by Alex Kava
“There it is,” Turner pointed, and she stopped the tape. “That happens awfully quick. Almost as if he knows exactly where the camera is.”
Once again, Maggie pushed rewind then hit play. At the first sign of someone coming into the screen, she pressed pause. She found the button that would show them frame-by-frame. It was excruciatingly slow. There was a flurry of arms and elbows, a large purse. Then she saw the container in a narrow space, a small triangle created between people. She hit pause.
“I wish we could zoom in,” she said.
Turner leaned in so close he was pressing against her arm that controlled the buttons.
“I can see his fingers.” He gestured at the screen. “He’s holding it between his thumb and index finger. Right there.”
“We’ve got his prints.” She tried not to get excited. Perfect prints meant absolutely nothing if the Collector had never been fingerprinted.
“That’s all we see of him,” Turner sounded like they were finished.
There was one more thing Maggie wanted to check. She started the tape again, frame-by-frame. The open triangle moved and they could no longer see the container but when it moved, something else filled it. She caught a glimpse of what he was wearing, and although she could see only a piece of it, she recognized the restaurant’s logo on the dark colored fabric.
“He was wearing an apron.”
“What’s that?”
“The staff all wear aprons with the restaurant’s logo,” she said, using her index to finger to point it out. “Emerald green ones with white logos imprinted on them. Aprons that in black and white would show up looking like that.”
54
Quantico
Assistant Director Cunningham stood at the windows of the cafeteria looking down into the woods. The place was empty. The kitchen was shuttered on Sundays, but he couldn’t stand another minute being down in the Behavioral Science Unit, six stories below ground level.
He had never shared with anyone how much he hated not having an office with a window. How much he wanted—no, how much he needed to see the outside. He didn’t mind if the sky was hidden behind clouds. His agents and even his administrative assistant, Anita, had all gotten used to him taking lunch at his desk every day after he went for his daily run. They believed he ran for health purposes but truthfully it was more about his sanity. How could he be there for his agents if he couldn’t control his own idiosyncrasies?
And now Cunningham worried he may have jeopardized Agent O’Dell’s safety by not taking her off this case as soon as the Collector singled her out.
Keith Ganza had told him about Agent O’Dell finding what she believed might be another container left by the madman. She had been checking out the shopping center where Paige Barnett worked when she heard a scream coming from one of the restaurant’s patio areas.
The container showing up in the same vicinity where one of the victims worked meant that O’Dell might have stumbled upon the Collector’s stalking grounds. But Cunningham hated that O’Dell had been the one to make the discovery. He couldn’t help wondering if the Collector had planned it that way. And this fact, infuriated Cunningham, so much so, that he found himself pacing the length of the cafeteria and then the hallways and walkways.
He considered putting on his running gear and taking to the trails to stomp off some of the anger, but he needed to stay in contact with Ganza, and cell phone reception out in the forest was spotty at best.
Earlier in his office he had made a pot of coffee, and now he gulped down the dregs at the bottom of his travel mug. His stomach already churned from too much caffeine and not enough food. He was contemplating his choices in the vending machines when his phone rang.
“This is Cunningham.”
“It’s definitely our boy’s work,” Ganza told him.
His stomach knotted up despite the churning.
“What did he leave this time?”
“Looks like a kidney.”
“And a note?” Cunningham asked with his jaw already clenched.
“Yup. He was kind enough to put this one in plastic so it wouldn’t get soaked.”
“What do you mean wouldn’t get soaked?”
“This one’s a bloody mess,” Ganza said in a low voice that told Cunningham he was still on the scene and didn’t want to be overheard.
“Is O’Dell right there with you? Has she seen it?”
“She’s with Turner. There’s a camera. They’re going over the video feed to see if it might have caught sight of him.”
“Can you read it to me?”
“Sure, hold on a minute.”
He could hear a soft thump of the phone being put down then a crinkle like paper being unfolded.
Ganza was back, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Dear Agent Maggie. I hope you appreciate the finesse and freshness.”
Cunningham winced. The Collector knew her name.
That exchange with reporters outside the hospital had made all the cable news channels. They had no other information so they looped that stupid segment over and over. But there was something that made things worse. The other containers had body parts he’d taken from previous victims days before, maybe weeks before. He’d even kept Paige Barnett’s toe on ice. If these words meant what Cunningham suspected, the Collector had made a fresh kill just for Agent O’Dell.
“He even spelled finesse correctly,” Ganza said. “And I have to tell you, although it looks like a glob, there was some precision cutting. Stan’s the expert, so I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I’m guessing he used a scalpel, and he’s pretty damn good with it.”
“How soon are you able to get the container to Stan?”
“I’m packing up now. Turner and Maggie want to talk to the owner and the staff after they finish watching the video.”
“Any chance we have fingerprints this time?”
“He was awfully careful with the other two containers. And a waitress opened this one up.”
