Текст книги "Stranded"

Автор книги: Alex Kava

Соавторы: Alex Kava,Alex Kava
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 33

By late afternoon the quiet farmstead was no longer quiet. Maggie’s and Tully’s roles were quickly reduced to traffic control and site management. The crime scene techs, Janet, Matt, and Ryan, had arrived again from Omaha with their mobile lab. Agent Alonzo had told them that an FBI agent from the Omaha field office would also be making his way up, but so far they hadn’t seen or heard from him.

Grace had alerted to five other sites: one behind an old laundry house, another behind the barn, and three in the woods. Creed had given her a rest after each find, along with her pink elephant and some water. They were walking the pasture now but hadn’t gotten any more hits in the last hour. Creed insisted this would be their last grid of the property.

Sheriff Uniss had brought an anthropology professor from a nearby university to help direct his deputies on how to dig the places that Grace had alerted. Creed had warned them that the three in the woods could be surrounded by what he called secondary scatter; in other words, pieces of the primary targets. He had marked the primary not only according to Grace’s alerts, but also to his visual observations, pointing out one spot in particular where the wild grasses were only half as tall as those surrounding it.

Maggie didn’t envy the digging crew. There were at least a dozen of Creed’s fluorescent flags telegraphing sites and some were in hard to reach areas, way off the beaten path.

The sheriff had sent one of his men to fetch sandwiches for everyone. Maggie and Tully were only getting to theirs. Tully went to get them some bottled waters and sodas while Maggie found them a quiet place at an old picnic table.

The sun wasn’t quite as warm today but it was another beautiful day, and Maggie was struck by the absurdity—such beauty alongside the macabre. Watching Grace had reminded Maggie of her dogs and she pulled out her cell phone. She pressed the contact number before thinking what time it was or what she might be interrupting. She heard it ring only twice, then was sent to voice mail. She listened to Benjamin Platt’s smooth, deep voice ask her to leave a message at the beep.

“Hey, it’s Maggie,” she said. “Just checking on my boys. Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a few days. I’ll try and catch you later. Bye.”

It seemed too casual, almost too abrupt. This was a man she had considered having a serious relationship with only a few months ago. They had become friends so quickly that the next step seemed not just natural, but inevitable. Then they both put the skids on. No, that wasn’t true—Maggie put the skids on. Ben wanted something more permanent. He wanted a family. And kids. She knew he still hurt deeply from losing his little girl despite it being almost five years ago. But Maggie wasn’t sure she’d be able to replace the void Allie’s death had left in Ben’s heart and in his life. And she wasn’t sure she wanted children.

“I snagged the last Diet Pepsis,” Tully said, coming back with sodas in his hands and bottled waters sticking out from each of his jacket pockets.

He popped the tabs while Maggie spread out napkins and unwrapped the sandwiches. There was a certain rhythm to their daily rituals, a sure sign they had been spending a lot of time together.

“Don’t forget to take your antibiotic,” she told him. “And drink water with it. Lots of water.” She uncapped and slid a bottle in front of him.

“I actually feel better today.”

“You still have to take it.”

“You’ve been talking to Gwen.” But he was already digging the plastic bag with the pills out of his trousers pocket. “I hate that she’s going back to talk to Dodd. I don’t care if she insists he’s harmless. I just don’t like her going back there.”

“Otis is the only one who can tell us who this killer is.”

“Do you think his name really is Jack?”

“Doubtful.” She took a bite. The lunch deputy had done good—turkey, provolone, and spicy mustard.

“Alonzo said that the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally was in August,” Tully said. “Sturgis, South Dakota, is about six to seven hours away from here. I-29 north then I-90 west. Alonzo also said attendance was around a half million. Can you believe that?”

Maggie shook her head. “August seems too long ago.” She pointed to his discarded wrappings. “Aren’t you going to eat your pickle?”

“Knock yourself out.” He slid the pickle atop the waxed paper to her.

“Just because he was one of the faithful doesn’t mean that’s when Jack got a hold of him.”

“How long ago do you think?”

“The wool blanket makes it tough to say.”

“He didn’t even bother to bury this one. Is he just getting sloppy?”

The CSU tech, Ryan, came out of the barn carrying the metal bucket. The picnic table was beside the house about a hundred feet away. When he noticed Maggie, he pointed to the bucket and gave an exaggerated nod, then continued to the mobile lab parked next to the barn.

