by Alex Kava
“Don’t really know for sure, but I figure that’s up to Maggie to determine.”
Tully sat up straight. Ganza’s voice was a constant monotone, but the fact that he didn’t want to talk to him alarmed Tully. Had O’Dell and Ganza been on to something that she wasn’t letting him in on?
“Does this have anything to do with the luminol tests you did? You know Agent O’Dell and I are working on the Stucky case together, Keith.”
There was a pause. So he was right. There was something.
“Actually, it’s a couple of things,” he finally said. “I spent so much time analyzing the chemicals in the dirt and then the fingerprints that, well, I’m just getting to that bag of trash you found.”
“It didn’t look too unusual except for all the candy bar wrappers.”
“I might have an explanation for those.”
“The candy wrappers?” He couldn’t believe Ganza would waste his time with those.
“I discovered a small vial and a syringe at the bottom of the trash bag. It was insulin. Now, it could be that one of the previous owners of the house has diabetes, but then we should have found more. Also, most diabetics I know are fairly conscientious about properly disposing of their used syringes.”
“So what exactly are you saying, Keith?”
“Just telling you what I found. That’s what I meant about Maggie determining whether or not it was important.”
“You said there were a couple of things?”
“Oh yeah…” Ganza hesitated again. “Maggie asked me to do a search of prints for a Walker Harding, but it’s been taking me a while. The guy has no criminal record, never registered a handgun.”
Tully was surprised Maggie hadn’t stopped Ganza after they had read the article and discovered that Harding was going blind. He couldn’t possibly be a suspect. “Save yourself the time,” he told Ganza. “Looks like we don’t need to check.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t able to find anything. The cold search just took a bit longer. The guy had a civil servant job about ten years ago, so his prints are on file after all.”
“Keith, I’m sorry you went through all that trouble.” Tully only half listened to Ganza as he watched the computer screen. The search engine must be accessing something on WH Enterprises if it was taking this long. He started tapping his fingers.
“Hopefully, it was worth the trouble,” Ganza went on. “The prints I lifted from the whirlpool bath were an exact match.”
Tully’s fingers stopped. His other hand gripped the phone’s receiver. “What the hell did you just say?”
The fingerprints I lifted off the bathtub at the house on Archer Drive…they matched this Walker Harding guy. It’s an exact match. No doubt about it.”
The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but Tully didn’t like the picture they were forming. On an obscure Web site designed to look like some clearinghouse run by the Confederacy, he found computer video games for sale. All were wholesale priced, and the search could be completed by clicking on the tiny Confederate-flag icons. The games were available though a company called WH Enterprises. Most of them guaranteed graphic violence and others promised to be of pornographic nature. These were not the types of games kids could pick up at Best Buys or Kids “R” Us.
The sample that could be viewed with a simple click of the mouse included a naked woman being gang-raped, with the player being able to gun down all the assailants, only to be rewarded by raping the woman himself. Despite the animation, the video clip was all too real. Tully found himself sick to his stomach. He wondered if any of Emma’s friends were into this sort of garbage.
One of the Web site’s features was the “Lil’ General’s Top Ten List,” including a note from the CEO of WH Enterprises. Tully knew what he’d find before he scrolled down to see the message ending with, “Happy hunting, General Walker Harding.”
Tully paced the conference room, walking from window to window. Walker Harding may have been going blind, but he sure as hell could see now. How else could he run a computer business like this one? How else could he be at each crime scene, helping his old pal, Albert Stucky?
“Son of a bitch,” Tully said out loud. O’Dell had been right. The two men were working together. Maybe they were still competing in some new game of horror. Whatever it was, there was no denying the evidence. Walker Harding’s fingerprints matched those found on the Dumpster with Jessica Beckwith’s body. They matched the umbrella in Kansas City, and they matched the prints left on the whirlpool bath at the house on Archer Drive.
Earlier, the Maryland authorities had finally confirmed that there was a large two-story house and several wooden shacks on the property. All government buildings had been bulldozed before the sale. The rest of the property, Tully was informed, was surrounded on three sides by water and covered with trees and rock. There were no roads except a dirt path that led to the house. No electrical lines or telephone cables had been brought in from the outside. The new owner used a large generator system left behind by the government. The place sounded like a recluse’s dream come true and a madman’s paradise. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that, of course, WH Enterprises would belong to Walker Harding?
Tully checked his wristwatch. He needed to make some phone calls. He needed to concentrate. He took several deep breaths, dug the exhaustion out from under his glasses and picked up the phone. The waiting was over, but he dreaded telling Agent O’Dell. Would this be the final thread to unravel her already frayed mental state?
CHAPTER 66
Tess woke slowly, painfully. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Something held her down. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t open her eyes again, the lids were too heavy. Her mouth felt dry, her throat was raw on the inside as well as the outside. She was thirsty and ran her tongue over her lips, alarmed when she tasted blood.