“You’re kidding?” Cunningham said.
“Maggie already had me take her prints so we can discount them. She might have smeared any others, but I should be able to tell you later today.”
They had barely ended the call, and Cunningham’s phone started to ring again. He figured Ganza had another concern.
“This is Cunningham.”
“Director Kyle Cunningham?”
He didn’t recognize the baritone voice. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“My name’s Fred Olson. Sheriff Olson. I’m over here in Shenandoah County. I know Stan Wenhoff’s working with you folks on that woman we found in Devil’s Backbone State Forest.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, we got another one.”
55
Gateway Mall
Maggie watched Turner use his charm to talk with the staff of Gibson’s Restaurant and Pub. Delaney was usually the negotiator and interviewer, but Turner was doing a good job, getting the staff to recall details and information they may have otherwise not realized was important.
Maggie had asked to talk to Rita, the waitress. The woman was waiting for her at a bistro table in the corner of the patio. The police officers had managed to disperse the crowds and maintain a perimeter, so only Keith Ganza was left, and it looked like he was packing up to leave. Maggie gestured to Rita that she’d only be a minute as she stopped to talk to Ganza.
“Turner and I reviewed the restaurant video footage. We saw him touch the corner of the box,” she told him. “It looked like the front left corner.”
“Okay,” he nodded and his ponytail bobbed. His eyeglasses were at the tip of his nose, and he pushed them up as he continued packing up.
She noticed that he wasn’t looking at her. Maybe even going out of his way to avoid meeting her eyes. Then it hit her, and her knees felt a bit wobbl
y as she said to him, “There was another note.”
“Yup.” He finally glanced up as he was stuffing the evidence bags into his duffle. “Don’t let this asshole get to you, Maggie. He wants attention. Don’t let him have it. If we lift prints, we might know who the bastard is by the end of today.”
She wanted to ask to see the note, but he had already packed it, and he was right. She didn’t need the Collector in her head right now. Instead, she needed to find out who the hell he was. Besides, Rita was waiting.
Maggie guessed that the waitress was in her early thirties. She was attractive with short brown hair, dark eyes and a friendly face.
“It looked like a bloody piece of raw meat,” Rita said. “Is that what it is?”
“We won’t really know until we get it back to the forensic lab and run some tests.”
She didn’t want to tell the woman, but Maggie already suspected that it was a human kidney.
“Wait a minute,” Rita said. “I recognize you now. It’s been nagging at me where I might have seen you before. You were on the news.”
Maggie stopped from grimacing.
“You’re on that case with the little girl who survived her family being murdered. Is this connected to that case?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure, I understand. You probably can’t talk about it.”
“Were you the only waitress working the patio for lunch?” Maggie didn’t want to get sidetracked.
“Yes.”
“So no other employees would be out here?” She and Turner had agreed that they needed to ask the questions without making the staff realize they suspected one of them.
“It’s busy for Sunday lunches. We have table bussers and sometimes runners.”
“Runners?”
“Someone who takes the food from the kitchen to the table if I get behind. Mr. Gibson doesn’t like a hot plate sitting on the kitchen throughway.”
“So you wouldn’t have been the only staff member on the patio?”
“No.” Rita looked uncomfortable as she glanced around. “You obviously saw something on the camera video that makes you think it’s one of us who left the container?”
Pretty and smart. Maggie knew she wouldn’t get far with Rita if she wasn’t straight with her. And one of these staff members had to have seen the Collector.
“To be honest, it’s difficult to see anything on the video feed. The camera didn’t catch much.” She figured there was no harm in divulging that much. “I thought I got a glimpse of an apron. Is it possible that someone could have come into the restaurant, put on an apron, placed the takeout container on the table and then left?”
Rita thought about this for a few seconds then shook her head. “One of us would have noticed a stranger with our apron on.”
“How about an ex-employee?”
“Again, one of us would have noticed. We’re a pretty tight-knit group. Except—” and she stopped herself.
“What is it?”
“Well, there is this new clean-up guy. But it’s nothing. I mean he hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just . . . well, it’s just a feeling.”
Maggie’s phone interrupted them.
“This is Maggie O’Dell.”
“Agent O’Dell, are you still in Gainesville?”
It was Cunningham.
“Yes. We’re talking with some of the restaurant staff.”
“I’ll talk to Agent Turner about finishing up. I need you somewhere else. A woman was found in Devil’s Backbone State Forest.”
Maggie stood and walked away from the table, turning her back to Rita. She shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet she felt a sick feeling coming over her.
“Let me guess,” Maggie said, “She’s missing a kidney.”
“No, as far as I know she’s not missing anything. She’s alive.”
56
Front Royal, Virginia
Gwen watched Cunningham present his badge to the ER nurse in front of him. He gestured back at Gwen, and still, the woman—a stocky, gray-haired veteran—didn’t look impressed. Gwen imagined the nurse already had her fill of officials making requests and demands. Warren County’s Sheriff Geller and Shenandoah County’s Sheriff Olson were already stalking the small area that constituted the guest lounge for the emergency and trauma center.
