by Alex Kava
Even so, it meant this girl may have been hiding in the dark, damp cellar for more than a day.
“My name is Katie,” the girl finally said so quietly her words were almost lost in the breeze and the whip-snap of the bed sheets on the clothesline.
“How old are you, Katie?”
But now she just stared off into the distance like she didn’t hear Delaney. Every few minutes she glanced over her shoulder as if she might be expecting someone to come up from behind. Was she worried the killer was still here?
Maggie guessed the girl was eleven or twelve. Unfortunately, she understood all too well what it meant to be twelve, to be scared and to be alone. Maggie didn’t believe the killer had seen the girl. If he had, he wouldn’t have left her alive. But had Katie seen him?
“Your parents,” Delaney started to say, and Maggie could see him struggling with the next question. “Are they the people in the trailer?”
Cunningham and Turner had backed off. They’d left Delaney and Maggie, giving the girl space. Now Maggie could see Cunningham on his cell phone. But Katie wasn’t interested in the law enforcement men. She was glancing back in the other direction. Back toward the river. She wasn’t listening to Delaney anymore either.
“My daddy,” she whispered, and then she pointed. “He fell in the river.”
“Your dad?” Delaney shot a look at Maggie. “He’s not in the trailer?”
She shook her head, a quick back and forth like she was shaking the image out of her mind. “Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth.”
Maggie started walking toward the riverbank. Delaney stayed with the girl. She felt Cunningham rush up beside her just as her fingers gripped her Smith & Wesson once again.
“Stay calm,” he told her when he noticed her hand inside her jacket. “We’re simply taking a walk to look around.”
But Maggie felt her adrenaline kicking in. Earlier she felt like they were still being watched even after Katie had come out of the cellar.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “Did Katie’s father fall into the water or—”
“Or did he jump in,” Cunningham finished her sentence. “After he killed Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth?”
15
Dense fog had settled in like smoke hovering above the surface of the water. Maggie guessed they had two hours at the most before they lost daylight. Thankfully it wasn’t raining yet, but the breeze had turned brisk especially here on the river’s bank. She wished she had more than the thin windbreaker. Everywhere on her body, that had moments ago been hot and sweaty, was now cold and damp.
She thought the rowboat looked new. So did the fishing gear inside. It was tied to a post, gently rocking with the river’s current.
“That’s a beauty,” Cunningham said, coming up behind her. “It’s a kit boat. Red and white cedar. Still freshly polished. Probably just put it in the water.”
“Kit boat?”
“Build it yourself. You order it. Comes in pieces.”
Maggie was more interested in the surface of the water. With the fog it was difficult to see more than ten feet. If Katie’s father was out here, his body might be miles downstream.
“CSU team and the medical examiner are on their way,” he said.
Then Cunningham stepped up beside her on the riverbank. In silence they studied the area, looking and listening. Both stood motionless. The slush-slap of water against the boat was the only sound. Twice Maggie saw something riding the current. Once it was a branch. The second time was debris.
“What are you thinking, Agent O’Dell?” Cunningham finally asked, and she wondered if he was asking as a mentor testing his student or simply as her boss looking for an answer.
“I don’t think Katie’s father is the killer.”
“Why not?”
“A father wouldn’t want his daughter to witness a mess like that. Even if she just saw the aftermath. But if he didn’t mind letting her see him murder two people then he might not have a problem killing her, too.”
“So that means if she’s still alive . . .”
“Her father is most likely dead.”
She felt his eyes on her now. Without looking she could see him push up the bridge of his eyeglasses and cross his arms. A gesture she was used to seeing.
“I think you’re right.” And he stared back out at the river.
They stood side by side, again, in silence. Several minutes passed and suddenly Cunningham’s arm shot out.
“There. On the other side of the river.” He was pointing to his right, head tilted, body bent at the waist, trying to get a better view.
Maggie saw it now, too. Something bobbing in the water. Something large but not moving with the current. Obviously tethered down.
“Let’s check it out.” Cunningham started to untie the boat.
He caught her off guard. Was that the way they did things in the field? Weren’t the CSU techs supposed to recover the bodies? What about evidence? And she found herself digging in her pockets for another pair of latex gloves.
Cunningham glanced up and saw her hesitancy.
“We’re just going to take a look.”
“But the boat—”
“If it’s been used we’re adding only our prints—easy enough to discount.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, but how could she argue with her boss who was already climbing down into the boat.
She looked over her shoulder. No one else had followed. From this angle the double-wide seemed far away and insignificant. All she could see of it was its roofline. The bed sheets continued to flap on the clothesline blocking her view of Delaney and the girl. A good thing. The girl was dehydrated and in shock. The last thing she needed was to watch them fish the bloated body of her father out of the river.
