Lone Wolf

by Sara Driscoll

  Craig Beaumont, Supervisory Special Agent in charge of the Human Scent Evidence Team, part of the Forensic Canine Unit, had called his teams back in at the first sign of trouble focused on one of his handlers. Unmindful of the fact they’d already put in a full workday, Meg, Brian, Lauren Wycliffe, Scott Park, and their dogs gathered in the Forensic Canine Unit bullpen, awaiting their instructions. No one was more baffled than Meg, who couldn’t imagine why the note was addressed to her. And nothing became clearer when Craig revealed both the meaning of the message and a picture of the missing woman—someone completely unfamiliar to Meg.

  “Washington’s House? Do they mean Mount Vernon?” Brian asked.

  Craig nodded. “That’s what they’re saying. Mount Vernon is near the city of Alexandria. They think Ms. Holmes is being held on the property. I don’t know what we’re looking at so I want you all to go. Scott, we’ve got the dog’s leash so you’ll be able to use that for tracking.”

  Scott laid a hand on the head of Toby, his lanky, droopy-eyed bloodhound. “Nothing he loves more than a good hunt.” To punctuate Scott’s words, Toby gave a huge ear-slapping head shake, his jowls flapping in concert.

  “We don’t know what we’re looking at here, but I don’t like the fact that one of my team has been specifically named in this. Stay in pairs for now; I don’t want anyone on their own until we know what’s going on. The last thing I need is my people brought out to a site only to be picked off like targets.”

  The teams doubled up—Brian with Meg, and Scott with Lauren—and set out. The drive was just a half hour down the George Washington Parkway, but they’d only been on the road for ten minutes when Meg’s phone rang through the car’s audio system.

  “Jennings.”

  “Meg, we’ve got a problem.” Craig’s voice boomed through the speakers.

  Meg and Brian exchanged a sideways glance. “More than our missing victim?”

  “We might be sending you to the wrong place.”

  Meg checked her mirrors and then smoothly pulled into the right hand lane. “The Beltway is coming up. Do I need to redirect?”

  Craig paused as if weighing his decision. “Get off, go west, and then circle back north on the 395.”

  “Where are we going?” Brian asked.

  “Arlington.”

  “The county or the cemetery?” Meg shot them down the exit ramp and then merged into Beltway traffic. “What happened to George Washington’s house?”

  “The coded message never said “George” just “Washington”. One of the cryptanalysts wanted to make sure we weren’t missing anything obvious, so he ran the message by a buddy of his, a history professor at Georgetown University, without telling him why the information was important.”

  “Unless the buddy is an idiot, he’s going to question his FBI friend asking such a left-field question,” Brian muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Craig’s echoing voice filled the passenger compartment.

  “Nothing,” Meg said, shooting Brian a behave look. “What did the history professor say?”

  “He said Washington could also be George Washington Parke Custis, Martha Washington’s grandson and the father-in-law of Robert E. Lee.”

  “Lee’s mansion on the grounds of Arlington Cemetery. You think that’s the clue?”

  “This guy does. He says Arlington County used to be called Alexandria County, but the name was changed in 1920 because it was too confusing also having a city in Virginia named Alexandria. He said Custis’s mansion went to his daughter and therefore to Lee upon his death. Mount Vernon never occurred to this guy.”

  “But it could still be right,” Brian reasoned.

  “It could, which is why Lauren and Scott are still headed there. Scott’s got the leash, which means you won’t have anything on hand to provide scent, so I know this makes it a bigger challenge for you—air-scenting and tracking an unknown target. Get to Arlington. Emergency Services is waiting to let you in. Move fast. As the note says, the clock is ticking and we just lost time on this redirection.” The line went dead.

  Meg flicked a glance at Brian, seeing the unease she felt reflected in his eyes, and pressed down harder on the accelerator.

  Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Arlington National Cemetery hours after it had officially closed. The grounds of the cemetery were dark, lit only by the light of a full moon; however, the main entrance was ablaze with lights. Several Arlington Emergency Services vehicles lined the main driveway. They ushered Meg’s SUV through the main gates and then jogged over to meet the K-9 handlers as they got their dogs out of the SUV’s special compartment and shouldered their search-and-rescue—SAR—packs.