“What was that about?” Tully asked.

“I told him our biker friend’s head might be in the bucket. Guess I was right.”

“Jack’s starting to be very predictable.”

Maggie’s cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number or the 785 area code.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

“Ms. O’Dell, my name is Lieutenant Detective Lopez. I’m with the Riley County Police Department in Manhattan, Kansas. Can you please tell me who you are and what the hell your phone number is doing in a plastic bag alongside a missing college student’s finger?”

CHAPTER 34

“Just when we thought this scavenger hunt couldn’t get any stranger,” Tully had told Maggie as they started yet another road trip.

“It might not have anything to do with our guy Jack.”

“Your guy Jack,” Tully corrected her.

Detective Lopez had shared very little, though he seemed to welcome Maggie’s offer of assistance. Actually, Maggie thought the man sounded relieved. What he had told them was that a nineteen-year-old college student named Ethan Ames was still missing. A search team had scoured the woods surrounding the rest area where he had vanished. His friend Noah Waters, who had been with him, was only babbling what amounted to nonsense. But because Detective Lopez believed the boy might be involved in his friend’s disappearance, the father refused to let him answer their questions without a lawyer.

Lopez explained that Maggie’s cell phone number had been scribbled on a piece of paper and enclosed in a plastic ziplock bag. Also in the bag was what they believed to be the right index finger of Ethan Ames. They had found it when processing the trunk of the teenager’s car. The car had been confiscated from the rest area.

The last thing the detective said to Maggie before ending their phone conversation was, “So is this some crazy satanic cult?”

Maggie and Tully had left the Iowa farmstead in the hands of a very young field agent from the Omaha FBI office and the CSU techs. The drive from Sioux City, Iowa, to Manhattan, Kansas, was five to six hours. Maggie took over driving the last half when she noticed Tully fading. They stopped only twice: once for gas and coffee and again for more coffee and to use the restroom. Each time they pulled off the interstate to a truck plaza, Maggie found herself watching and listening and searching.

It was late and the last 136 miles from Lincoln, Nebraska, was four-lane highway, then two-lane instead of interstate. Lots of small towns slowing them down and long, dark stretches of blacktop lit only by the moon and their headlights. There were few other vehicles on the road.

By the time they entered Manhattan, Kansas, and passed by the university’s campus, both of them were bleary-eyed and exhausted.

Detective Lopez had reserved two rooms for them at the Holiday Inn. They were to meet him in the morning. Because Ethan Ames was still missing, Creed had agreed to join them the next day. Grace was trained for live search and rescue as well. However, Creed insisted that Grace rest after her busy day. They had been on the road for eighteen hours before arriving in Iowa. He admitted that he needed the sleep, too. But he promised to make the drive early the next morning and meet them in Manhattan.

Maggie knew they had to be totally exhausted for Tully to get excited about their hotel. But these rooms were luxurious by their most recent standards. Best of all, they had adjoining rooms at the end of the hallway on the third floor.

Immediately they opened the connecting doors between their rooms. The configuration of the walls still left them a great deal of privacy. They couldn’t see into each other’s rooms or beyond the entryway but they could talk and go back and forth.

“They have room service until midnight.” Tully came into her room with the hotel’s menu along with his laptop computer.

“Tully, it’s almost midnight now.” She ignored him and started unpacking her nightshirt and toiletries.

“All we had were those sandwiches and that was almost ten hours ago. You gotta take a look. Their room service menu is from Houlihan’s. When we were checking in I noticed the restaurant is connected to the lobby.”

He left the menu on her bed while he set his computer on her desk and started punching keys. Maybe adjoining rooms weren’t such a good idea. They had another long day ahead of them and she was wiped out.

“Alonzo sent me a satellite photo of the rest area.”

Maggie glanced over as it came up and filled his computer screen. The last miles of driving she had noticed the increased elevation on their SUV’s GPS as well as a glimpse of the limestone bluffs. Much of the landscape was covered with evergreens and hardwoods in full bloom.

When she didn’t respond, Tully picked up the menu from the corner of the bed and said, “Real food. Not truck stop burgers or deli sandwiches. They have sliders and something called chicken avocado eggrolls.”

“Okay, now you have my attention,” she joked while her eyes stayed on the computer screen.

Tully obviously had gotten his second wind. Of course he had—she was the one who had driven the last three hours. But now that they were here Tully was ready to get to work.

