“It wasn’t a prime-time show. It was on the news. Maybe three or four weeks ago. The reporter said he was directed to the site by a tip. I can’t remember if there was an eyewitness.”
“You think the two are connected?”
Maggie didn’t believe in coincidences. And now she wondered if the bastard had gone out and bought orange socks? Could the socks be his signature? But she couldn’t remember Gloria Dobson wearing any socks at all when her body was discovered.
“Ask Agent Alonzo to check the database for orange socks,” she said. “And have him find out as much as he can about the woman found in Virginia.”
He jotted notes on a scrap of paper.
“The skin looks like it hasn’t even started to decompose,” Tully said. “How long ago do you think this one was?”
“Standard rate of decomposition is one week in the open air. Two weeks in water. Up to eight underground.”
“I hate that you know that stuff off the top of your head.”
Maggie smiled. It wasn’t a trait she was proud of. Not only did she remember such gruesome trivia but she could store and retrieve it at will.
Just then the ripped piece of plastic flapped open in the breeze. It was enough for Maggie to see movement inside the bag. She felt a cold sweat and she grimaced. And what was worse, Tully noticed.
“Maggots,” she said through clenched teeth and it came out in almost a whisper. She hated maggots. “That speeds up the rate.”
Had the killer ripped the bag on purpose, knowing that maggots would make it more difficult to identify the body?
“We need to get a mobile unit out here before dark,” Tully said.
Maggie glanced at the men below. It was human nature for these guys to share today’s discovery. “And some extra security,” she added.
“I’m on it.” Tully pulled his cell phone out of his trouser pocket as he started to skid down the pile.
Maggie stayed put. By now the smell didn’t bother her and she kept from glancing at the flapping plastic. Instead she continued to survey the property. The sheriff had said the previous owner had died ten years ago. Had the property been vacant the whole time? And if so, how did the killer know? Did he just stumble upon such good fortune or did he have a connection to this place?
The sun blazed down now. All the clouds had left. The temperature stayed cool but at least they wouldn’t need to worry about more rain. Something caught her eye, the sun glinting off glass. The farmhouse was about one hundred feet away but something made her look its way.
Maggie’s heart skipped a beat.
She put her hand to her forehead to shield out the sunlight. Certainly she was mistaken, and yet she made her way down to ground level, keeping her eyes focused on the house.
“Sheriff,” she said, coming around the trench, walking to his side to avoid raising her voice. “Does anyone have keys to the house?”
“The property’s executor does. He should be here soon.”
“Can you call him and see how close he is?”
“You mean right now?”
“Yes, now. And we need to move these men back over to the outbuildings. Slowly. Make sure they don’t rush.”
“You mean right now?”
“Yes.”
She left him before he asked more questions. She was pleased that he was already getting the men to move and tapping on his cell phone. She walked over to Tully and waited for him to finish his call.
Then she calmly told him, “Someone’s inside the house.”
CHAPTER 6
“What are you talking about?” Tully asked and he started to turn toward the farmhouse before Maggie grabbed his elbow.
“I saw a curtain move.”
“That could be anything. A breeze, a draft.”
“Something moved in front of the window. Then the curtain fell back into place.”
“We’re both pretty wiped. When was the last time either of us got a full night’s sleep?”
He didn’t believe her. Before she could argue her case, she saw his fingers instinctively move up to his shoulder holster. But he didn’t reach for his weapon. Instead he grabbed his sports jacket from where he had draped it carelessly over a fence post. He pulled it on casually without a hint of tension.
Maybe she was exhausted from too little sleep, but Maggie knew she had seen something or someone in the house. A house that had been vacant for ten years. Tully started walking away. With or without him she’d check it out. Still, she followed him, trying to figure out what would convince him. It was smarter to have backup. They had both been in situations before where a killer had come back to the scene just to watch law enforcement officers discover his victims. They’d also been at crime scenes where the killer had left a trap for the police.
Now it made sense to Maggie. Why had the killer given her a map? Why send them on a scavenger hunt then lead them directly to the gravesite if he didn’t get to enjoy or observe it?
Tully stopped beside the backhoe, and that’s when Maggie realized he had put the heavy equipment between them and the rear of the house. Then he said in a low voice, “Damn it. We should have thought about checking out the house first thing.”
So he did believe her.
“The sheriff said the estate’s executor is on his way here. He has a key.”
“But if the house is rigged …”
So she and Tully were on the same page.
“It’d be doors, not windows.”
“Are you sure he didn’t see you notice him?”
“I’m not sure of anything right this minute,” Maggie admitted.
“He’s watching the excitement back here. He can’t watch all sides of the house at the same time.”
“We split up?”
Tully nodded.
“What do we tell Uniss and his deputies?”
“To stay put.”
“You don’t want them to back us up?”
Tully looked over her head at the men gathered by the barn. She stole a glance over her shoulder. Foreman Buzz had wandered into the woods and was coming back, smoking a cigarette. His crew was talking, pointing or waving at the garbage bag. The sheriff was still on his cell phone. His deputies were on their own, either talking or texting.