Cunningham rowed. It was obvious he’d done this before. He knew how to maneuver the oars to keep the small boat going in the right direction despite the current. Surprisingly, it wasn’t any easier to see once they were in the water. What had looked to be a large mass suddenly disappeared as the fog moved in thick layers. Twice Cunningham stopped rowing and waited until one of them could spot the object again.
“There.” Maggie pointed at what looked like a pile of debris bobbing and bumping against the opposite bank of the river.
Three feet away she could see the arms tangled in the branches. As Cunningham brought the rowboat parallel to the rubble, Maggie saw the bloated face of a man before his head dipped under the surface again. The constant wash of water was probably the only thing that discouraged the insects.
“I don’t think his throat was slashed like the others,” she told Cunningham who was working to keep the boat beside the debris while she got a better look.
Frustrated, she grabbed at the prickly vines and branches that made it impossible to see. The water was cold but the biggest tangle was just beneath the surface. Cunningham didn’t stop her. Instead, he worked the oars encouraging her to tell him what else she could see.
“Do you think he drowned?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
Maggie pulled and tugged at the tangled mess as sharp sticks poked at her. The water was murky. She couldn’t see what was anchoring the body down. His arms were twisted inside the debris. At times his face bobbed up, eyes wide open almost as if staring at her, imploring her to help. She tried to focus instead on the snarled mess that kept him submerged, working her fingers until her hands were numb from the cold water.
“Is it possible he was hiding out here?” Cunningham asked.
“Why not hide in the cellar with his daughter?”
“Maybe he was trying to lead the killer away from her so that she could hide.”
“She said he fell in the water,” Maggie said, sitting back now to rest. “But she didn’t say anything about the killer. Do you think she saw him?”
&nbs
p; Cunningham shrugged. “Might not make a difference. You know how reliable witnesses are. Compound that with the shock and her being just a little girl. But I know someone who can help her remember.”
Maggie turned back to the debris.
“Agent O’Dell, stop,” he told her this time. Then pointed. “Your hands—they’re bleeding.”
She hadn’t even noticed.
“There isn’t anything more we can do. We’ll let the CSU techs bring him in.”
He focused on turning the boat around against the current. Maggie rubbed her hands, trying to warm them and wiping the blood on her jeans. She’d pricked several fingers and scraped the back of one hand. It looked worse than it was. Not that big of a deal.
But something didn’t feel quite right. That’s when she realized that something was missing. Somewhere in the murky water she had lost her wedding ring.
16
Devil’s Backbone State Forest
Susan Fuller woke with a tremendous pounding in her head. Her mouth and throat were cotton dry, her eyes bleary. She tried to move, but her head threatened to explode. It had been a long time since she had a hangover like this. What was worse, she had no idea where she was.
Somewhere close by, birds were singing. A soft wet breeze caressed her face. The scent of cedar and fresh rain soothed her aching head. But there was also a faint smell like overripe fruit.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light while her fingers investigated. A thin mattress and scratchy blanket separated her from the floor. She was on her back, and as she attempted to roll over, pain shot out and stopped her.
It came to her in short clips of memory. In a panic, she grabbed at her wrists to find they were no longer bound together, but she could feel the cuts that the flex-ties had left. A slight kick and she realized her feet were now free as well. But the movement also revealed the pain in her right knee.
She pushed herself to sit up and rubbed at her eyes. The room started to come into focus—wood rafters and wood paneled walls. She guessed they were made of cedar, the scent strong and damp. Two windows were boarded up from the outside though the glass in neither had been broken or cracked.
What was this place? And how the hell did she get here?
A quick glance down and she could see her blue jeans and leather slip-ons, no socks. Her thin knit sweater had ripped at the hem. The front of it was sticky and filthy. Then suddenly the smell of eggs and raspberries made her remember.
She had been going to work early for weeks, ever since she landed the new job, but getting up in the wee hours of the morning was still a challenge. She loved her job as a pastry chef. It was a dream come true, so she dismissed how much she hated going to work when it was still dark out.
Her apartment complex was huge, three buildings in a community-like setting. No early risers at this time of morning. She’d barely gotten inside her car when she noticed the older man struggling with two large paper sacks. She recognized the logos stamped on the sides of the bags. There was a twenty-four hour grocery store three blocks away. She remembered smiling because she thought she was the only one who shopped there at the oddest hours of the day.
The guy had looked familiar. Probably lived in one of the buildings. He walked slowly with a slight limp and hunched shoulders. He wore thick-framed glasses and a windbreaker that had a logo on the back for some veteran’s association. Even before she saw him trip and spill one of the bags she knew she was going to stop and help him.
She pulled up beside the curb and opened her window.
“Need some help?”
He looked startled as he stared up at her. He was already on his knees while he attempted to gather the apples that rolled over the sidewalk. She could see the glass in his frames was so thick it magnified his eyes two sizes larger. He looked a little pathetic and totally harmless.