“Lopez believes these two teenagers did something to each other,” Maggie said. “He thinks it may have started out as a game and gotten out of hand.”

“And one of them cuts the other’s finger off?”

“He told me Manhattan, Kansas, is a university town. Said he’s seen stranger things.”

“Well, we both know that’s true. Kids are capable of doing stupid and cruel things to each other. That’s one of the reasons I’d like to lock Emma up in her room until she’s thirty.”

Tully’s daughter was a college freshman. Since she was fourteen, he’d raised her alone, with very little help from Emma’s mother.

“He thinks because Noah won’t talk that he must be guilty of something.”

“But you think his friend was killed by our guy?” Tully asked.

He tapped a couple of keys and zoomed the photo in on the rest area. Thick canopies of trees. Rock ledges. Acres and acres of both, surrounding the small brick building and parking lots.

“One kid missing,” Tully said. “Probably dead. But a survivor. We’ve seen what Jack can do—letting someone get away doesn’t quite fit his MO. Just doesn’t sound right.”

“How do we explain my cell phone number?”

“That part does sound like him. So what’s your gut instinct?”

Maggie thought about it. She rubbed at the exhaustion in her eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t difficult to get her cell phone number. It could be some prank not even related to Jack, their highway killer. But ever since Tully compared this killer’s obsession with her to that of Albert Stucky, her anxiety had been turned up a notch.

If she really thought about it, this guy had been keeping tabs on her for at least a month. He had physically stalked her back in the District. Now here they were halfway across the country, brought here by his directive. He was playing them, toying with them, showing off what he was capable of doing.

“It’s him,” Maggie finally said. “But I think he may have messed up this time.”

“How’s that?”

“Noah Waters can tell us what he looks like.”

THURSDAY, MARCH 21

CHAPTER 35

MANHATTAN, KANSAS

Noah tried not to meet the eyes of the woman sitting across from him in his parents’ living room. Detective Lopez had introduced her as Agent O’Dell with the FBI. Introduced her and then left.

Oh God … not the FBI!

Noah didn’t hear half of what the detective had said after that because the panic had begun thumping in his chest.

He had gotten very little sleep last night. Up in his old bedroom the windows rattled when there was no wind. At one point he swore he heard something—or someone—scratching at the glass. His bedroom was on the second floor with no tree close enough to scrape against his window or the house. And certainly not close enough to cast the shadows that had woken him.

That’s not true.

It wasn’t the shadows or the scratching that had woken him. It was Ethan’s screams.

“Detective Lopez told me what happened,” the agent was saying.

Noah almost laughed. His nerves were raw. His emotions played to extremes. But it was funny—how could the detective tell her anything when Noah had told him nothing? He glanced at the woman. Was she trying to trick him? He realized she was studying him. Would she be able to see what he couldn’t tell?

She was younger than his mother and reminded him of his English professor. He liked Ms. Gilbert. But what would she think of him if she found out what he’d done?

“We need your help,” the FBI agent said. “We need to find your friend Ethan.”

He shook his head. It wouldn’t do any good. But he didn’t say anything.

“Even if Ethan’s dead,” she added as if she could read his mind.

That got Noah’s attention and he stared at her, looking directly into her eyes for as long as he could stand it. Then he glanced away, let his eyes flick back and forth from her face to the new painting his mother had hung over their mantel. Horses, wild horses. His mother had decorated their home with sculptures and paintings, many of them—he only now noticed—of animals or birds fleeing.

“Detective Lopez seems to think you and Ethan were involved in a satanic ritual of some sort.”

This time Noah did laugh out loud, a nervous sputter that he quickly shut down. The madman who had attacked him and Ethan was definitely some kind of Satan.

“What are you willing to do?” Noah could still hear the man’s voice. He put his head down, chin to his chest. He resisted the urge to look behind him.

Don’t think about it. Stop thinking about it. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t tell.

Too late. He could smell urine and vomit and blood. The scent so strong that he pulled up his hands to look and make sure they didn’t still have bloodstains. Without warning he could hear bones snap, flesh being cut. Suddenly he was nauseated. He could already taste bile.

“One bite and I’ll let you go.”

Noah started gagging. His eyes shot up to the FBI woman’s as he bolted for the closest bathroom.

CHAPTER 36

Maggie waited patiently. From where she sat she could hear Noah vomiting in the bathroom. She hadn’t even started her interview. The teenager was obviously experiencing post-traumatic shock.

