by Alex Kava
And now Stucky was surprised that despite everything he had controlled and created there was still this anger that simmered just beneath the surface. He didn’t like his hiding place being discovered. He didn’t like his plans being upended. He’d only begun his game with Agent Maggie, and she’d ruined it by bringing all those men to his secret place.
He’d need to start all over again. Find a way to remove her from all those men, where she couldn’t count on them for protection. He’d need to lure her away to someplace where she had no safety net. Where it would be only her and him.
In less than an hour he started brewing another plan. He wanted to move quickly. He knew he needed to leave. Go to an area they’d never think to look. Immediately, he thought of the perfect place, far enough away that no one could follow. A property he’d never used before. In fact, he bought it several years ago because it was secluded in an abandoned warehouse district. The building was huge and empty, and it swallowed up sound like the belly of a whale.
He was already concocting his plan. This time it had to be something that aimed at the heart. Everyone had a trigger, a soft spot, something that made them jump instinctively. He’d watched her protect the guy he knew was her boss. She’d shielded him with her own body. He meant something to her. There were others who meant a great deal to her as well. But she was an FBI agent. How deep was her obligation to save an innocent person she didn’t know?
From everything he had observed, from all that he had learned in the last week, Stucky believed he knew exactly how to lure Maggie O’Dell down into the belly of his whale.
78
It was late by the time Maggie left Warren Memorial Hospital. Cunningham was conscious but groggy and already annoyed by the attention and restrictions. The surgeon expected a full recovery but wanted him overnight for observation. Gwen was still by his side, and Maggie found herself thinking that Cunningham was lucky to have someone so dedicated like Dr. Gwen Patterson. Whatever their relationship, she was a good and trusted friend.
Maggie wondered if something had happened to her in the forest would she even call Greg? Their relationship had become so strained.
“See, I told you this job is too dangerous.”
She could already hear his reaction. He’d probably not come to the hospital just to teach her a lesson.
No, that’s not true. Of course, he would come to the hospital.
And of course, he’d give her a lecture about how dangerous her job was. Fact was, she wasn’t sure she’d want him there. Already she’d made up her mind that she wouldn’t tell him about Cunningham. About the madman with a crossbow hunting humans in the forest. Nor would she tell him about the bodies in the ravine.
When Maggie asked Turner if they should contact Cunningham’s wife, he gave her a strange look. Then he said he’d let Delaney make that decision, since he had actually met Mrs. Cunningham. But Turner said he was sure the two had been separated for quite some time. Of course, he admitted Cunningham hadn’t actually told anyone that, but Turner had caught him spending all night in his office and using the locker room to shower early in the mornings.
Maggie immediately wondered if Gwen knew about any of this. Then quickly she decided it certainly wasn’t her place to tell her.
At the moment, she just wanted to feel the relief. She hadn’t realized until they were hauling Cunningham out of the forest how much she thought of him as a father figure. Recently, Greg had complained that Maggie had started dressing like a guy, and she realized he could be right.
She took her cue from Cunningham, searching out classic but boxy style blazers and straight-legged trousers that hid her figure but gave her a professional look. She even found herself choosing colors he favored—copper, bronze, dark emerald green. She admired the man as much as she respected him. For several brutal hours, while she tried to block out all the blood leaking out of his body, she kept remembering that day her father didn’t come home.
Turner was the one who convinced her to go home, get some rest, and sleep in her own bed. By then she had little energy to argue. Cunningham was literally out of the woods. The drive home was almost two hours. She had too much time to think. She had spent the day keeping her emotions in check. Now with her guard down, the feelings rushed out like a spigot had been turned on.
The one that surprised her most was anger. Anger with herself for not being any closer to knowing who the hell the Collector was. Even knowing his name was Albert Stucky had gotten her nowhere. And then there was the anger toward Stucky for what he had done to all those poor women. Anger for his arrogance to shoot a federal officer and think he could get away with it. Anger for making her feel as though she was a part of his stupid cruel game.
She’d figure out who he was, and what hole he slithered into every night. There had to be a way to turn the tables on him. There had to be a way to stop him.
Of course, she would have been more convincing if she hadn’t just missed her exit and needed to backtrack five miles.
It was just after midnight when she dropped her go-bag in their small laundry room. She stepped carefully knowing where all the floorboards were that creaked. She didn’t want to wake Greg. With a glance down the hallway she could see their bedroom door was closed.
She turned on a lamp in the living room and tried to remember when she had eaten last. Suddenly, she was starving. But she pulled out her cell phone first. She hadn’t checked messages during the two-hour drive home. It had been twelve hours since Cunningham had been shot. He had been fine when she left the hospital.
And yet, when she saw the message from Gwen, her pulse started to race. Was something wrong? Her fingers flew over the necessary buttons to retrieve her voice messages. She punched the last one and pressed the phone to her ear.