“I’d rather we have them stand down until they hear from one of us.”
Maggie remembered the young deputy losing his lunch and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever fired his weapon in the field.
“I’ll tell them,” Tully offered. “Why don’t you check out those lilac bushes and take the east side of the house. I’ll go behind the barn and come up on the west side.”
Maggie glanced at the house again. The double-hung windows were set about four feet up off the ground. She remembered seeing a porch at the front of the house and a side door on the west side. She hadn’t seen the east side that was flanked by lilac bushes. If the windows were as high, she’d have to struggle to get up and in without taking too much time and becoming a target.
“What are you thinking?” she finally asked Tully.
He took off his jacket again and draped it over the side rail of the backhoe.
“Break a window. Then take cover and wait. If someone’s inside, he’ll go check it out. It’ll give me enough time to kick in the door on my side. From what I remember, it didn’t look like much of a challenge.”
“I’m not sure I like it. What if he’s sitting in a corner with a semiautomatic, waiting for you? Maybe we should wait for the executor and a key.”
“He could still be sitting in a corner with a semiautomatic waiting for us. Or we could put the key in the lock and the whole place explodes.”
“Were we always this paranoid?”
Tully smiled. “I think you’ve been a bad influence on me.”
Maggie took off her jacket now and draped it over Tully’s.
“Just be careful,” she told him. “Gwen would kill me if something bad happened to you.” Then she started for the lilac bu
shes hoping they might find a stray cat inside.
CHAPTER 7
MERCY REGIONAL HEALTH CENTER
MANHATTAN, KANSAS
Noah awoke to white walls and machines humming. He startled so violently he ripped a needle from the back of his hand and beeping erupted above his head. He crawled over the bed rail in one easy, frantic move but when his feet touched the floor pain shot through his body. That’s when he noticed swaddled gauze at the ends of his legs. They looked like enormous stumps and for a brief moment he panicked.
Oh my God, did they amputate my feet?
A nurse hurried into the room and her motion made him jump.
Fight or flight.
The instinct still raw inside him.
“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
She was small and quick and amazingly strong as she grabbed him by the shoulders. In seconds he was cradled back down into the pillows. Before he could protest and try again, he felt a wave of nausea.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
She didn’t flinch. Instead she helped him sit forward and placed a plastic wash basin on his lap.
There was nothing left in his stomach to vomit. His dry gags scraped his sore throat and his jaw ached. When he was finished, the nurse eased him back down and pulled the covers up over him. The flimsy hospital gown stuck to his sweat-drenched body and he started shivering so badly he was certain he must be having some sort of convulsion.
He felt the prick of a needle before he could fight it. Warm liquid flooded his veins. His body almost immediately began to relax. He melted deeper into the pillows as his head began to swim. His heartbeat quieted but his chest still hurt.
His eyes darted at every sound and every movement in the room. Blurry green and red lights flashed on equipment he didn’t recognize. A face appeared at the door. Another peered down over the bed at him—the nurse. Only now he was seeing three of her.
Eyelids heavy. Don’t close them.
He didn’t want to see Ethan’s face again.
It felt like only minutes later when Noah opened his eyes. This time his mother’s face hovered over the bed and he blinked hard, trying to clear her from his view.
“Oh look, Carl, he’s waking up.”
Noah’s head swiveled to find his father standing by the window. Another man was with him. Noah jerked up, eyes popping wide open before he realized he didn’t recognize the other man.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for everything,” he heard his father tell the stranger. Neither seemed as pleased or as excited as Noah’s mother was that he was waking up.
“I hope so.”
His father turned to Noah but stayed by the window as the other man came closer. His mother stepped aside and her smile went away, too.
“Noah, I’m Lieutenant Detective Lopez with the Riley County Police Department.”
Noah could hear a slight accent and he glanced at his father. The man was shorter than Noah’s dad. His face was lean, skin a bit weathered, his button-down shirt tight where his arm and chest muscles bulged.
“Do you know where you are, son?”
Noah’s eyes darted to his father again to see if he would object to this man addressing him as “son.” His father didn’t move, didn’t shift, just stared at him, waiting for Noah’s answer.
“Hospital,” Noah managed to say.
“Do you remember how you got here?”
Noah looked at his mother. She smiled but it was forced and nervous, a twitch at the corner of her lips.
He shook his head.
“Do you remember what happened last night?”
When Noah didn’t answer, Detective Lopez prompted, “At the rest area?”
He didn’t want to remember.
Don’t tell. Don’t tell. I promised I wouldn’t tell.
Noah shook his head again, but his heart started racing.
“Do you remember being on the road last night? Stopping at the rest area?”
He shook his head. This time too quickly. He could see the detective didn’t believe him.
“When they brought you here you were covered in blood.”
His eyes darted to his father to be met with a hard stare. His mother’s smile was gone for good now. Her hand covered her mouth. Brow furrowed. It wasn’t just concern. There was something else.
