“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 one 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 st
epped 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 straight 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?”
“He had something I needed. Something I couldn’t get anywhere else,” he said, holding up his chin and looking away from the light.
“What could a blind Walker Harding possibly have that was worth killing him for?”
“You’re a smart lady. You already know the answer to that. His identity. I needed to become him.” Now he laughed and squinted.
Maggie watched his eyes. The light was bothering him. Yes, she was right. Whether it was diabetes or something else, Stucky was losing his eyesight.
“Not like Walker was doing much with his identity anyway,” Stucky continued. “Sitting in that house in the boonies with his cyberlife. Jacking off to porn videos instead of enjoying the real thing.” His lips curled into a snarl as he added, “He was pathetic. Never would I become what he was, at least, not without a fight.”
He reached for the lamp again to turn it off. Maggie pulled the trigger. This time the bullet shattered his wrist. He grabbed at his hand, the anger and pain distorting his face while he tried to keep it composed.
“Are your eyes giving you a little trouble?” she taunted him, despite the panic sliding down into her legs and paralyzing her. She couldn’t run. She needed to stay put. She couldn’t let him see her fear.
He managed another smile, his face void of the pain that had to be shooting up his arm. He started walking toward her. Maggie pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger again. This time the bullet ripped into his left kneecap, knocking him to the floor. He stared at his knee in disbelief, but he didn’t wince or cry out in pain.
“You like this, don’t you? Have you ever felt such power before, Maggie?”
His voice began to unnerve her. What was he doing? If she wasn’t mistaken, he was the one taunting her. He wanted her to continue.
“It’s over, Stucky. This is where it ends.” But she heard the quiver in her voice. Then a new fear rushed through her when she realized that he had heard it, too. Damn it! This wasn’t working.
He crawled back to his feet. Suddenly her previous plan seemed ridiculous. How could she incapacitate him enough to bring him down, let alone bring him in? Was it possible to harness someone as evil as Stucky? As he started toward her again, she wondered if it was possible to even destroy him. He barely limped from his shattered kneecap, and now she could see that he had retrieved the scalpel while he had been down on the floor. How many bullets did she have left in the chamber? Had she fired twice or three times? Why the hell could she suddenly not remember?
He held up the scalpel for her to see, flipping it around and getting a better grip on it in his good hand.
“I was hoping to leave your good friend Gwen’s heart on your doorstep. Seemed kind of poetic, don’t you think? But now I guess I’ll have to settle for taking out yours instead.”
“Put it down, Stucky. It’s over,” but even she wasn’t convinced by her words. How could she be with her hands shaking like this?
“The game ends only when I say it ends,” he hissed at her.
She took aim, trying to steady her hands, concentrating on her target—that space between his eyes. Her finger twitched as she kept it pressed against the trigger. He wouldn’t win this time. She forced herself to stare into his black eyes, the evil holding her there, pinning her against the wall. She couldn’t let it dismantle her. But as he continued slowly toward her, she felt the wall of fear blocking her, the raw hysteria strangling her and blurring her vision. Before she could squeeze the trigger, the door to the room flew open.
“Agent O’Dell,” Cunningham yelled, rushing in with his revolver drawn.
He stopped when he saw the two of them, stunned, hesitating. Maggie was startled, looking away for a split second. Just long enough for Stucky to dive at her, the scalpel plunging down. Gunfire exploded in the small bedroom, in rapid succession—the echoes bouncing off the walls.
Finally, the sound stopped as suddenly as it had started.
Albert Stucky lay slumped over Maggie’s knees, his body jerking, blood spraying her. She wasn’t sure whether or not some of it was hers. The scalpel stuck into the wall, so close she felt it against her side, so close it had ripped the side of her shirt open. She couldn’t move. Was he dead? Her heart and lungs slammed against each other, making it difficult to breathe. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she still gripped the warm revolver. She knew without checking that its cylinder was empty.
Cunningham shoved Stucky’s body off her, a thud with no sound of life. Suddenly Maggie grabbed Stucky’s shoulder, desperate to see his face. She rolled him over. Bullets riddled his body. His lifeless eyes stared up at her, but she wanted to cry out in relief. With all the holes in his body, there was not a single one between his eyes.
CHAPTER 76
Tess leaned against the glass. Now she realized she should have taken the wheelchair that the Nurse Ratched look-alike had recommended. Her feet burned and the stitches pinched and pulled with little provocation. Her chest ached, and it was still difficult to breathe. She had been wrong about the ribs, two cracked, two bruised. The other cuts and bruises would heal. In time she would forget about the madman they called Albert Stucky. She would forget his cold, black eyes pinning her to the table like the leather shackles that had held her wrists and ankles. She would forget his hot breath on her face, his hands and body violating her in ways she thought were not possible.
She gathered the front of the thin robe in her fist, warding off the shiver, the icy fingers that could still strangle her whenever she thought about him. Why fool herself? She knew she would never forget. It was one more chapter to try to eras
e. She was so very tired of rewriting her past in order to survive her future. Now she struggled to find a reason why she should even bother. Perhaps that was what had brought her here.
She looked past her battered reflection in the window and watched the wrinkled red faces. Little chunky fists batted at the air. She listened to the newborns’ persistent cries and coos. Tess smiled. What a cliché to come here looking for the answers.
“Girlfriend, what are you doing out of bed?”
Tess glanced over her shoulder to find Delores Heston in a bright red suit, lighting up the sterile white corridor as she marched toward her. She wrapped her arms around Tess, carefully and gently hugging her. When she pulled away, the hard-nosed business owner had tears in her eyes.
“Oh mercy, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” Delores swiped at her eyes and the running mascara. “How are you feeling, Tess?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, and tried to smile. Her jaw hurt where he had punched her. She found herself checking over her teeth again with the tip of her tongue. It amazed her that none of them had been chipped or broken.
She realized Delores was studying her, examining for herself whether Tess was fine. She lifted Tess’s chin with her soft hand, taking a closer look at the bite marks on her neck. She didn’t want to see the horror and pity in Delores’s face so she looked away. Without a word, Delores wrapped her arms around her again, this time holding her, stroking her hair and rubbing her back.
“I’m making it my job to take care of you, Tess,” she said emphatically as she pulled away. “And I don’t want a single argument, you hear me?”
Tess had never had anyone make her such an offer. She wasn’t sure what the correct response was. But of all her choices, tears did not seem appropriate. Not now. Delores took out a tissue and dabbed at Tess’s cheeks, smiling at her like a mother preparing her child for school.