“Maggie, it’s Gwen. Everything’s fine. Cunningham’s fine. I was just thinking that you might be reassured to know that. Also, I wanted to let you have my cell phone number. Call anytime. I know you’re dealing with your mom and all of this. If you ever need anything, just let me know, okay? Do try to get some rest.”
Maggie smiled. If she wasn’t mistaken, she and Gwen were becoming friends. She’d never had someone who called just to put her mind at peace. She tried to remember if she’d ever had anyone genuinely care whether or not she got enough rest. As if on cue the next voice message activated and began.
“Mag-pie, this is your mother. I thought I might hear from you today, but I guess not. I swear I spent more time talking to the repairman this afternoon than I’ve talked to you all week. Call me.”
Maggie closed her eyes. The phone stayed pressed to her ear but there were no other messages. She felt the weight heavy against her chest. How was it possible for the woman to make her feel this way with a short voice message? What was it that Gwen had said? Something about, of course, her mother knew how to push Maggie’s buttons because she helped install them.
Okay, that made her smile again.
And she was still hungry.
Neither she nor Greg was good about grocery shopping, but Maggie opened the refrigerator door anyway and stared at the sparsely filled shelves. She started to grab the pizza box from the bottom shelf when she saw the takeout container on the top one. It was plain, white, and foam. Just like all the others.
Maggie’s stomach dropped and her knees felt spongy.
It could be nothing, she told herself.
Greg could have ordered takeout. She hadn’t been home last night. Of course, it was his leftovers.
Yet, when she picked up the container and slid it off the shelf, transferring it to the kitchen counter, she did so carefully using the palms of her hands on both sides. She was already treating it like evidence.
There were no smears on the outside. No signs of blood. She was going to be embarrassed when she opened it and found a cannoli or cinnamon roll from his favorite pastry shop.
Maggie eased the tab out and let the lid snap open.
Inside was a lock of blond hair curled over a piece of paper with an address. Without touching it she could read the note:
Only you can save her. Tell no one.
Come alone or the next container
will have her heart inside.
79
Maggie’s hands were still shaking when she woke up Greg.
Before she woke him, she had slid the lock of hair into a plastic bag and the note into another. Then she marched to the laundry room, emptying the dirty clothes from her go-bag. She put both items at the bottom of the bag. She’d already committed the address to memory. She needed to pack fresh clothes without Greg seeing her panic. And in order to do that, she needed to remove the urgency that had started her pulse to race and her heartbeat to gallop against her ribcage.
“You just getting in?” He rolled over at the touch of her hand to his shoulder.
“Yeah, I needed to pick up some fresh clothes and head back out.”
He rubbed a hand over his face then pushed himself up onto his elbows.
“Seriously?”
“We think we found a serial killer’s burial spot in Devil’s Backbone State Forest.” She had decided to tell him this because in comparison to what she was getting ready to do, a mass grave of victims seemed like child’s play.
“Holy crap! Devil’s what?”
“Backbone. It’s northwest of here. At the foot of the Appalachians. Technically it’s a state forest but there’s no public access. We think he may have been using the forest as a dumping ground for a year. Maybe longer.”
She had turned on a lamp in the corner so she could see well enough to pull what she needed from her drawers. Greg watched, but he wasn’t really interested in what she was doing. He was still trying to process what she had told him. Her instinct had been right. Throwing out something shocking for him to think about had derailed him…momentarily.
“Hey, did someone come into the apartment today?” she asked.
She was still trying to figure out how Stucky had managed to get the container into their refrigerator.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “So you’re driving all the way back tonight?”
“The crew wants to get started first thing in the morning. We’ll probably be there for a few days.” She folded and tucked clothes into her bag. “I just wondered because sometimes maintenance comes in while we’re both gone. I’ve been wanting them to check the icemaker on the frig.” The icemaker hadn’t been working for over six months. She was counting on Greg being too groggy to mention that.
“Nope. No refrigerator guy.” He smashed his pillow into a ball behind him and sat back against it. “There was an air conditioner guy that showed up when I got home about six. He was checking units throughout the apartment complex. He didn’t find anything wrong.”
She swallowed hard and ignored the knot that had started tightening in her stomach. A repairman. That had to be the Collector. For an appearance changer, this would have been a piece of cake for him.
Then suddenly Maggie remembered her mother’s phone message. Didn’t she say she had spent the afternoon with a repairman?
80
Thursday
Interstate 95
Florida
Stucky had driven all night. He was wired and hopped up on adrenaline. Everything had gone so well. Even better than he expected.
He couldn’t stop grinning, thinking about Agent Maggie’s husband letting him into their apartment. The guy remained on the phone the entire time and paid no attention to him. He was standing with his back to Stucky, less than twenty feet away when Stucky opened the refrigerator and placed the takeout container inside.
It couldn’t have gone any smoother.
