CHAPTER 72
Tully’s leg hurt like hell. Most of the flames were out. He sat a safe distance away, but the heat actually felt good. Someone had thrown a blanket around his shoulders. He didn’t remember it happening. He also didn’t remember that it was raining until he discovered his clothing wet and his hair plastered to his forehead. Somehow Agent Alvando had managed to get the ambulance past the electronic gate and all the way to the burning house.
“Your ride is here.” Agent O’Dell appeared from behind him.
“Let them take the McGowan woman first. I can wait.”
She studied him as if she would be the judge of whether he waited or not.
“Are you sure? They might be able to fit both of you.”
He looked past O’Dell to examine Tess McGowan himself. She was sitting in one of the SWAT team’s trucks. From what he could see of her, she looked to be in bad shape. Her hair was tangled and wild like Medusa. Her body, now wrapped in a blanket, had been covered with bloody cuts and bruises. She could barely stand. Alvando’s men had found her locked in a wooden shack not far from the house. She had been shackled to a cot, gagged and naked. She had told them that the madman had left only seconds before they found her.
“I’m not bleeding anymore,” Tully said. “She’s been through God knows what. Get her out of here and into a nice warm bed somewhere.”
O’Dell turned and caught one of the men’s attention, then waved to him. He seemed to know exactly what she meant and went directly to the truck to escort Ms. McGowan to the ambulance.
“Besides,” Tully said, “I want to be here when they bring them out.”
The men had found a fire hydrant in back, probably a leftover from when the property had been occupied by the government. They were dousing the entire house with thick streams of water that were much more efficient than the light rainfall. Firefighters from some neighboring community had stomped their way to the scene about an hour ago, but only after their truck had gotten stuck in the mud about a mile from the entrance. Now they ventured into the burned-out hull of the house as though on a mission. They had discovered two dead and burned bodies in the basement bunker.
Tully rubbed the soot from his face and eyes. O’Dell sat down on the ground next to him. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on the tops of her knees.
“We don’t know for sure that it’s them,” she said without looking at him.
“No, but who else would it be?”
“Stucky doesn’t seem like the suicidal type.”
“He may have thought the bunker was fireproof.”
She glanced over at him, not moving from her position. “I never thought of that.” She looked almost convinced. Almost.
The firefighters came out of the wreckage, hauling a body on a gurney. It was draped with a black canvas. Two more followed with another gurney. O’Dell sat up straight. Tully heard her suck in air, and he thought she was holding her breath as she watched. The second gurney approached the FBI’s truck, when suddenly the dead man’s arm slipped out from under the canvas. The arm slipped off the gurney, hanging down, clothed in what looked like a leather jacket. He felt O’Dell stiffen. Then finally, he heard her breathe a deep sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 73
If it hadn’t been so late, Maggie would have offered to take Gwen out for dinner. However, she had spent too much time at the hospital making sure Tess was comfortable and that Agent Tully had no permanent damage to his leg.
Though she should have been completely exhausted, for the first time in a very long time she felt like celebrating. So she searched and discovered a Chinese place that was still open on the north side of Newburgh Heights. She could finally stop by a restaurant again without worrying the waitress would end up in a Dumpster the next day. She picked up kung pao chicken, sweet-and-sour pork and plenty of fried rice. She asked for extra fortune cookies and wondered whether Harvey liked egg rolls.
Maggie arrived home to find the two of them curled up in the recliner watching Jay Leno on the portable TV. The cartons reminded her once again of the carton Stucky had stolen, now gone forever, literally up in flames. The photo album had contained the only pictures she had possessed of her father. She didn’t want to think about it right now. Not now when she was enjoying what felt like some sort of liberation.
Gwen saw the bags of takeout and smiled. “Thank God! I’m starved.”
She had called Gwen from the road, filling her in on most of the details. Her friend had sounded relieved not only for Maggie but for herself as well. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Walker Harding ever again.
“Why don’t you spend the night here?” Maggie suggested over a forkful of chicken.
“I have an early-morning appointment. I’d rather drive tonight. I’m worthless in the morning.” She was examining Maggie while she scooped out more rice. “How are you? Honestly?”
“Honestly? I’m fine.”
Gwen frowned at her as though that was too easy an answer.
“I came close to getting Tully and myself killed,” she said, now serious. “I panicked with the fire. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. But you know what?” She smiled. “I survived. And I got us out of there.”
“Very good. Sounds like you passed some major personal test, Maggie.”
Harvey shoved his nose under Maggie’s arm, insisting on another egg roll. She gave him a half-eaten roll and patted his back.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to feed dogs egg rolls, Maggie.”
“And how would I know that? Is there a book with all these rules?”
“I’m sure there are several. I’ll pick one up for you.”
“Might not be a bad idea since it looks like Harvey and I are going to be permanent roommates.”
“Does that mean you were right about his owner?”
“Tess told us there was another woman. A woman named Rachel who’s dead in a pit somewhere on the property. Of course we don’t know yet, but I feel certain it’s Rachel Endicott.” She noticed Gwen’s grimace. “They’ll continue to search for her tomorrow. Tess said there were other bodies, bones, skulls. Stucky and Har-ding may have been using this property for years.”