  “Jennings and Foster?”

  “That’s us.” Brian snapped Lacey’s lead onto her FBI vest. “What are we looking at here? Are we expecting any people inside the grounds?”

  “We’ve cleared the cemetery of any emergency personnel. Professional military mourners who attended today’s burials, and grounds and admin personnel who were in during regular hours went home hours ago. The only person who should be on the premises is the officer on duty at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Please try not to disturb him unless absolutely necessary.”

  “We’ll let the dogs lead us,” Meg said. “But if they don’t go in that direction, we won’t interfere.” She turned to Brian. “You and Lacey go north, and then circle around to the west and then south. I’ll go south first and then circle around from there.”

  “Check. Lacey, come.” Brian jogged off, disappearing into the gloom outside the circle of lights surrounding them. Meg saw him pause inside the far gate by the gold shield of the US Marine Corp as he unclipped Lacey’s leash. He flipped on his small, powerful flashlight, then he bent down to her, giving her the command, and she was off, Brian following at a light jog.

  “Is there anything we can do?” The officer asked as Meg turned back to Hawk.

  “Just stay out of the grounds for now. We need to find the only other person inside, except for the officer at the Tomb. We’ll let you know if we need assistance. Hawk, come.”

  They walked away from the lights and officers and into the darkness. As Brian had done, she paused by the massive wrought iron gates and removed Hawk’s lead. She ran a hand down his back and met his gaze. “Find her, Hawk. Find Sandy.” Hawk tipped his nose into the cool evening breeze momentarily, and then trotted down the road, into the darkness. She turned on her flashlight and followed.

  Meg followed Hawk, pacing herself, knowing this could be a long search, if they were even in the right place. The cemetery was over six hundred acres—just less than one square mile—but packed with over 400,000 graves, monuments, outbuildings, an amphitheater, and a mansion. They might have to cover all that ground two or three times over in pursuit of an elusive wisp of scent just to start the search proper.

  Meg found herself studying Hawk’s gait, looking for any sign of impairment. He’d only been back on the job for a few weeks after being shot during their last case. It was only a flesh wound, but the white, hairless scar arrowing over his hindquarter was a constant reminder of how close she came to losing him. She’d already lost one K-9 partner in her career; she was not about to lose another. But Hawk was strong and healed quickly, showing no sign of weakness as he loped along.

  Hawk suddenly cut to the right, off the pavement of Roosevelt Drive and onto grass. As he arrowed between the pale, ghostly rows of headstones, Meg’s eyes were drawn to the distant lights parting the darkness. Ahead, John F. Kennedy’s eternal flame danced on its stone base in ever-shifting tones of red and orange. Above it, high on the hill keeping watch over the dead below, General Robert E. Lee’s majestic columned mansion shone, lit by both spotlights and moonlight.

  Come to Washington’s House in Alexandria.

  She turned back to her dog and the task at hand. “Find her, Hawk,” Meg encouraged. She was very conscious of the fact she had to let Hawk lead, but the house was right there. She could help keep hi
s spirits up and spur him on to—

  He suddenly cut left crossing back over Roosevelt Drive and then onto grass again. Meg cast one last look at the Greek revival mansion and then turned her eyes back to her dog. Trust him. He knows what to do.

  They ran through the moon-tipped granite headstones, and under the spreading boughs of trees, some hundreds of years old. Hawk’s breath was coming louder now, but his gait was steady, only occasionally slowing to scent the air, then speeding back up again as if he understood the press of time.

  To the west, the Memorial Amphitheater glowed at the top of stark white steps. Meg couldn’t see the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, but she’d been there in person enough times to picture the solitary soldier on his march, his rifle on his shoulder, his steps sure. Honoring the dead and their memory every hour of every day.