Yes, she remembered thinking that he looked harmless.
Now Susan pulled up the sleeve of her sweater to see the needle marks as if needing to validate that she hadn’t been dreaming.
The man had caught her completely off guard.
He told her he lived in the building around the corner and at the far end of the complex’s huge parking lot. Susan was already picking up the bruised apples for him when she offered to drive him to his building. The engine was still running when she popped the trunk. She took one of his grocery bags and started to put it inside.
He was incredibly strong. She remembered being surprised by his strength, and now she could see the evidence in the black and blue marks where he’d grabbed her.
It happened so fast.
One second she was bending down to put the grocery bags inside the trunk and the next second she felt the stab of the needle in her arm. He shoved her off balance, pushing her face first inside the bed of the trunk.
Whatever he shot into her system left her paralyzed almost immediately. She couldn’t move her arms or legs even as she knew he was quickly binding her wrists and then her ankles. She couldn’t seem to move her lips even to scream, but he still slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth. Then he slammed the trunk shut, leaving her bound, paralyzed and in complete darkness.
All of it had taken only seconds.
She examined her arms. There had been other injections. She counted three puncture marks. Perhaps that explained why she couldn’t remember anything after the attack. Or how she had gotten here?
A sick feeling swept over her. What else didn’t she remember?
Reluctantly, she forced her hand down the front of her pants. Would she know if he had violated her while her body was paralyzed and her mind had shut down? No soreness, no bruising. Nothing sticky left. As repulsed as she was by the thought, she wanted to cry from relief. But just because he hadn’t done anything didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to when he came back.
Susan looked around the room again. Only one door. Perhaps a one-room cabin or shed. She held her breath and listened. All she could hear were the birds and a soft tap-tap of a gentle rain. The breeze she felt earlier came from an air vent in the roof.
Her body ached. She attempted to stand, but pain stopped her again. Her right knee was on fire. Through her jeans she could tell it was swollen. She managed to get to her feet, keeping pressure off the knee. He had taken off her restraints. Maybe she could find something inside the cabin to break the door or its lock. But as she started to search she noticed the door didn’t have any kind of lock.
Had he barricaded it or padlocked it from outside?
Susan stopped and listened again, ignoring her aches and pain and her labored breaths. Then she grabbed the door handle and without much effort, pushed the door wide open.
17
Maggie tucked her hands under her arms. Suddenly the damp chill felt like it had seeped bone deep. For some reason she felt a sense of defeat, because she hadn’t been able to untangle Katie’s dad from the debris. She hated leaving him out there in the murky water.
She wasn’t sure where these feelings were coming from. Bringing his body back to the girl wasn’t going to bring him back to life. It’d been over fifteen years since she’d lost her own father, and yet, she remembered all too well how raw that loss could feel for a twelve-year-old girl.
Cunningham had insisted that Delaney crawl into the ambulance when Katie had refused to get in. Not just refused but started screaming, arms flailing, bare feet ready to kick if anyone dared to grab her.
“I can’t leave without my daddy.”
Maggie wasn’t sure what Delaney told her, but somehow he had convinced her. The role he had taken on–negotiator, friend, and surrogate father—was now the only bond the girl had. The ambulance had just left, and few minutes later the sheriff’s cruiser, followed by the CSU mobile crime lab, pulled in.
Now Cunningham took Sheriff Geller and Deputy Steele aside to update them. The CSU
team unpacked equipment onto the front lawn. One of the men started setting up floodlights. Someone mentioned that the medical examiner was only a few minutes away.
Maggie stood quietly, watching it all. Her job was done here. There was nothing more she could do. She’d have to wait for the evidence to be collected and the autopsies to be processed. Her first crime scene and she found herself feeling completely and totally powerless.
“You think that girl saw something?”
Maggie startled at the sound of Deputy Steele. She hadn’t heard him come up beside her.
Without taking her eyes off the CSU techs, she shrugged and said, “It’s hard to say.”
“Your boss said she was in the cellar. I’d think it was hard to see anything from that angle.”
Maggie glanced at him. He was staring over at the cellar as if trying to calculate the distance.
She guessed the deputy was around her age, late twenties or early thirties, but something about him seemed younger. Too much swagger. Maybe a bit too cocky. He was as tall as Turner but smaller built, narrower in the shoulders and waist, still lean and muscular. His brown 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 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 a gunslinger in a classic Western.
“Pretty gruesome inside, huh?”
She certainly didn’t want to talk about what she had seen. Deputy Steele, however, did want to talk.
“Sheriff didn’t want us contaminating the scene, but I got a pretty good look.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Turner answered from behind them. He took a place on the other side of Maggie. “That piece of pie though—that was the craziest freakin’ thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