“What do you suppose Harding had planned for me?”
“Don’t, Gwen,” Maggie snapped at her, and immediately she apologized. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to think about it, okay?”
“I suppose it makes sense that the two of them would have eventually moved on to women you knew more intimately. Friends, relatives…oh, speaking of intimately—” she smiled “—that reminds me. You had a phone call earlier. That hunky ex-quarterback from Nebraska.”
“Nick?”
“What, you know more than one hunky ex-quarterback?” Gwen looked as if she was enjoying Maggie’s annoying blush.
“Did he want me to call him back tonight?”
“Actually, he said he was headed for the airport. I took a message.” Gwen pulled herself up off the floor. “You need to shop for a table, Maggie. I’m getting too old to be eating on the floor.” She found the note she had left on the desk. She read the message, squinting as though someone else had written it. “He said his dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh Jesus.” Now Maggie wished she had talked to him. Nick and his father had a complex relationship, one in which Nick had only recently been able to get away from. “Is he going to be okay? He’s not dead, is he?”
“No, but I think Nick said they were talking about surgery as soon as possible.” Gwen scrunched up her face as she continued to decipher her notes.
“This is something that I didn’t understand. He said his dad had received a letter, and that’s what they think may have caused the heart attack. But unless I’m mistaken, I could swear Nick said the letter was from South America.”
Maggie felt sick to her stomach. Had Father Michael Keller sent Antonio Morrelli some sort of confession? Maggie seemed to be the only o
ne who believed the charismatic young priest was the one who had killed four boys in Platte City, Nebraska. But he had left the country before she had been able to prove it. The last she knew, he was still in South America.
“That’s it,” Gwen said. “Does any of that makes sense to you?”
The phone startled both of them.
“Maybe this is Nick.” Maggie untangled herself out of the cross-legged position on the floor and grabbed the phone. “Maggie O’Dell.”
“Agent O’Dell. It’s Assistant Director Cunningham.”
She checked her watch. It was late, and she had just seen him at the hospital a couple of hours ago.
“Is Tully okay?” It was the first thing that came to mind.
“He’s fine. I’m with Dr. Holmes. He was good enough to do the autopsies tonight.”
“Dr. Holmes has had his share of autopsies in the past two weeks.”
“There’s a problem, Agent O’Dell.” Cunningham didn’t waste any time.
“What kind of problem?” Maggie prepared herself, leaning against the desk and gripping the phone. Gwen watched from her perch on the recliner.
“Walker Harding died of a gunshot wound to the back of his head. He was shot with a .22, execution style. Not only that, but his organs are in an extremely advanced state of decomposition. Dr. Holmes is guessing he’s been dead for several weeks.”
“Several weeks? That’s impossible, sir. We found his fingerprints at three of the crime scenes.”
“I think we might have an explanation for that. Several of his fingers are missing, cut off, including his thumb. I’m guessing Stucky did it. Took the fingers with him. Preserved them and used them at the crime scenes to throw us off.”
“But Gwen has had two sessions with Harding.” She glanced at Gwen and her friend’s face showed concern and alarm. Even Harvey started pacing in the sunroom, tilting his head, listening.
“Dr. Patterson has never seen Albert Stucky,” Cunningham said, keeping his cool professional tone and ignoring the frantic edge to Maggie’s. “If we ask her to describe the man she had the sessions with, I’m guessing she’ll describe Stucky. I’ve only seen one or two photos of Harding, but if I remember correctly, there was an uncanny resemblance between the two men. Stucky must have been using Harding’s identity for some time now, pretending to be him. That probably also explains the airline ticket in Harding’s name.”
“Jesus.” Maggie couldn’t believe it. Though it all made sense. She wasn’t sure she had completely believed Stucky would allow anyone, even Harding, in on his game. “So he had the perfect disguise and the perfect hiding place.”
“There’s more, Agent O’Dell. The other body has been dead for several weeks, too, and it’s not Albert Stucky.”
Maggie sat down before her knees gave out from under her. “No, this can’t be happening. He can not have escaped again.”
“We’re not sure who it is. Maybe a friend or caretaker of Harding’s. Harding was definitely blind. Dr. Holmes says both his retinas were detached, and there were no signs of diabetes.”
Maggie was barely listening anymore. She could hardly hear him over the pounding of her heart as she glanced frantically around the room. She noticed Harvey sniffing at the back door, now agitated. Where the hell had she left her Smith & Wesson? She opened the desk drawer. The Glock was gone.
“I’ve sent several agents back to watch your house,” Cunningham said as if that would be enough. “I suggest you not leave tonight. Stay put. If he comes after you, we’ll be ready.”
If he comes after me, I’ll be a sitting duck, but she kept the thought to herself.
She met Gwen’s questioning eyes. The fear began invading Maggie’s system like cold liquid injected into her veins. Still, she held herself up and pushed away from the solid security of her father’s rolltop desk.
“Stucky wouldn’t dare come after me again.”