She forced her eyes open and strained against the shackles that clamped her wrists and ankles to the small cot. She recognized the inside of the shack, could feel its dampness and smell its musty odor. She twisted, trying to free herself. She felt a scratchy blanket beneath her and that’s when she realized she was naked. Panic rushed through her insides, shoving against the walls of her body. A scream stuck in her throat, but nothing came out except a gasp of air. That was enough, however, to send a scrape of pain down her throat as though she were swallowing razor blades.
She settled down, trying to calm herself, trying to think before terror took control of her mind. She no longer had control over her body, but no one would control her mind. It was a painful lesson she had learned from her aunt and uncle. No matter what they did to her body, no matter how many times her aunt had banished her to the dark cellar or how many times her uncle had shoved himself inside her, she had retained control over her mind. It was the ultimate defense. It was her only defense.
Yet, when she heard the locks to the door clicking open, Tess felt the terror clawing at the flimsy barricades to her mind.
CHAPTER 67
Maggie swerved around slower-moving traffic, trying to keep her foot from pushing the accelerator to the floor. Her heart hadn’t stopped ramming against her chest since Tully’s phone call. All the anger she had accessed in Kernan’s office had been converted to sheer panic. It no longer ticked quietly like a time bomb. Instead, it pressed against her rib cage like some heavy weight being lowered, little by little, threatening to crush her.
She knew Walker Harding was involved. It made sense that Stucky would call on his old pal. Though she still had a difficult time believing Stucky would allow anyone to help, even his expartner—unless the two men were competing at some bizarre game. And from Tully’s description of Harding’s new entrepreneurial venture, it seemed more than possible that he was capable of the same sort of twisted, perverted evil as Stucky was.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and rolled down the window. The breeze whipped through the car’s interior, bringing with it the fumes of exhaust and the scent of pine trees.
; Dr. Kernan had said she shouldn’t think so much—just trust. All her life she had felt as if she was the only person she could trust. There was no one else. Did he understand how incredibly frustrating, how…hell, why not admit it?—how frightening it was to think she could no longer trust the one person she had trusted her whole life? That she could no longer trust herself?
She had a B.A. in criminal psychology, and a master’s in behavioral psychology. She knew all about the shadow side, and she knew it existed in everyone. There were plenty of experts who debated the fine line between good and evil and they all hoped to explain why some people choose evil, while others choose good. What was the determining factor? Did anyone really know?
“Trust in yourself,” Kernan had told her. And that the decisions she made in a split second would somehow reveal her true self.
What kind of psychobabble was that? What if her true self really was her shadow side? What if her true self was capable of Stucky’s blend of evil? She couldn’t help thinking that all it would take was a split second for her to aim and fire one bullet right between those black eyes. She no longer wanted to capture him, to stop Albert Stucky. She wanted him to pay. She wanted—no, she needed—to see fear in those evil eyes. The same kind of fear she felt in that Miami warehouse when he cut her abdomen. The same fear she felt every night when darkness came and sleep would not.
Stucky had made this a personal war between the two of them. He had made her an accomplice to his murders, making her feel as though she had handpicked each woman for his disposal. If he had somehow managed to coerce Walker Harding into his game of horror, then there were now two of them who needed to be destroyed.
She glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. The toll bridge was about fifty miles from Quantico. Tully was still making arrangements. It would take several hours before he had everything ready according to his careful, by-the-book standards. There would be more waiting. They’d be lucky to make it to Harding’s property by nightfall. Tully was expecting her back at Quantico in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Up ahead a sign indicated that her exit was just ten miles away.
She pulled out her cell phone and slowed the car to the speed limit, allowing her to maneuver more easily with one hand on the steering wheel. She punched in the number and waited.
“Dr. Gwen Patterson.”
“Gwen, it’s Maggie.”
“You sound like you’re on the road.”
“Yes, I am. Just coming back from D.C. Can you hear me okay?”
“Little bit of static, but not bad. You were in D.C.? You should have stopped in. We could have done lunch.”
“Sorry, no time. Look, Gwen, you know how you’re always saying I never ask anything of my friends? Well, I need a favor.”
“Wait a minute. Who did you say this was?”
“Very funny.” Maggie smiled, surprised she was able to amidst all the internal tension. “I know it’s out of your way, but could you check on Harvey this evening—let him out, feed him…all those dog things that a real dog owner normally does?”
“You’re off fighting serial killers, and you’re still worried about Harvey. I’d say you already sound like a dog owner. Yes, I will stop and spend some quality time with Harvey. Actually, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time as far as spending an evening with a male companion goes.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Does this mean you’re simply working late or have you found him?”
Maggie wondered how long it had been since her friends and co-workers could simply ask her about “him” and automatically mean Albert Stucky.
“I don’t know yet, but it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. You may have been right about the candy bar wrappers.”
“Wonderful. Only I don’t remember what it was I said.”
