Before Evil

by Alex Kava

  “What did he look like?” she asked Delaney.

  “Tall, fit, dark hair, dark eyes. He was dressed in black—trousers, blazer, shirt and the white collar. He actually looked like a priest.”

  They stayed where they were, both of them studying the banquet hall with easy, smooth pivots. That’s when Maggie saw it on the end of the long counter where all the potluck dishes were lined up. She knew it hadn’t been there ten minutes ago.

  “He’s here.”

  65

  Maggie tucked her hand inside her jacket and snapped loose her revolver.

  “You see him?” Delaney kept his voice low, but she saw him reaching for his weapon, too.

  “The takeout container at the far end of the counter,” she told him without looking at it. Her eyes were scanning over anyone and everyone who was standing or walking the room. “I’m positive it wasn’t there ten minutes ago.”

  “Damn,” Delaney whispered. He toggled the microphone that was tucked inside the cuff of his shirt and rubbed his jaw as he spoke into his sleeve. “He left a package. Far east side of food counter.”

  Maggie saw Cunningham’s chin move up just slightly, and his eyes started searching the tables around him. He excused himself and stood up. Then he headed toward the lobby where the restrooms were. Across the room at the far exit—one of only two—Maggie noticed Turner push the door open, and he slipped outside.

  “We need to get that container before someone accidentally picks it up,” Delaney said.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s my reaction he wants to see. Just watch for him,” Maggie said. “I don’t think he’ll leave until I open it.”

  She was surprised to find her knees a bit unsteady. Moments ago the scent of salty ham and cheesy potatoes made her mouth water. Now that same smell started to nauseate her. As she got to the counter she could see that something was written on the top of the foam container. A ballpoint pen had indented the foam’s surface. Was he carving his notes to her on the outside this time? But as she got closer she saw it was LUCILLE TANNER written in block letters not unlike the printing he used for his notes.

  And Maggie’s stomach did start to churn.

  What gruesome body part had the Collector left for this poor woman? Hadn’t she been through enough? For God’s sake, she just buried her two sons and daughter-in-law.

  “That’s for Lucille,” a woman on the other side of the counter told Maggie when she noticed her. She was a small woman, slumped shoulders and the kitchen apron she wore came all the way down to her knees. “We saved her a piece a pie.”

  “Pie?” Maggie hoped her face didn’t show the panic that was galloping in her chest.

  “Someone brought a sour cream and raisin one. That’s Lucille’s all-time favorite. Poor thing’s not much hungry right now. The girls and I sliced her a piece to make sure she had some to take home with her.”

  “Do you mind if I take it for her?” Maggie said, trying to sound like a courteous funeral home employee instead of a frantic FBI agent. “I’m packing up some other things for her.”

  “Oh sure,” the woman said without a hint of suspicion. “Let me grab a small box for you in case it melts or leaks a bit.”

  If only she knew the irony of her words. Maggie picked up the container using the palms of her hands, one on each side. The woman looked at her like she was being a bit overly cautious but she set the box down on the counter. Maggie put the container inside and thanked her. Then she headed out the other exit.

  Turner saw her come out, and when he noticed the container his head swiveled in every direction.

  “Lets use the back of the SUV,” he told her, and he led the way.

  There was no one in this parking lot back behind the church. The main lot was on the opposite side and faced the entrance.

  Turner had the tailgate down and a plastic evidence bag laid out in place. He handed her a pair of latex gloves as his eyes continued to search all around them.

  “You want me to open it right here?” she asked.

  He raised his cuff to his mouth and said, “Back parking lot. We’ve got it in the SUV. Okay to open?”

  Through her own earbud she heard Cunningham’s firm, one-word reply, “Yes.”

  She knew he and Delaney were still watching for the Collector. Was he moving into position where he could see them, but not be seen? Was it possible he was already out here inside one of the vehicles?

  She couldn’t think about that right now. Her fingers were actually shaking as she eased the tab out of its slot. She let the top of the container spring back.

  “What is that?” Turner asked.

  “Sour cream and raisin pie.”

  And that was all that was in the container. Just a piece of pie.

  66

  Stucky waited in line at the security gate. He’d already watched how this worked. The guard would ask to see the driver’s license and want the name of the person he or she was there to see. Then he’d check the name against an approved list. If things matched up, he raised the gate. But service vehicles were usually waved through.

  Seemed like a system just asking to be busted.

  Stucky pulled the ballcap down low over his brow like he was serious about making the delivery and getting back on the road. Two more cars.

  He thought about Agent Maggie. He had managed to bring her to his stalking grounds. Just the idea excited him. But he also knew the risk was tilting out of his favor. It was best to tie up loose ends. Maybe move things a bit south. He’d used the Richmond area when he first moved down to Virginia. It was an hour away in the wrong direction. That would make it over two hours to get to Devil’s Backbone. He didn’t like spending that much time on the road. But it might be necessary if he wanted to remain unpredictable enough to lure the pretty agent into a trap.

