see her contempt, her anger, her impatience. Letting him see it all, and not giving a damn what he thought.
“Are we in a hurry, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” he asked as he thumbed through a magazine.
She glanced at his fingers and caught a glimpse of the magazine’s cover. It was a copy of Vogue, for God’s sake.
“Yes, I am in a hurry, Dr. Kernan. There’s an important investigation I’d like to get back to.”
“So you think you’ve found him?”
She looked up, surprised, checking to see if he knew. But he appeared engrossed in the magazine’s pages. Was it possible Cunningham had told him? How else would he know?
“We may have,” she said, careful not to reveal anything more.
“But everyone is making you wait, is that it? Your partner, your supervisor, me. And we all know how much Margaret O’Dell hates to wait.”
She didn’t have time for his stupid games.
“Could we please just get on with this?”
He looked up at her again over his glasses, this time surprised. “What would you like to get on with? Would you like some special absolution, perhaps? Some sort of permission to go racing after him?”
He put the magazine aside, sat back and brought his hands together over his chest. He stared at her as if waiting for an answer, an explanation. She refused to give him any of what he wanted. Instead, she simply stared back.
“You’d like us all to get out of your way,” he continued. “Is that it, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” He paused. She pursed her lips, denying him a response, and so he continued, “You want to go after him all by yourself again, because you’re the only one who can capture him. Oh no, excuse me. You’re the only one who can stop him. Perhaps you think stopping him this time will absolve you of his crimes?”
“If I was looking for absolution, Dr. Kernan, I’d be in a church and certainly not sitting here in your office.”
He smiled, a thin-lipped smile. Maggie realized it was the first time she had ever seen the man smile.
“Will you be looking for absolution after you shoot Albert Stucky between the eyes?”
She winced, remembering their last session and how out of control she had been. It reminded her that she still felt out of control, only now the anger gave her a false sense of how close the ledge really was. If she remained angry, perhaps she wouldn’t see the ledge at all. Would she even feel herself slipping or would the fall be abrupt and sudden when it happened?
“Maybe I’ve been around evil too long to care about what I need to do to destroy it.” She was no longer concerned with what she told him. He couldn’t use any of it to hurt her. No one could hurt her more than Stucky already had. “Maybe,” she continued, letting the anger drive her, “maybe I need to be as evil as Albert Stucky in order to stop him.”
He stared at her, but this time it was different. He was contemplating what she had said. Would he have some smart-ass response? Would he try his reverse psychology on her? She wasn’t one of his naive students anymore. She could play at his game. After all, she had played with someone ten times as twisted as him. If she could play at Albert Stucky’s game, then Dr. James Kernan’s would be nothing more than child’s play.
She stared him down, without flinching, without fidgeting. Had she rendered the old man speechless?
Finally he sat forward, elbows on his messy desk, fingers constructing a tent of bent and misshapen digits.
“So that’s what concerns you, Margaret O’Dell?”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she kept the question from her face.
“You’re concerned,” he said slowly, as if approaching a delicate subject. It was an unfamiliar gesture, one that immediately made Maggie suspicious. Was it another of Kernan’s famous tricks or was he genuinely concerned? She hoped for a trick. That, she could handle. The concern, she wasn’t too sure about.
“You’re worried,” he began again, “that you may be capable of the same sort of evil Albert Stucky is capable of.”
“Aren’t we all, Dr. Kernan?” She paused for his reaction. “Isn’t that what Jung meant when he said we all have a shadow side?” She watched him closely, wanting to see how it felt to have one of his students contradict him with his own teachings. “Evil men do what good men only dream of doing. Isn’t that true, Dr. Kernan?”
He shifted in his chair. She should have counted the succession of eye blinks. She wanted to smile, because she had him on the ropes, so to speak. But there was no victory in this truth.
“I believe—” he hesitated to clear his throat “—I believe Jung said that evil is as essential a component of human behavior as good. That we must learn to acknowledge and accept that it exists within all of us. But no, that doesn’t mean we’re all capable of the same kind of evil as someone like Albert Stucky. There’s a difference, my dear Agent O’Dell, between stepping into evil and getting your shoes muddy, and choosing to dive in and wallow in it.”
“But how do you stop from falling in headfirst?” She felt an annoying catch in her throat as the inner frenzy threatened to reveal itself. Her thoughts of revenge were black and evil and very real. Had she already dived in?
“I’m going to tell you something, Maggie O’Dell, and I want you to listen very closely.” He leaned forward, his face serious, his magnified eyes pinning her to the chair with their unfamiliar concern. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Jung or Freud when it comes to this evil crap. Remember this and only this, Margaret O’Dell. The decisions we make in a split second will always reveal our true nature, our true self. Whether we like it or not. When that split second comes, don’t think, don’t analyze, don’t feel and never second-guess—just react. Trust. Trust in yourself. You do that—just that—and I’m willing to bet you end up with nothing more than a little mud on your shoes.”
CHAPTER 65
Tully punched at the laptop’s keyboard. He knew the computer down in his office was much faster, but he couldn’t leave the conference room. Not now that he had had all the calls forwarded, and every last file on the case was spread out over the tabletop. Agent O’Dell would be furious about the mess. Though he doubted she could get much angrier. He hadn’t seen or talked to her since she had stormed out of his house yesterday.
Assistant Director Cunningham had informed him that O’Dell would be spending the morning in D.C. at a previously scheduled appointment. He didn’t elaborate, but Tully knew the appointment was with the Bureau psychologist. Maybe it would help calm her down. She needed to keep things in perspective. She needed to realize that everything that could be done, was being done, and as quickly as possible. She needed to get past her own fear. She couldn’t keep seeing the bogeyman in every corner and expect to handle it by running after him with guns b
lazing.
Although Tully had to admit, he was also having a tough time waiting. The Maryland authorities were hesitant to go storming onto private property without just cause. And no government department seemed willing to admit or confirm that the metallic mud could have come from the recently closed and sold government property. All they had was Detective Rosen’s fishing story, and now that Tully had repeated it over and over to top government officials it was beginning to sound more and more just like a fish story.
It might be different if the property in question wasn’t miles and miles of trees and rocks. They could drive down the road and check things out. But from what he understood, this property had no road, at least not a public one. The only dirt road available included an electronic gate, a leftover from when the government owned the property and had allowed no unauthorized access. So Tully searched for the new property owners, hoping to find something that would tell him who or what WH Enterprises was.
He decided to use a new search engine and keyed in “WH Enterprises” again. Then he sat, elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his hand as he watched the line crawl along the bottom of the screen…3% of document transferred…4%…5%…This would take forever.
The phone rescued him. He wheeled his chair around and grabbed the receiver.
“Tully.”
“Agent Tully, this is Keith Ganza—over in forensics. They told me Agent O’Dell was out this morning.”
“That’s right.”
“Any chance I could get hold of her? Maybe her cell phone? I was wondering if you had the number.”
“Sounds important.”