“We dismissed Stucky’s old business partner as an accomplice because the guy was supposedly going blind due to some medical condition. Now the evidence suggests that the condition could be diabetes. Which means the blindness may not have been sudden or complete. In fact, he could be hoping to control it with insulin injections.”
“Why would Stucky be working with an accomplice? Are you sure that makes sense, Maggie?”
“No, I’m not sure it makes sense. But we keep finding fingerprints at the scenes that don’t belong to Stucky. This morning we found out the prints are a perfect match with Stucky’s old business partner, Walker Harding. The two sold their business about four years ago and supposedly went their separate ways, but they might be working together again. We also discovered a remote piece of land just across the river registered to Harding. This place sounds like the perfect hideout.”
Maggie glanced down at the map again. The exit to Quantico was getting closer. Soon she’d need to make a decision. She knew a shortcut to the toll bridge. She could be there in less than an hour. Suddenly she realized that Gwen’s pause had lasted too long. Had she lost the call?
“Gwen, are you still there?”
“Did you say the partner’s name is Walker Harding?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Maggie, last week I started seeing a new patient who is blind. His name is Walker Harding.”
CHAPTER 68
Tully ripped off the fax and began piecing the four sheets together. The Maryland Parks Commission had faxed an aerial view of Harding’s property. In black and white not much could be seen through the acres of treetops. The first thing Tully noticed was that, from above, the area looked like an island except for a sliver that connected it to the mainland. The property jutted out into the water with the Potomac River on two sides and a tributary river on the third.
“The SWAT team is assembled and ready to go,” Cunningham said as he entered the conference room. “Maryland State Patrol will meet you on the other side of the toll bridge. Are those any help?” He came around the table and looked at the map Tully had just finished taping together.
“Can’t see any buildings. Too many trees.”
Cunningham pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and bent down to examine the map. “From what I understand, the facility housing the generator is in the upper northwest corner.” He ran his index finger over the spot that resembled a black-and-gray mass. “I would think the house would need to be close by. Any idea how long Harding has lived here?”
“At least four years. Which means he’s settled and knows the area. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a bunker somewhere on the property.”
“That seems a bit paranoid, doesn’t it?” Cunningham raised his eyebrows.
“The guy was a recluse long before he and Stucky started their business. Some of the computer video games he sells are his own creations. The guy may be a computer genius, but he’s weirder than hell. A lot of the games are antigovernment, white supremacist garbage. He even has one called ‘Waco’s Revenge.’ Lots of Armageddon-type stuff, too. Probably sold truckloads of it in 1999, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s well prepared.”
“What are you saying, Agent Tully? You mean we might have more problems on our hands than busting a couple of serial killers? You think Harding may have an arsenal in there, or worse, have the property booby-trapped?”
“I don’t have any proof, sir. I just think we should be prepared.”
“But be prepared for what? A stand-off?”
“Anything. I’m just saying if Harding is as extreme as his games would suggest, he could freak out with the FBI showing up on his doorstep.”
“Wonderful.” Cunningham stretched his back and walked over to the bulletin board where Tully had tacked up printouts of Har-ding’s Web site next to photos of the crime scenes.
“When is Agent O’Dell scheduled to be here?”
Tully glanced at his watch. She was already a half hour late. He knew what Cunningham was thinking.
“She should be here any minute now, sir,” Tully said without indicating he thought that she might not show up. “I think we have every
thing we need. Is there anything I’m forgetting?”
“I want to brief the SWAT team. We should let them in on your suspicions,” Cunningham said, looking at his own watch now. “What time did Agent O’Dell leave D.C.?”
“I’m not really sure. Will they need any extra preparations?” He avoided his boss’s eyes, just in case he could see that Tully was stalling and changing the subject.
“No extra preparations. But it is important they know what they’re in for.”
When Tully looked up, Cunningham was staring at him with his brow furrowed.
“You’re sure Agent O’Dell is on her way here?”
“Of course, sir. Where else would she be headed?”
“Sorry, I’m late,” O’Dell came in as if on cue.
Tully restrained the deep sigh of relief he felt.
“You’re just in time,” he told her.
“I need a few minutes with the SWAT team, and then you’re on your way.” Cunningham headed out the room.
As soon as it was safe, Tully asked, “So how close to the toll bridge did you get before you turned back?”
O’Dell stared at him in surprise.
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Does Cunningham know?” Suddenly she seemed more angry than concerned.
“Why would I tell Cunningham?” He pretended to look wounded. “There are some secrets only partners should share.” He grabbed a bundle from the corner, handed her a bulletproof vest and waited for her at the door. “Coming?”
CHAPTER 69
“We have to stay back and let them attempt to serve the search warrant,” Tully instructed. He wasn’t sure that O’Dell was even listening. He could hear her heart pounding. Or was that his own heart? The thumping seemed indistinguishable from the rumble of thunder in the distance.