“It was a lot of blood,” Detective Lopez continued, “too much for the injuries you sustained.”
Noah heard it now plainly. Suspicion. Could the detective hear his heart banging against his rib cage?
So much blood. Ethan’s blood.
“Ethan,” he said, but it was barely a whisper.
“Your friend, Ethan. That’s right,” Detective Lopez said more gently now, coaxing Noah.
Can’t tell. Don’t tell.
But Noah slipped and said, “He’s still out there.”
By the look on his parents’ faces and Detective Lopez’s, Noah realized they thought he meant Ethan, when he really meant the madman. He was still out there and he’d know if Noah told. He’d know and he’d come back and do to Noah what he had done to Ethan.
CHAPTER 8
Maggie watched from behind the thick shrubs. Behind her, beyond the bushes and trees, was a freshly plowed field. The scent of lilacs and dirt surrounded her. At least it would be difficult for anyone to sneak up from the opposite direction. The afternoon shadows made it difficult to see inside the windows of the house.
She saw Tully stop to talk to the sheriff. Somehow he managed to keep the man from turning to look back at the farmhouse. In fact, even after Tully disappeared behind the barn, the group continued on as if nothing had changed.
She checked her watch and waited to give Tully enough time to get in place. Five minutes felt like twenty and the entire time she kept her eyes on the windows. There was no movement. Not even the hint of a curtain swaying. The fabric looked thin enough for someone to see through. But all Maggie could make out was a veil of gray and black.
She glanced at her watch.
Time’s up.
Maggie searched the ground and found a rock as big as her fist. She picked it up in her left hand. Her right already held her Smith & Wesson. It was the revolver she had trained on, opting out when the bureau went to Glocks. Only six bullets, but she had never needed more and her Smith & Wesson had never jammed. Now she clutched the grip. She kept the muzzle down, trigger finger ready. In three steps she was close enough. She pulled back and threw despite thinking how wrong it felt to shatter glass without provocation.
Then she hunched down. She shoved her back against the side of the house. Not directly beneath the broken window but close enough that glass crunched under her mud-caked shoes. She steadied her breath. Birds had quieted. Even the breeze paused.
Maggie’s pulse pounded and she strained to hear inside the house.
Something shuffled. Footsteps? There was a click. The hammer of a gun being pulled back? Or a door latch engaging? Had someone come into the room? Or left? It was killing her not to stand up and glance inside.
Come on, Tully, where are you?
Finally she heard the crack. Another crack followed by the sound of wood splintering. Then a crash.
“FBI. Step out where I can see you.”
Maggie shot up. Glanced through the broken window. A bedroom. Shattered glass on a paisley comforter. The window was too high for her to climb through. She hurried along the front of the house. She could hear Tully shouting again as he made his way inside.
Slouched down under the windows, she made her way to the other side of the house until she found the door Tully had kicked in.
She paused. Listened.
“Tully?”
No answer.
Damn it.
She stopped outside the doorway, her back against the house. Readjusted her grip on her gun. Then she ducked low and spun around into the house.
Sunlight filled the first room. Furniture covered with white drop cloths reminded her eerily of a crime scene,
white covers over bloated bodies.
“Bathroom at the end of the hallway,” Tully called out.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Check the front rooms. I didn’t get to those.”
She made a careful sweep, pulled off several of the larger covers. Dust filled the air but she was relieved no one was hiding underneath. After she examined every corner and closet she made her way back down the hall.
She found Tully standing in the doorway, his Glock at his side but his finger still ready at the trigger. He shifted just enough for Maggie to see the intruder. The woman looked about forty, long dirty-blond hair, mascara-smudged raccoon eyes. She was dressed only in pink panties and a tight midriff T-shirt that hugged her emaciated figure, highlighting the lines of her rib cage.
“Who the hell do you people think you are?” she asked, swiping greasy strands of hair out of her face.
The gesture provided a better look at her pale face, which was covered in acne and sores. Several were bleeding, as if she had just scratched them open moments ago.
“She was more concerned about flushing something down the toilet,” Tully said to Maggie without taking his eyes off the woman, “than she was about someone breaking in here.”
“Can’t a gal go to the bathroom without an audience?”
Then the woman laughed, a smoker’s dry rasp, and Maggie got a glimpse of blackened teeth, a couple of gaps with only rotted nibs. It was enough for Maggie to start examining the woman’s arms and legs. There were more sores on her forearms but Maggie couldn’t see any needle marks. She tried to remember what she knew about methamphetamine users. Were they dangerous? Psychotic? They didn’t always inject it. The crystals or “crank” were smoked. The powdered form could be snorted or eaten.
Maggie glanced across the hall into the bedroom behind her, the one with the paisley bedspread. She saw dirty white sneakers, a pair of jeans, and other clothes left in a pile on the floor where they had been taken off. Beside them was a huge leather shoulder bag surrounded by trash, mostly candy bar wrappers and soda cans.