  Ahead, Hawk started to zigzag between the rows of stones and Meg focused sharply on his body language. Up to now, he’d been running in a fairly straight line in search of scent. But now as his pattern changed and he wove back and forth, Meg knew he’d found part of a scent cone and was trying to distinguish the outer limits of the cone and the strengthening concentration as they closed in on the source. She praised him quietly, but hung back to let him work without distraction. Time was dripping away and every second could mean the difference between life and death.

  As he crossed Eisenhower Drive, his search became more focused, his body tense, his movements more sure and directed. In the peripheral light of her flashlight, Meg noticed the sharpness of the engraving in the headstones and, slowing down, shone the light on several nearby stones, noting the recent death dates. Meg pulled the radio off her belt. “Brian?”

  A moment’s pause, then, “I’m here. Found something?”

  “I think so. Hawk’s caught a scent. Where are you?”

  “Lacey circled us behind Arlington House, but there’s nothing here. Maybe this isn’t the Washington house the guy meant. Where are you?”

  “Heading into section sixty, due east of the Memorial Amphitheater. From the look of things here, this is where the recent burials are. I’ve seen several from this year and last. Just wanted to give you a heads up. I may need you.”

  “I’ll be there. We’ll stay on this until you say otherwise. I know where you are and can be there within a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. Over and out.”

  Hawk ran faster now, his nose skimming the ground, and Meg had to scramble a bit to catch up. Then, all of a sudden, he angled to the right, straight for a fresh grave. Clearly, it was from a funeral earlier that day: even in the diffuse light of the flashlight beam, the grass was pressed down on both sides of the grave as if trampled by many feet. While dirt filled the grave to the grass line, it had yet to be turfed over. Out of respect, Meg started to circle around the grave, not wishing to disturb whoever had been freshly laid to rest. But she jerked to a halt when Hawk gave a single sharp bark and launched himself directly at the grave, landing at one end, his front feet already furiously digging.

  She was in the grave? Buried alive?

  Meg frantically scanned the area around her, her gaze coming to rest on a landscaping truck twenty feet away parked at the side of the road. The grounds-keeping team had likely run out of time to close the grave completely and had left everything in place to finish up tomorrow. She sprinted across the grass, darting between headstones, her gaze locked on the shovels standing upright in the truck bed. Snatching a shovel out of the bed, she raced back to the grave, pulling her radio free.

  “Brian, come in.” She didn’t even give him a full second before she barked his name again. “Brian!”

  “I’m here. What’s going on?” He gasped in a panting breath. “Lacey, hold.”

  “Get down here. I think Hawk’s found her. He zeroed in on a fresh grave here in section sixty. He’s digging, trying to get her out.”

  “She’s in the grave? Holy sh—” He cut off his own profanity and she could hear the sound of his footfalls speeding up. “Lacey, come! I’ll be there as soon as I can. Keep your flashlight on hand to guide me in.”

  “Will do.” Meg cut the transmission, tossing her radio and flashlight down onto the damp grass and dug in with her shovel as fast as she could, tossing spadefuls of earth out on the grass. Beside her, Hawk kept his head down, digging faster, a cloud of dirt flying out from between his back legs. Every once in a while, he’d tip his nose down as if to reconfirm the scent and then would be back at it, if possible with an even greater edge of desperation.

  Meg’s head shot up when she heard Brian’s call and turned to see light bobbling about fifty feet away. She picked up her flashlight and waved it at him. “Over here.” Brian jogged closer and she jabbed an index finger in the direction of the truck. “Grab a shovel.”

  Brian tore off toward the pickup as Lacey jumped in to join Hawk, immediately starting to dig. Returning, Brian dropped his flashlight on the grass as Meg had, light spilling into the slowly deepening hole. For a full five minutes there were no words, just the scrabble of paws and the repetitive stab of shovels.

  Thump.

  Meg and Brian froze as his shovel made contact with something solid with a hollow echo.

  “Finally,” he muttered. “Lacey, time to get out, girl.”