Now, even the small catering van ran smoothly despite getting few breaks to cool down in the last nine hours. Sleek and new, Gibson had barely used it. He’d asked Stucky to park it in storage just a few days ago, and his boss didn’t notice whether he returned the keys to the utility drawer. Unlike the florist van, this one had no wrap or graphics on the outside. The panels were polished white. Perfect in case Gibson suddenly noticed the van missing. Just for good measure, Stucky took the extra time to swing by the Richmond Airport. No one was around in long-term parking when he switched license plates with a black SUV.
The sun had been up for a couple of hours, and already he could feel the Florida heat. He cranked up the air conditioning and checked his rearview mirror. No movement. She wouldn’t need another injection for several more hours. She should be thanking him that he decided to use the van or she’d be smoldering inside the trunk of a car. Poor thing looked so terrified, he doubted that he would need to use a full dose next time.
Where was all that vibrant energy that teenagers usually had? When he met her at the art gallery she appeared to be the spitfire image of her mother, not just in looks but in attitude—spirited and independent. That was, in fact, what he had seen when he pulled up beside her on the street and rolled down his car window.
“You want a lift?” he had asked casually.
He knew she took this route every day, and that she had at least six more blocks to get to the restaurant. She usually stopped and checked in with her mother then headed over to the gallery where she worked the evening shift. Yes, he did listen to what Rita told him, though he knew Rita didn’t think so. He remembered her telling him how excited Carly was to get the part-time summer job, and how the job had led to her being featured in her own showing.
“You work with my mom,” she said and still hesitated.
“That’s right. We met at your art show. I’m headed to the restaurant now if you want a ride.”
He clicked the locks open for her and pushed up his sunglasses, trying to make it look like it was no skin off his nose if she’d rather walk. She glanced at her wristwatch then came around the front of the car and slid in with her clunky box that looked like an old-fashioned lunch box. It was even metal and had a similar handle.
When she saw him notice it she said, “My art kit. If we’re not busy they let me work on my project in the back.”
He nodded. He didn’t really care. It looked like the pocket of her smock was filled with art tools, too. A small brush stuck up out of the top. He remembered how pretty the girl was, but now with little makeup she was stunning. A younger version of Rita. Most importantly, he knew how much Carly meant to her mother. He knew she’d do anything to get her back. He was counting on it.
He waited for her to put on her seatbelt. Other cars drove past, but he was idling along the sidewalk where no one would notice. He’d purposely rigged the seatbelt to make her turn and take extra time with it.
“So I can’t remember your name,” she said, looking down between the seat and door while she fished out the seatbelt.
He slipped the syringe out of his pocket, flicked off the cap.
“Call me Drew,” he said as he poked the needle into her arm.
81
Maggie called Ganza because she needed to check in with someone.
“I’m headed back out with Wagner,” he told her. “Sheriff Olson and his posse are meeting us.”
She actually smiled at that. She remembered yesterday, the sheriff and his men with their shotguns. Posse seemed appropriate.
“I’m spending the day checking on a couple things,” she told him. Then she changed the subject immediately so he couldn’t ask what those things were. “Have you heard how Cunningham is doing?”
“He’s trying to get himself discharged. I think they’re making him wait for a physical therapist to give him instructions. You know that’s got to be driving him crazy.”
Somehow she had managed to end the conversation without giving Ganza any more details about what she was doing. Or where she was. Because she wasn’t sure how she’d expla
in that she was at a rest area in South Carolina getting ready to cross the border to Florida.
Last night after finding out that her mother was fine—annoyed at being awakened, but otherwise fine—Maggie realized if Stucky had pretended to be a repairman in order to meet her mother, it was only to rattle her. Which he had succeeded in doing.
Maybe he also wanted to buy some time. The Florida address he had left for her in the takeout container was thirteen to fourteen hours away. Greg said the repairman had been at their apartment around 6:00 p.m. That meant Stucky had about an eight to ten hour head start. Adrenaline pushed her to hurry though she knew he’d wait for her. Why bother with such an elaborate plan and then not wait?
Now as she climbed back into her vehicle her phone rang again. She thought about shutting it off. She didn’t want to explain anything more to Ganza or Turner or even Gwen. She didn’t recognize the caller’s number. If Albert Stucky could get inside her apartment there was nothing to stop him from getting her phone number.
“This is Maggie O’Dell.”
“Agent O’Dell?” It was a woman’s voice. And she sounded panicked.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if you’ll remember me. I’m a waitress from Gibson’s Restaurant and Pub? I was the one who…you know, who opened that container.”
“Of course, I remember. Rita, right?”
“My daughter’s missing.” The woman’s voice hitched and she could barely get the next sentence out. “I’m just so frantic. I don’t know what to do. Who to call. I think she’s been taken.”
“Rita, does your daughter have blond hair?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
82
Stucky had collected all kinds of items from the vehicles of his victims. Actually he didn’t like to refer to them as victims. Prey was a better term. After all, most of them were given a chance to escape. Before he returned any of the vehicles to their original place, he went through the center console, the glove compartment, any purse or duffle. Sometimes he even checked under the seats.