“I’m sure you understand . . .”
Gwen heard bits and pieces of the conversation. Cunningham could be polite even when sounding authoritarian. But this time he had met his match. It was obvious this woman ran this ER/trauma center. At least she did on this Sunday evening.
“And I’m sure you understand that this patient has the right to be examined in peace and quiet.”
“Of course,” Cunningham said. “But Dr. Patterson is a psychiatrist, and she may be able—”
“Excuse me, but I couldn’t care less if she was Mother Teresa. Nobody’s bothering this patient until she’s been examined and treated. It’s my understanding that she is not suspected of committing a crime.”
“On the contrary, we believe she’s been a victim. My only concern is to protect her and future victims. I can’t do that unless I can talk to her and find out—”
The woman waved her hand at him to stop, and Cunningham did so in mid-sentence. Then she pointed to the lounge. Without another word she disappeared behind the steel door that led to the examination rooms. Gwen could see the nurse through the small window, hesitating, waiting for the door’s lock to click.
Gwen sat down in one of the plastic chairs and let the men pace the floor. Cunningham caught her eyes and looked apologetic. She simply shrugged and smiled. She let him talk to the sheriffs while she pretended to be interested in the local news on the small television attached to the wall.
Gwen had just gotten home from Sunday lunch with a friend when Cunningham had called her. This time, at least, she wasn’t just enticed by a long drive in the country with him—enticing as that sounded. She wanted to meet the woman who had survived being taken by the Collector.
The double doors to the outside hissed open, and Maggie O’Dell rushed in, stopping short when she saw Cunningham and the two sheriffs. She was dressed in jeans and an FBI windbreaker. Gwen’s eyes stayed on the television screen. The men were taking turns telling Agent O’Dell pieces of the story. Sheriff Olson’s voice boomed no matter what level he attempted.
“Scared the hell out of the park worker. He said she looked like a ghost stumbling out of the forest.”
Suddenly, the men went silent just as the trauma nurse came back. She paid no attention to them and went behind the desk to the computer monitor.
O’Dell said something to Cunningham then left him and approached the nurse. On the local news they were talking about a festival in Front Royal, and whether the rain would stop long enough. Gwen glanced to see O’Dell tell the nurse something then she pulled what looked like a Polaroid photo from her jacket pocket. She showed it to the nurse. To Gwen’s surprise, the nurse stood back up, came around the desk and gestured to her and Maggie to follow.
“Just the women,” the nurse said. And she swiped a card to unlock the steel door.
Maggie held it open and waited for Gwen while the nurse continued to march up the sterile hallway.
Gwen leaned in and whispered to Maggie, “What in the world did you show her?”
Maggie handed the square Polaroid to Gwen. It must have been the latest takeout container with a bloody glob inside.
57
Susan wished they’d just let her go home. She kept telling the doctor and the nurses that she was fine. No, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted. And no, she couldn’t tell them what day it was.
She knew she looked awful. She had caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door when they brought her in. Susan hardly recognized the wild-eyed woman with medusa
hair and mud caked clothes.
But what about all the bruises?
Yes, she knew they covered a good portion of her body. And yes, her knee hurt. But she was fine. She was out of that godforsaken forest. And no, she wasn’t crying because she was in pain. She was crying, because she was finally free.
Could she just please go home?
The doctor had left, and Susan was looking around for her clothes. Maybe she could leave. How hard could that be? She’d made it out of the forest, why not out of this emergency ward? Surely, it wasn’t locked down. She studied the IV stand and heart monitor, following the tubes and cords to where they connected to her. The needle wouldn’t be that difficult to remove. Then she remembered the injections her captor had plunged into her arms.
She pushed it out of her mind.
It was over. She just needed to get home.
That’s when the nurse with the gunmetal hair and the constant scowl peeked into the room again.
Susan closed her eyes. The nurse was probably looking for the doctor. She’d shut the door and leave when she didn’t see him. But she stayed in the doorway, and she said to Susan, “There’re a couple of FBI women who’d like to ask you a few questions. Would that be okay with you?”
Susan jerked and sat up. “Are they looking for that other woman?”
“What other woman?” The nurse asked as her eyes widened.
Susan realized she hadn’t told any of the hospital staff. How could she? They hadn’t given her a single chance. But she did tell that park worker. And the sheriff. She was certain she’d told him.
“Yes, I’ll talk to them.”
The smaller of the two was older with chin-length strawberry-blond hair. She was dressed in slacks and what looked like a designer blouse. The younger woman had short auburn hair and looked more like an FBI agent. Her windbreaker even said so.
“Thanks for talking with us, Susan. I’m Maggie O’Dell and this is Gwen Patterson.”