  Stucky imagined what it would be like to drop her in the middle of the forest. He was certain she’d provide him with a challenge like no other. But at the same time, it reminded him that he hadn’t been able to find Susan Fuller his last trip out. He’d dumped the college girl and had an extra hour to go hunting, but he couldn’t find her. He could tell she had been staying close to the shed. Most of them did. It was like a security blanket.

  Provisions were eaten. Bottled water was almost gone. She’d even rigged the bucket he’d left under the roofline to gather rainwater. But he couldn’t find her anywhere. She’d probably fallen into one of the ravines and broke her neck.

  That’s what happened to that ridiculous spandex girl he had taken from the fitness center parking lot. She looked fit and trim, long-legged with a nice shape that she obviously had worked many hours to acquire. But put her in an isolated forest and she went apeshit on him. He’d barely gotten one arrow off when she panicked and ran while looking for him over her shoulder. Her head was pivoting in every direction except down at her feet.

  Stupid bitch. And what a waste of his time and effort.

  Now he was up. It was his turn. He pulled up to the guard, but before he came to a full stop the guy gestured for him to go on through the gate.

  So easy. And he had to keep from smiling.

  Next was the locked front door, but he’d seen how this worked, too.

  He parked and filled his arms, one large vase and two smaller ones. He had to use his elbow to push the intercom button, and as he did, he looked up into the security camera. Without a word the lock clicked open and a young woman pulled the door open.

  “Oh wow! Those are so pretty.” She stood out of his way as she shoved the door until it hit the wall. “Have you been here before?”

  “Nope. I sure have not.”

  “I can take the smaller ones.”

  He let her grab the bouquets while he shifted the large vase pretending it was incredibly heavy.

  “
Do you remember the name?” She asked, trying to look for a card inside the ones she carried, but not surprised to find none.

  “All of them are for Tanner.”

  “Oh sure,” and she started leading him down the hallway. “Poor thing. Her father’s funeral is today. That’s probably what all these are for.”

  “Probably,” he said politely without asserting any interest.

  “Here we are,” and she knocked on the door before she eased it open. “Hi Katie, we have some beautiful flowers for you.”

  And just like that she held the door open for Stucky. She found a spot for him to set the large vase down while she positioned the smaller ones on tabletops. The space surprised him. Other than the bed there was a sitting area and two other doors. One was open to another bedroom. The other was probably a bathroom.

  The little girl smiled at him and clapped her hands together, pleased with the gifts as if they had come directly from him.

  “Thank you so much!” she told him.

  He just nodded.

  As the woman led him out of the Katie’s room he asked if there was a bathroom he could use before he hit the road. And she pointed to a door at the end of Katie’s hallway. He kept from shaking his head as he fingered the syringe in his jacket pocket. She was so tiny, smaller than he expected. The double dose he’d prepared was almost overkill.

  Too easy.

  And to make matters more ridiculous, he noticed that after using the bathroom, no one would even see him duck back into Katie Tanner’s room.

  67

  Quantico

  Maggie had never seen Cunningham so angry. And frustrated. She was more determined that ever to find out everything she could about Albert Stucky.

  She had holed up in her office since she returned from the funeral. In just a few hours she’d managed to turn the small area into a mess. Stacks of files littered the surface of her desk. Her disguise from the day sat in a heap on her only chair. With the wig and glasses on top, it looked like a melted version of her earlier self. She had changed into blue jeans and a University of Virginia T-shirt. And now she was printing and sorting every scrap of information she could find. She was even jotting down notes on her own whiteboard.

  When her phone rang she grabbed it before the second ring.

  “This is Maggie O’Dell.”

  “Agent O’Dell, hello. This is Michael Hogan.”

  The name didn’t register. And then it did, and a wave of guilt washed over her.

  “Detective Hogan, I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.”

  “I’m glad to catch you. I know it’s after five there, but I just wanted to make sure you received the package I sent.”

  “Yes, I did.” And she tried to calculate how long ago that was. It seemed like months, but she knew, in fact, it was just last week. Still, a week with a killer on the loose could mean a lifetime for the officers working the case. She knew that all too well right now.

  “I’m so sorry, Detective Hogan,” she apologized again. “We have an active killer here as well that’s been tying up too much time.”

  “Understand completely. I was just hoping that your fresh eyes might see something we’re missing.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I did look at the photos and the medical examiner’s report. Has there been anything new since you sent the package?”

  “No, and that’s the frustrating thing. It’s like he packed up and moved across the country. But I know that serial killers stay close to familiar territories, so is he just laying low?”