CHAPTER 74
He crawled through the bushes, staying low to the ground. The damn bushes had prickly branches that kept grabbing his sweatshirt. This sort of thing would never happen with his leather jacket. He missed it already, though it had been a worthy sacrifice to see Special Agent Maggie O’Dell’s look of relief and know it to be false. He had fooled them all, slipping in and out of hiding places he had specifically prepared for just such an occasion.
He rubbed at his eyes. Fuck, it was dark! He wished the red lines would go away. Pop, pop—no, he wouldn’t think of the fucking blood vessels rupturing in his eyes. The insulin stabilized his body, but there seemed to be nothing to stop the exploding blood vessels in his eyes.
He could still hear Walker’s tinny laugh, telling him, “You’ll be a blind fucker just like me, Al.” Walker was still laughing when he put the .22 at the base of his head and pulled the trigger—pop, pop.
The lights were completely out now. He had seen her moving back and forth in what he knew to be the bedroom. He wished he could see her face, relaxed and unsuspecting, but the curtains were drawn and not sheer enough.
He had already intercepted and dismantled the security system with a handheld gadget that Walker had invented for him a few months ago. Blind as a bat, but the man had been an electronics genius. He didn’t even know how the thing worked. But he had tested it on the house on Archer Drive, and it did, indeed, work.
He started up the trellis that was hidden by vines and more bushes. He hoped it was sturdier than it looked. Actually, all of this seemed too easy, not much of a challenge. But then, she would be the challenge. He knew she wouldn’t disappoint him.
He thought of the scalpel in its thin sheath, tucked safely inside his boot. He’d take his time with her. The anticipation aroused his senses so intensely he needed to stifle what sounded like panting. Yes, this would be well worth the effort.
CHAPTER 75
Maggie sat in the dark corner. Her back pressed against the wall of the bedroom, her outstretched arms leaning on her knees. Her hands gripped her Smith & Wesson, her finger on the trigger. She was ready for him this time. She knew he had been watching. She knew he would come. Yet, when she heard him at the foot of the trellis, her pulse began to race. Her heart slammed against her chest. Sweat trickled down her back.
In a matter of minutes, he was at the window. She saw his shadow hovering, a black vulture. Then his face was at the glass, startling her and almost making her jump. Don’t move. Don’t flinch. Stay calm. Steady. Yet the terror hammered away at her, raw and unyielding to any of her mental commands. A slight tremor threatened her aim. She knew she was safe in the dark corner. Besides, he would be looking at the curled-up bundle of pillows he would mistake for his sleeping victim.
Would he be surprised that she had gotten so good at his game? Would he be disappointed that she could predict his moves? Certainly he wouldn’t expect that they had already discovered the second body to not be his. He must have realized they would and soon, because he was wasting no time coming after his ultimate victim, his ultimate blow to his nemesis. This would be his grand finale, his final scar to leave Maggie with before the diabetes left him completely blind.
She tightened her grip. Instead of the terror, she concentrated on the faces of his victims, the litany of names, now adding Jessica, Rita and Rachel to the list. How dare he make her an accomplice to his evil. She let the anger seep into her veins, hoping it would replace the crawly feeling that invaded her insides.
He eased the window up, gently, quietly, and before he stepped into the room, she could smell him, the scent of smoke and sweat. She waited until he got to the edge of the bed. She waited for him to draw the scalpel from his boot.
“You won’t be needing that,” she said calmly, not moving a muscle.
He spun around, holding the scalpel. With his free hand he stripped off the bedcovers, then grabbed for the lamp on the nightstand. The yellow glow filled the room, and when he turned toward her, she thought she saw a flash of surprise in his colorless eyes. He quickly composed himself, standing stra
ight and tall, replacing the surprise with one of his twisted smiles.
“Why, Maggie O’Dell. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Gwen isn’t here. In fact, she’s back at my house. I hope you don’t mind me taking her place?” Stucky hadn’t dared come for her. That would have been too easy. Just like in that Miami warehouse eight months ago. It would have been easier to kill her. Instead, he left her with a scar, a constant reminder of him. So this time, why wouldn’t he do it again? No, Stucky didn’t intend to kill her. He simply wanted to destroy her. It would be his ultimate blow, to hurt a woman Maggie knew, one she cared about and loved.
“You’re good at our little game.” He seemed pleased.
Without warning, she squeezed the trigger, and his hand flew back, the scalpel clinking to the floor. He stared at his bloodied hand. His eyes met hers. This time she saw more than alarm. Was that the beginning of fear?
“How does it feel?” she asked, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “How does it feel to have me beating you at your own game?”
There was that smile again, a cocky smirk that she wanted to shoot off his face.
“No, I should be asking you, Maggie. How does it feel to play at my game?”
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She could do this. She would not let him win. Not this time.
“It’s over,” she managed to say. Could he see her hand tremble?
“You like seeing me bleeding. Admit it.” He raised his hand to show her the blood dripping down his sleeve. “It’s a powerful feeling, isn’t it, Maggie?”
“Is it a powerful feeling to kill your best friend, Stucky? Is that why you did it?”
She thought she saw him grimace. Maybe she had finally found his Achilles’ heel.
“Why did you do it? Why did you kill the one man, the only person who could stomach being your friend?”