by Brenda Novak
“Pretty gruesome inside, huh?” Wilson was watching the three CSU techs. “Sheriff didn’t want us contaminating the scene but I got a pretty good look.”
Maggie guessed the deputy was around her age, early thirties, but something about him seemed younger. Too much swagger. A bit too cocky. He was as tall as Turner but smaller built, narrower in the shoulders and waist but still lean and muscular. His gray uniform shirt fit tight across his chest. His shirtsleeves bulged at the biceps, almost as though he wore a size smaller to emphasize his physique.
He wore no jacket and didn’t seem affected by the cold damp weather. He kept the brim of his hat low over his eyes and stood with legs spread apart and his thumbs looped on his utility belt. He reminded Maggie of gunslinger in a classic Western.
“I’ve seen worse,” Turner finally answered shooting a look at Wilson. “That piece of pie though – that was the craziest freakin’ thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
“What are you talking about?” Wilson wanted to know.
Immediately Maggie saw Turner’s face register regret. There were details of a crime that you held close. Certain things that only a handful of investigators and the killer knew. Technically the deputy was part of the investigation but Maggie understood Turner’s regret. The deputy obviously had not gotten a good enough look.
“Son of a bitch left something on top of a plate.” Turner glanced at Maggie, checking to make sure she was okay since this was what sent her out the door to vomit up her breakfast. “Looked like pie alamode with something added.”
“What? Whadya mean, something added?”
Turner looked at the deputy and he raised an eyebrow waiting for the man to figure it out. But Maggie could see Wilson still mulling it around like it didn’t make sense.
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“Tell me about it,” Turner said. “Ruined one of my favorite desserts.”
“Sheriff is convinced we got a serial killer on our hands,” Wilson told them. “You think that might be the case?”
This time Turner didn’t blink. Maggie was too cold to have this conversation. She glanced over her shoulder and was grateful to see Cunningham and the sheriff on their way back. Wilson noticed, too, and his entire demeanor changed like he’d flipped a switch. Hands went in his pockets and he leaned against the cruiser as if he was returning to the same stance he was in when his boss left.
“How bout I buy you folks a drink,” Sheriff Geller offered. “Before you head back home?”
“Any chance that drink comes with a cheeseburger and fries?” Turner asked.
After all they’d seen and been through Maggie was surprised that actually sounded good.
Chapter 10
Washington, D.C.
Dr. Patterson’s heels clicked all the way down the tiled floor of the hospital hallway. She had been heading out to the Kennedy Center when Kyle Cunningham called her. Her date was with a professor at John Hopkins – tall, dark and handsome with an M.D. and a Ph.D. behind his name. He had invited her to see the Washington National Opera’s performance of Carmen and drinks at the Columbia Room afterwards. She hadn’t had a swanky night out like this since…forever. And yet, the second she heard Cunningham’s voice she felt that damned flutter in her stomach. Her palms were sweaty and by the end of the conversation she had made a promise to him that completely derailed her entire evening.
Damn it!
She hated that he had that effect on her. He was a married man – off limits. But the chemistry between them was so tangible she swore others had noticed, no matter how careful Gwen had been.
They had worked together only a few times – three to be exact. Gwen was a psychiatrist and had her own successful practice in the District. Her clients – she referred to them as clients, rarely patients unless they required hospitalization – included senators and congressmen, even a five-star general, but she specialized in criminal behavior. Sometimes she wondered what the hell she was thinking, but the subject fascinated her.
She’d written a book, published dozens of articles and suddenly became the go-to-expert in the media. A year ago her guest appearance on a national talk show had attracted the attention of the Assistant Director of the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico. He wanted to hire her as a consultant on a murder case. Then came another case and another. It didn’t take long and Gwen was wishing Kyle Cunningham would think of her without there being a dead body involved.
She thought this might be the time when she answered her phone and he said, “Gwen, I need you.”
Yes, those very words and the tension in his voice had made her knees go weak though she tried to blame the cracked sidewalk and three-inch heels. He’d literally caught her on the street before she climbed into the waiting town car.
Even when he asked his favor and it was all about business she didn’t once consider saying, “no.”
What in the world was wrong with her?
Why hadn’t she told him that she had a hot date and tickets to the opera? That she was wearing a little black dress with a slit up her thigh – totally inappropriate attire for a hospital visit. Not to mention that the three-inch heels were already killing her feet.
He asked his favor and she before she knew it she heard herself instructing him which hospital to use and telling him, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Then she got in the town car, redirected the driver and made the phone call to cancel her swanky night out. That’s just what friends did for each other, she told herself, knowing full well she and Cunningham were not really friends. But that was how she explained it to Professor Hottie.
Now she stopped as the nurse’s station. The unit secretary looked up at her and Gwen didn’t flinch as the woman’s eyes traveled down checking out Gwen’s dress but without a flash of judgment. She had probably seen stranger things in the last several hours. She thought the woman looked familiar but didn’t take anything for granted and introduced herself.