  “Actually they don’t all stay put,” Maggie told him, and in her mind she was already accessing a list. “Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, moved from LA to San Francisco when he realized the media and police in LA had a solid description of him from a couple of survivors. Ted Bundy murdered in several states. Six, I believe. Then you have someone like Donald Henry Gaskins. He drove along the coastal areas in the south. Gaskins stopped killing for a short period, but only because he was in prison.”

  Hogan was quiet and Maggie realized that sometimes she went overboard on what others considered trivial.

  “I think the point is,” she filled in his silence. “What we’ve found is that killers with a high psychopathy and high IQs tend to be more mobile. They’re more organized. The planning and anticipation provide a level of satisfaction and gratification. They also tend to be the ones who want desperately to share just how smart and organized they are.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “I’m going to email information on how you can access ViCAP directly. I know it’s frustrating but the FBI is working on it so that agencies like yours will have access via the internet. I’ll do a search, too, but there may be things you recognize that might not mean anything to me.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Type of victim. MO.”

  “You think he’s done this before?”

  “Just a hunch, but yes. Unfortunately, ViCAP probably won’t list any deaths that were listed as accidental drownings, unless they were suspicious enough to be entered into the system.”

  “This is a good start. Thank you.”

  It was a slap together, by the seat of her pants effort, and Maggie wasn’t proud of it. As soon as she ended the call she started hunting for the package he had sent her. She’d put it on top of the mess she had created, and she vowed to slide it in her portfolio before she went home for the day.

  But Hogan’s case had her thinking of the Collector again. Why hadn’t she realized this before? She and Ganza had already determined that he had killed before. The councilwoman whose body was found outside of Richmond was abducted from Boston. His fingerprints were taken in a county in Massachusetts. And the brown paper bag left at a rest area off of I-95 was somewhere close to Boston. Maybe the answers to who Albert Stucky was lie not in what he was doing now but where he had been.

  Maggie sat down at her computer and started again. This time she’d do it from scratch. But she’d barely keyed in her searches and a knock at the door interrupted her.

  “Come in.”

  She glanced up then did a double take when she saw Cunningham. This late in the day and his shirtsleeves were still rolled up in neat and careful folds, his collar buttoned tight and his tie straight.

  “I was hoping you might still be here.”

  His eyes took in her mess. She realized she was too exhausted to be embarrassed. She saw him glance at her whiteboard—a much smaller version of his whiteboard—and she thought she saw the corner of his lip hitch up just slightly.

  “Sheriff Olson’s K-9 team found something.”

  Devil’s Backbone. She’d forgotten that the Shenandoah sheriff’s department was still looking for the woman that Susan Fuller had seen. The limp body that the Collector had taken out of the trunk. From the look on Cunningham’s face, this woman wasn’t as lucky as Susan.

  “They found the woman’s body?”

  “Yes. But it’s worse than we thought.” He scraped his hand over his jaw. “They think they found a mass grave.”

  68

  His father would have called him soft. But what challenge was there in doing a kid?

  Stucky parked the florist van in the residential neighbor two blocks from where he’d left his car. Out of habit, he wiped down every surface inside the vehicle that he had touched. He had known for years that tracking his fingerprints to his real identity led only to an old life, a past existence that had no connection to any of his aliases. There were no bank accounts, no properties, no credit cards—nothing. Still, today’s failure was one he certainly didn’t want attached to Albert Stucky. And that’s exactly how he viewed it—a failure.

  He had knocked on Katie Tanner’s door and walked back into the room.

  He asked her if she recognized him.

  “You’re the man who
brought me all the beautiful flowers.”

  “Yes, that’s right. But do you remember me from anywhere else?”

  He watched her eyes while his fingers gripped the syringe inside his pocket. The damned thing was throbbing against his thumb as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The girl stared at him hard. There wasn’t a hint of recognition.

  Then she asked him, “Are you a friend of my daddy’s?”

  That’s when it hit Stucky. He realized what must have happened on the Tanner property that day. Katie’s father didn’t run away because he believed he could get away. He did it to protect this little girl. A father’s unconditional love. Something Stucky had never experienced with his own father.

  He told her that he didn’t know her father very well, but that he was a brave man.

  Then Albert Stucky left.

  He walked through the locked security door. Waited for the guard to raise the gate, and he drove away.

  He told himself that it was because she didn’t recognize him. She posed no threat. But it bothered him that it wasn’t the real reason.

  By the time he made it back to his small apartment, he barely had enough time to shower and get ready for his shift. There was something brewing deep inside him. The anger that he continually tamped down was smoldering again, pushing its way to the top. Usually a good hunt—a challenging one—kept it at bay.

  That’s what he needed.

  Enough with the watch and see.

  The shock value of others discovering his handiwork had become quite boring. It was time to ratchet things up. Move on. He needed to plan and prepare for his next big hunt. Already he felt the claws inside his chest ease off.

  Yes, he needed to start laying the groundwork. Then he’d figure out how lure Agent Maggie into his snare.