by Alex Kava
“Nick—”
“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could fix you dinner.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t realize you knew how to cook.”
“There are a lot of things I know how to do that I haven’t shown you…yet.” And this time, he smiled.
51
MAGGIE couldn’t believe such delicious aromas were coming from her kitchen. Even Harvey had come down for a look and a closer sniff.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Hey, I’m Italian.” Nick faked an accent that sounded nothing like Italian as he stirred the tomato sauce. “Here, taste this.” He held the spoon out to her, keeping a palm underneath to catch any drips.
She took a careful lick. “A little more salt and definitely more garlic.”
“So can you tell me anything about this Tess who Will is so crazy about? Any idea what happened to her?”
Maggie wasn’t sure where to begin, or how much she wanted to share. All of it was still speculation.
“Tess was my real-estate agent. She sold me this house, then less than a week later, she disappeared.”
She waited, wondering if it would sink in, if he would make the connection on his own. He came over to the island where she sat on a stool and minced garlic. He poured more wine into both their glasses. Finally, he looked at her.
“You think Stucky’s murdered her?” He said it calmly and frankly.
“Yes. Or if he hasn’t murdered her, she may be wishing he had.”
She avoided his eyes and pretended to concentrate on the garlic. She didn’t want to think about Stucky carving up Tess McGowan or playing his torture games with her. Now Maggie’s mincing had turned into vicious chops and hacks. She stopped herself and handed the cutting board to Nick.
Thankfully, he took it without commenting on the slight tremor in her hands. He scraped the garlic bits into the steaming sauce and immediately the new aroma filled the kitchen.
“Will told me there was a car parked outside Tess’s house that morning he left.”
“Manx ran the license-plate number through the DMV.” It was one of the few things Manx had grudgingly shared with her. “It belongs to Daniel Kassenbaum, Tess’s boyfriend.”
“Did anyone question him?”
“My partner did, briefly. Manx promised he would question him in more detail.”
“If he saw Will leaving her house, then he should be pissed. Maybe Stucky doesn’t have anything to do with her disappearing.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. Apparently, the boyfriend doesn’t much care that Tess is missing or that she may have been cheating on him. My gut tells me Stucky has everything to do with this.”
Maggie’s cell phone rang, startling both of them. She grabbed her jacket and searched until she found it in the breast pocket.
“Agent O’Dell, it’s Tully.”
Damn it! She had forgotten all about Tully. She hadn’t called him, hadn’t even left him a message.
Before she had a chance to say anything he said, “We’ve got another body.”
52
THE call had come from the Virginia State Patrol. The patrolman told Tully that a trucker had grabbed a take-out container from the counter of a small café. He explained with a quaking voice how the driver hadn’t made it back to his truck before he discovered the container was leaking. What he thought was his leftover steak was suddenly dripping blood.
Tully remembered the truck stop, just north of Stafford, off Interstate 95, but it wasn’t until he pulled into the café’s parking lot that he realized this was probably Agent O’Dell’s route home.
The State Patrol had had enough sense to confiscate the take-out container, and restrict the area behind the café. That was where a battered metal bin rested against a chain-link fence. The bin was one of the extra-large commercial ones, at least six feet tall. How did Stucky dump the body? Never mind that, how had he gone undetected, with the gas pumps and the café open twenty-four hours a day?
He flashed his badge at a couple of uniforms keeping the media behind the crime scene tape. The Stafford County detective Tully had previously met behind the pizza place was already on the scene, directing the commotion. As soon as the detective saw him, he waved him over.
“She’s still in the Dumpster,” he said. “Doc Holmes is on his way. We’re trying to figure out how the hell to get her out of there.”
“How did you find her?”
“Probably wouldn’t have found her,” the detective said, “if not for that snack pack he left behind.”
Tully grimaced. He wondered how many years it would take before he could refer to body parts in such a nonchalant way.
“Least not until the trash truck dumped this sucker. But you know, these big ones hold a lot. We might never’ve found her. Not like anyone would complain about the smell. This stuff always smells.”
The detective was keeping an eye on the reporters near the ribbon, constantly looking over Tully’s shoulder.
“I remember the last time,” he continued, “when they found that councilwoman’s body in the woods. Bite marks, skin ripped off, cuts in places you don’t need to see cuts.”
“Stucky’s one sick bastard, that’s for sure.” Tully remembered the photos of Stucky’s collection that O’Dell had laid out on the table. Side by side they looked as if a pack of wolves had ripped up the bodies and left them for the vultures.
“Wasn’t he playing games with one of your agents back then? I remember reading something. That he was messin’ with her head, sending her notes and stuff?”
“Yes, yes, he was.”
“Whatever happened to that agent?”
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s her car pulling into the parking lot.”
“Fuck, no kidding? She’s still working on this case?”
“She doesn’t have much choice.”
Tully didn’t see it until O’Dell was closer to them. She carried a small black bag, not a purse but a case. They couldn’t touch the body until the medical examiner got to the scene. He hoped O’Dell didn’t have other plans.