“I’m Dr. Gwen Patterson. I’m meeting a young girl the FBI’s bringing in.”
“Already here.” She pointed down the hall. “They have her in room 233. Finally got her sedated.”
“I was hoping they’d wait for me to talk to her before they did that.”
“If they’d waited you would have needed a helmet.”
“That bad?”
“Mostly scared. They said her daddy was one of the victims.” The secretary got up from behind the counter and grabbed something from a drawer. She handed it to Gwen and said, “No sense in ruining a perfectly awesome dress.”
Gwen unfolded the garment. The white lab coat would be too large but she smiled and said, “Thanks.” She slipped it on and started rolling up the too-long sleeves as she made her way to room 233.
Before she got to the door, a man came out of the room. His hair was tousled, his tie loosened and his suit wrinkled. He looked exhausted. She barely recognized him.
“Agent Delaney,” she called out to him.
Relief crossed his face as he ran his fingers through his hair with one hand and offered her his right.
“Thanks for coming Dr. Patterson.” Then he noticed her dress and heels. “Looks like we interrupted a special evening.”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter and told him, “I’ve seen Carmen a half dozen times. I already know how it ends.” It wasn’t Delaney’s fault, after all. She could have said, “no.”
He nodded and smiled then led her farther down the hallway so the girl couldn’t hear them talking outside her door.
“Her name’s Katie. They had to sedate her, so I’m not sure you’ll get anything more out of her. A.D. Cunningham was hoping she might tell you a last name or what other family she has. If what she’s told us is true, she lost an aunt, an uncle and her father.”
“Did she see what happened?”
“We’re not sure. General consensus is that if she had, she wouldn’t still be alive. But there were footprints on the carpet and she was barefoo
t when we found her with bloody soles. Not from cuts on her feet. So she might have wandered in and saw the aftermath.”
“How bad was it?”
“Bad.” Delaney’s eyes darted back up the hallway, making sure no one was in earshot. “Uncle Lou was hanging upside down from the ceiling when his throat was cut.”
Gwen closed her eyes. Shook her head. No little girl should ever have to see such a thing.
“It’s possible she spent two or three days in that storm cellar. Attending doctor says she’s dehydrated. Still in shock.”
“And her father?”
“She said he fell in the river. They were still retrieving his body when we left the scene.”
“Does she know he’s dead?”
Delaney swiped his hand over his jaw. “She asked me about him in the ambulance. Wanted to know if they were taking him to the same hospital.” He met Gwen’s eyes and she could see the pained look when he added, “I didn’t know what to tell her.”
“You did fine, Agent Delaney. She was lucky to have you there with her. How old is she?”
“Maybe eleven or twelve. I’m guessing she’s about the same age as my oldest daughter.”
That explained why this was extra hard for him. Gwen knew he wasn’t just comparing the two girls’ ages.
“I’ll talk to her. Go on home Agent Delaney.”
“You sure you don’t want me there?”
“I promise I’ll be gentle with her. It’s actually better if she only has me to lean on. If you’re there she’ll look to you as a mediator. Go home and hug your daughters.”
She watched him leave then Gwen found the girl’s room. The sedatives had kicked in. Katie was asleep. She looked tiny and fragile in the hospital bed with IV lines going into her thin arms.
Gwen glanced at her watch as she sat in the chair next to the bed. She had cancelled her entire evening to sit and wait. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this with a client and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
She slipped the heels off and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She studied the girl’s face – it was calm except for a slight pouting of her lips. Every once in a while her eyelids twitched.
There would be nightmares and possibly a fear of the dark. Maybe even claustrophobia. She would grieve for her aunt and uncle. She would cry for her father. There was nothing Gwen could do to make any of that hurt go away.
But maybe if they were lucky, the girl would lead them to the killer. And hopefully she could do so before he realized he had left a witness behind.
Chapter 11
He was beginning to get bored with Loner. The guy was becoming boorishly predictable.
It was one thing to leave an amateur mess like he had in the trailer. But it appeared he’d left another body in the river. And then of course, there was the girl.
He didn’t even need to follow the asshole this time. He knew exactly where Loner would show up next. All he had to do was wait for him.
Stucky left his SUV in the far corner of the parking lot. Then he went through the front doors, walking into the place like he had been there many times. He crossed the lobby with confident strides and passed the reception desk without even looking at the woman behind it. He needed no directions or instructions and just kept walking. It wasn’t until he stood in front of the elevators that he allowed himself a glance at the directory sign.
When he saw that no one was looking at him, he left the elevators and continued down another hallway until he found a door marked Employees Only. He tried the door handle. Not locked. He pulled it open and walked inside the small supply room. By the time he exited the room he was wearing a janitorial uniform and pushing a rolling bucket and mop.
He took the elevator to the first floor of patient rooms. The rollers on the bucket were tricky. Splashing water would draw attention. At the same time he couldn’t afford to look tentative. He stopped at the nursing station and waited for the woman behind the counter to notice him. He needed to be polite and patient – neither trait came easily for him.