  “Hawk, out.” Meg motioned for him to jump out. “You’re awesome, but this job is for us.” She patted a grimy hand on the grass at the edge of the four-foot hole. “Good boy,” she praised as he leapt out, Lacey on his heels. She met Brian’s eyes. “Let’s finish this.”

  The relatively unpacked dirt allowed them to work quickly, revealing the top of the dark wood coffin. Brian cleared the hinges on one side while Meg worked on the other, digging back far enough for them to perch on a narrow band of dirt to open the box.

  They tossed their shovels on the grass, crowding together at the side of the coffin.

  The silence around them and at their feet made Meg’s stomach clench nervously.

  Together they bent down, curling fingers under the rim of the coffin lid to heft the heavy lid upward. Hinges protested slightly, the dirt-caked hardware jamming briefly, but then they yielded and the lid lifted smoothly.

  The wash of illumination from the flashlights at the edge of the grass fell over the inside of the coffin where a woman lay limp. Meg dropped to her knees into the dirt, pushing aside clothing and torn strips of a satiny material, searching frantically with shaking fingers for a pulse. “Call 911, we need help. And call Craig.” Her fingers slid across flesh that was still warm, smearing splotches of blood as she pushed in further.

  Nothing.

  “Let me try.” Brian shouldered in beside her, his hands sliding in under hers.

  Meg pulled back, horrified, taking in the contents of the coffin as Brian desperately looked for signs of life.

  There were two bodies in the grave: a soldier buried in full dress blues, complete with shiny brass buttons and devices, light blue cord, and a starched white shirt. Above the shirt was nearly translucent skin on one side of the face and catastrophic burns on the other. The woman from the picture Craig had showed them lay on top of him, jammed into the small space below the lid. She wore black yoga pants, sneakers, and a hooded sweatshirt—exactly what you might wear on a cool spring evening while walking your dog. Exactly how Meg herself dressed to walk Hawk more times than she could count.

  “Goddamn it.” Brian sat back on his haunches beside Meg, his shoulders drooping, his head bent. “She’s gone.”

  “She’s still warm.” Meg’s words were hoarse, forced through a throat thick with emotion.

  “Not fully. I’m no expert, but we didn’t just miss her. We were close but not that close. Maybe a half hour ago.”

  Meg shifted back to sit on the edge of the grass. “He buried her alive. She was a pawn in his game. A disposable pawn.”

  Brian pushed to his feet, stepping clear of the grave. “I need to call Craig. And to call in the Evidence Response Team.”

  �
��We need to bring Lauren and Scott back in.”

  Brian’s hand dropped to land briefly on Meg’s shoulder. “Craig will know what to do. Come on out of there. Nothing more we can do for her now and the crime scene team will already be put out we disturbed the scene as much as we did.”

  Meg clambered to her feet to stand beside the grave, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. Pale skin, dull staring blue eyes, long, straight black hair. Black Irish, just like Meg and her sister, Cara.

  She couldn’t help thinking that it was like looking down at her own corpse.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Meg and Brian stood under the spreading boughs of a nearby massive white oak in the diffuse wash of spotlights when they heard a familiar voice call out to them. They turned to find Lauren, blond and statuesque, striding toward them, Rocco, her black and white border collie, trotting at her side. Not far behind slouched the tall, lanky form of Scott, with Theo heeling beside him.

  “Craig filled us in and called us back. But neither of us could just go home. We needed to come, to see the end of this.”

  Meg’s gaze traveled across the thirty feet separating them from the grave, now surrounded by Evidence Response Team members in white Kevlar suits, brilliantly lit by a half dozen portable spotlights. “We’re staying out of their way while they’re collecting evidence and the body.”

  “Craig told us some of it. She was buried in a soldier’s grave?”

  “Arlington’s Executive Director came in when he heard what was happening and he stopped by and shared some information with us. The US Army officer in the grave, Lieutenant Henry Ranger, was buried this afternoon in a ceremony with full honors. He was one of twenty-three burials today and the grounds-keeping team filled the grave, but then lost the light before they could seal the grave with turf. They left the truck to come back first thing tomorrow morning to finish up.”