“Detective—” Tully realized he didn’t know the man’s name “—this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”
She offered him her hand, and immediately Tully could see the detective’s tough exterior softening.
“Sam Rosen,” he said, more than willing to fill in the blank.
“Detective Rosen.”
“Call me Sam.”
Tully resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Sam here—” Tully tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum “—is with the Stafford County Sheriff’s Department. He was at the first crime scene with the pizza delivery…with Jessica Beckwith.”
“Is the victim still in the Dumpster?” O’Dell appeared unwilling, or unable, to hide her anticipation.
“We’re waiting for Doc Holmes,” Sam told her.
“Is there any way I can take a look without disturbing the scene?” She was already taking out a pair of latex gloves from her black case.
“Probably not a good idea,” Tully said, knowing that O’Dell wanted to see if she recognized the victim. He saw her eyeing the trash bin. The thing was almost a foot taller than her.
“How were your men able to look inside?”
“We pulled a cruiser alongside. Davis crawled up on the roof. He took a couple of Polaroids. Want me to get them for you?” Sam looked as if he’d do just about anything she asked.
“Actually, Sam, would you mind pulling the cruiser alongside it again?”
Without hesitation, Rosen shouted at one of the uniforms holding back the reporters. He left them to meet the officer halfway and started telling him what he wanted, hands gesturing as he talked.
“There’s a chance it might not be her,” Tully said while Rosen was giving directions. He knew she was expecting this to be the missing real-estate agent.
“I want to assist with the autopsy. Do you think we can convince Dr. Holmes to do it toni
ght?” It was the first time she had asked anything of him, and he could tell it was not an easy thing for her to do.
“We’ll insist he do it tonight,” he promised.
They stood quietly, side by side, watching the police cruiser drive up to the bin. He heard her take a deep breath as she set down her case and threw the pair of gloves she had extracted on top. Rosen met her at the bumper, offering her a hand, but she waved it off. She kicked out of her shoes and crawled up on the trunk with little effort.
She paused, then carefully stepped onto the roof and stood upright, able to stare down into the bin.
“Does anyone have a flashlight?”
One of the officers hurried to hand her a long-handled flashlight. O’Dell shone a stream of light into the bin, and Tully watched her face. She took her time, sweeping the inside, back and forth. He couldn’t tell whether she recognized the victim or not.
Finally she crawled down. She handed back the flashlight, tapped the cruiser’s window to thank the driver and then found her shoes.
“Well?” Tully asked, still watching her closely.
“It’s not Tess McGowan.”
“That’s a relief,” he sighed.
“Not really.”
Now under a lamppost, he could see she looked agitated, her face tight with tension, the exhaustion clouding her eyes.
“It’s not Tess, but I do recognize her.”
Tully felt the knot winding around his stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what O’Dell was feeling.
“Who is she?”
“Her name’s Hannah. She’s a clerk at Shep’s Liquor Mart. She helped me pick a bottle of wine last night.”
She rubbed a hand over her face, and Tully saw the tremor in the fingers.
“We need to stop this goddamn son of a bitch,” she said, and Tully heard that the tremor had also invaded her voice.
53
TESS tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that kept telling her to crawl out of this grave of mutilated bones, to run as far away as possible. It didn’t matter where she ended up, at least she would be out of this hell pit.
She sat next to the woman named Rachel, close enough to hear her ragged breathing. Soon she wouldn’t be able to see, but she had made certain the blanket covered her. The woman would not spend another cold night exposed to the elements.
Tess wasn’t sure why she had returned. She knew it would be best for Rachel if she went for help. But after an afternoon of roaming the endless woods, she knew help was not close by. She had barely found her way back, trying to leave herself a trail of pinecones. Now she wondered if it had been a mistake to come back, if she might be guaranteeing her own death. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to leave this woman.
Tess had managed to bring back a shoeful of water, using the broken-heeled leather pump she had unearthed. Rachel had to be incredibly thirsty, yet she drank little, most of it dribbling out of her swollen lips and trickling down her bruised chin.
She had said little since uttering her name. Tess had noticed that the woman’s breathing had become more labored. She had a fever and her muscles went into spasms for long periods racking her entire body.
After hours of analyzing the area, and examining every possible rock step, dirt ledge and sturdy root, Tess had resigned herself to the fact that she could not pull or carry or drag Rachel out. And no amount of rest would cure or repair the damage already done to her body.
Tess leaned her head against the dirt wall, no longer caring that pieces crumbled inside her collar. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something pleasant. A difficult task, considering her empty reservoir of pleasant experiences. Without much effort, Will Finley came to mind. His face, his body, his hands, his voice were all so easily retrieved from her memory bank. He had touched her so lovingly, despite his urgency and his insatiable passion. It was as though he’d genuinely felt something deeper than pleasure. And he’d seemed so intent on pleasing her, as though it had truly mattered that she feel what he was feeling.