When she looked up, he simply said, “They sent me to clean up some little girl’s vomit. Said the ambulance just brought her in about twenty minutes ago. Didn’t give me no room number or anything.”
She pulled out a chart and started flipping pages. She didn’t even question his lack of information.
“Only patient we admitted by ambulance in the last hour is up on second floor. Room 233.” Then she shook her head and looked back up at him. “Poor thing. Hopefully she won’t be sick all night long.”
“You and me both,” he told her and she smiled at him before turning back to her charts.
He headed back for the elevators, a kick of adrenaline making it difficult to keep his pace slow and the bucket from sloshing over its rim.
This was almost too easy.
Chapter 12
Maggie could smell ashes, something burning – no, the fire was already out. It wasn’t smoke she smelled but singed hair and burnt flesh.
She searched but couldn’t see through the fog. Where was the smell coming from?
Then she saw it.
Another boat was floating on the river. She kept her eyes fixed on the boat while she pointed at it.
“Row up a little closer,” she told Cunningham without looking back at him.
He didn’t say a word but obeyed.
Closer, just a little bit closer.
The fog grew thicker. Now she wasn’t sure if it fog. Or was the air filled with ashes?
Suddenly the boat appeared right in front of them. Too late to stop. Their rowboat crashed into it. Only it wasn’t another boat.
It was a casket.
Smooth, dark wood, polished with brass rails and soft, tufted fabric peeking over the edges. The lid was gone but Maggie hesitated to look inside. Her stomach felt sick again. She was shivering from the cold, damp air. She could hardly breathe without sucking in the thick ashes.
She didn’t want to look. Suddenly she felt like she was twelve years old again. She already knew what she would find inside. It was the same every time, and she didn’t want to see her father lying there in a crisply pressed brown suit that she’d never seen him in before.
She couldn’t bear to see the side of his face where the mortician had painted over his burned flesh in an attempt to salvage what skin remained. She remembered the crinkle of plastic under his sleeve when she touched him. She remembered how his hair was combed all wrong. She had reached up to brush it off his forehead and snapped her hand back when she saw the blisters and the Frankenstein scar that the flap of hair had been hiding.
“I told you not to touch him,” her mother scolded her.
But how could she not touch her father?
And now this casket was floating here in the river. It couldn’t be her father’s. That was ridiculous.
Maggie stood up in the rowboat. She braced herself and leaned over the edge of the casket to see inside.
Empty.
“It’s empty,” she told Cunningham, relieved and able to breathe again.
Then she turned to look at him. But Cunningham was gone. Her father sat in his place. He smiled at her, dressed in the brown suit with his plastic-wrapped hands gripping the oars.
Maggie jolted back so suddenly that her feet slipped. She fell backwards over the side of the boat.
Falling with arms flailing.
Falling and falling.
Where was the water?
She jerked awake. Sat up and searched the dark surroundings. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her breathing came in gasps. Sweat drenched her body. In the shadows she searched for the boat, searched for her father.
Then finally she recognized her own small living room. She heard the familiar hum of the refrigerator behind her. Smelled the air freshener Greg insisted they use. She eased herself back down on their worn but comfortable sofa. The afghan she had covered herself with was in a tangled ball at her feet, and she pulled it up n
ow that she was shivering.
Her pulse still raced as she tried to calm her breathing, as she tried to remember.
She had gotten home late last night. All she wanted to do was wash the smell of that trailer full of death off her body. She wanted the water and the steam to return some warmth deep inside her. She wanted the smell gone. After a hot shower she snuggled down on the sofa under the afghan, not wanting to wake Greg.
Truth was she didn’t want to talk to him about any of it last night. She was too exhausted. And he’d have questions, which he’d be sure to follow up with a lecture. She already knew he wouldn’t be happy that Cunningham had taken her to such a bloodbath for her first real crime scene.
She was so tired and wanted to give in to the exhaustion. Closed her eyes. Tried to think about something other than the crime scene – of the body hanging from the ceiling, of Katie’s father bobbing just under the surface. But her dream hadn’t included any of those images. Instead it had been her father, his casket…Her father replacing Cunningham in the boat.
She needed to just shut off her mind? She could do that. She used to dream about her father inside his casket.
Used to. It had been a while.
Had Cunningham’s questions about him prompted the nightmare’s return?
Or was it Katie?
Maggie could relate to the girl’s loss. Earlier that feeling of vulnerability, of fear – all of it had been palpable.
She kept her eyes closed. Concentrated on her breathing. If she tried hard enough she could conjure up images of good times with her father. Saturday afternoons watching college football. Or Sundays if there was a Packers game on.
Her mother didn’t have the patience to learn the rules. She’d go shopping and leave the two of them in front of the TV. They’d have popcorn. Sometimes they’d order a pizza. If Maggie thought about it hard enough she could even smell the Italian sausage and Romano cheese. Her dad’s favorites became her favorites.
She used to wear his old Packers jersey as a sleep shirt until Greg complained.