For a short while it worked, carrying her away from the smell of decay. She thought perhaps she might even sleep. Then suddenly Tess noticed how quiet it was. She held her breath and listened. When the realization came, it swept over her like ice water being injected into her veins. The panic rushed through her, squeezing her heart. Her body began shaking uncontrollably, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rocking back and forth.
“Oh, God, no,” she mumbled over and over like a madwoman. When she could get her body to keep still for a moment, she listened again, straining over the pounding of her heart, straining to hear, willing the truth to be untrue. It was no use. The silence couldn’t lie. Rachel was dead.
Tess curled into the damp corner and then allowed herself to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child. She cried out loud, releasing years of welled-up sobs and letting them rack her entire body. The sound pierced the silent darkness. At first she didn’t recognize it as something coming out of her. But there was no confining it. And so, she surrendered herself to it.
54
MAGGIE watched from across the metal table as Dr. Holmes made a precise Y incision that curved under the woman’s breasts. Though she had gowned up, her gloved hands ready, she restrained herself from taking part. Instead, she waited for his permission, participating only when asked. She reminded herself that she should be grateful the medical examiner had agreed to do the autopsy on a Saturday night rather than waiting for Monday.
He had allowed her to help insert the body block, scrape behind the woman’s nails, take the external measurements and then the samples of hair and body fluids. Maggie couldn’t stop thinking that Hannah had put up the fight of her life. Bruises covered her, the one to her hip and thigh suggesting she had fallen down some stairs.
Now, as Maggie watched Dr. Holmes, she found herself going through the woman’s brutal murder, step by step, from the telltale signs her body telegraphed. Hannah had scratched and clawed as Jessica had, only Hannah managed to get pieces of Stucky under her nails. Why wasn’t he able to tie her up, rape her and slit her throat as he had with Jessica and Rita? Had Stucky not been prepared for this challenge?
Ever since she had recognized the woman, Maggie couldn’t help feeling responsible for her death. Had she not asked for help in choosing a bottle of wine, the woman would still be alive. It was exactly what Stucky wanted her to be thinking. But she couldn’t stop the brewing desire of wanting to put a bullet between his eyes. This need for revenge was beginning to scare her more than anything Stucky could do to her.
“She hasn’t been dead for very long,” Dr. Holmes said, his voice bringing her mind back to where it needed to be. “Internal temperature indicates less than twenty-four hours.”
Maggie knew this already, but also realized he was saying this for the tape recorder on the stand next to them, and not for her.
“There appears to be no signs of livor mortis, so she was definitely murdered somewhere else and moved within the span of two or three hours.”
Maggie appreciated his casual manner. She had worked with other M.E. s whose hushed reverence acted as a constant reminder of the brutality that had brought them to their task. Maggie preferred to view an autopsy only as a fact-finding mission, the soul or spirit long gone by the time the body lay on the table. The best thing for the victim at this stage was a search for evidence that could help catch whoever had committed such an act. “I heard you ended up with the dog.”
It took Maggie a minute to realize Dr. Holmes was talking to her and not the recorder. He looked up and smiled.
“He seemed like a good dog. Tough son of a bitch to survive whoever stabbed him.”
“Yes, he is.”
How could she have forgotten about Harvey? Greg had been right about her. She had no room for anything or anyone else in her life.
“That reminds me. May I use your phone?”
“Over in the corner, on the wall.”
She had to stop and try to remember what her new phone number was. Even the telephone receiver smelled of Lysol. She listened to it ring, feeling guilty that she had completely forgotten. She certainly wouldn’t blame Nick if he had been angry enough to leave. She checked her wristwatch. It was a quarter past ten.
“Hello?”
“Nick? It’s Maggie.”
“Hey, are you all right?”
He sounded concerned, not a hint of anger. Maybe she shouldn’t expect his reaction to be similar to Greg’s. “I’m okay. It wasn’t Tess.”
“Good. I was kinda worried that Will would flip out if it was.”
“I’m at the county morgue, assisting with the autopsy. I might be a couple more hours.” She paused. “I know I ruined our plans…your dinner.”
“It’s not your fault. This is what you do. Harvey and I went ahead and ate. We saved you some.”
He was being so understanding. She didn’t know how to respond.
“Maggie? Are you sure you’re okay?”
She’d left too much of a pause. “Just very tired. And I am sorry I missed having dinner with you.”
“Me, too. Do you want me to stay with Harvey until you get back?”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Nick. I don’t even know how late I’ll be.”
“I carry around an old sleeping bag in my trunk. Would you mind if I crashed here?” For some reason the thought of Nick Morrelli sleeping in her empty house brought an incredible feeling of comfort. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he added, misreading her hesitation.
“No, it’s a good idea. Harvey would really like that.” She had done it again, disguising her true emotions. It had become habit. “I’d really like it, too,” she said, surprising herself.
“Be careful driving home.”
“I will. Oh, and Nick.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to always reset the alarm system. Remember to shut the blinds. If you need—”
“I’ll be just fine. You concentrate on taking care of you, okay?”