What Detective Lopez had labeled as guilt ran much deeper and was much more disturbing. He thought it was Noah’s guilt that caused this erratic and uncooperative behavior. Maggie was quickly beginning to question whether it wasn’t what Noah had done, but what he had seen.

He seemed surprised to find her where he had left her when he came out of the bathroom. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. However, he took his seat on the sofa across from her.

She had convinced Tully to let her interview the boy alone. Whatever he had been through deserved a softer approach than Detective Lopez’s. But time wasn’t on their side. It was over forty-eight hours. If there was the slightest chance that Ethan was still alive, he was losing blood. The window of opportunity was rapidly closing. If Jack had attacked these two teenagers two nights ago then he could still be in the area. But wouldn’t be for long.

“Noah, let me tell you about a case I’m working on.”

His eyes met hers and stayed put this time. She thought she saw relief in his face but the distrust hadn’t been dislodged.

“My partner and I have been tracking a serial killer.”

He looked surprised and worried. She could see that he hadn’t considered the madman who had attacked him could be a serial killer.

“We know he gets his victims from truck stops and interstate rest areas.”

Again she paused, giving him time to take it all in. She kept her tone gentle and conversational while she examined his face and his mannerisms and his posture. His hands were in his lap. Earlier they had flexed almost constantly. Now one was a tight fist held inside the other’s palm.

“We think he takes advantage of them. Plays on his victims’ vulnerabilities. Perhaps the person’s car has stalled. Maybe they’ve run out of gas and are stranded for one reason or another. These are places where travelers let down their guard. They’re tired. Sometimes they’ve been on the road for hours, maybe days. It’s late at night. All they want to do is use the restroom, get a soda, something to snack on before they get back on the road again. That’s probably why you and Ethan stopped, right?”

He nodded. “Ethan had to pee.” His eyes darted away for a second or two. “We were almost home.”

“You were coming home from college? Spring break.”

Another nod.

“Where do you go to school?”

“University of Missouri.”

“Mizzou Tigers.”

He looked surprised but pleased. It was the first genuine feeling he allowed her to see.

“That’s right.”

“I love college football,” Maggie said. “Do you play?”

“Naw.”

“You didn’t want to go to K-State?”

“Didn’t want to stay at home.”

The statement delivered, Maggie thought, exactly like a regular teenager.

“This killer,” he said, without prompting. “How many people has he killed?”

“We’ve found five,” Maggie said, continuing to keep her tone gentle. She had him talking. “We know there are more.”

His eyes flashed. He seemed surprised by the number. His brow furrowed as though he was trying to remember, or maybe trying not to remember. Detective Lopez had told them that Noah had been found wearing only his underwear and had been covered with blood. Most of it not his own.

Then in a whisper that Maggie could barely hear, Noah asked, “What did he do to them?”

She hesitated but only for a second or two before she said, “Probably the same things he did to Ethan.”

CHAPTER 37

VIRGINIA

Gwen hated being back at the prison. This time AD Kunze tried to abbreviate the full-body search that Warden Demarcus ordered. Demarcus knew he had something they wanted or they wouldn’t be back here this soon. He had the upper hand and he was going to use it to his full extent. For his effort, Kunze ended up getting groped as well.

This time, however, Gwen had worn sensible shoes and her control-top pantyhose again, along with what she called her best “old lady” bra. Still, the guard managed to grope and paw, not even pretending that any of it was accidental.

As soon as Otis sat down across from her—even as the guard finished clasping his shackles to the floor—Gwen noticed the bruise on Otis’s face. It looked fresh and swollen, deep purple, the size of a golf ball above his left temple. Maybe larger because part of it blended into his sideburn.

She waited for the guard to leave.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“Oh this?” Otis smiled, uncharacteristically wide and toothy, his signal that he wasn’t going to tell. His fingertips brushed over the area. “That’s just a love tap.”

She saw his eyes dart over to the wall of tinted glass that kept Kunze and Demarcus invisible as they sat and watched and listened.

Had Demarcus struck a prisoner? No, he probably wouldn’t have done it himself. Just like his full-body searches, he would have had one of his men do it. But why? She tried to remember what Otis may have said the last time. Of course, it might not have been related to her visit. It could have been something else. Some other disciplinary action that had been well deserved.

“I hoped you’d come back,” Otis said.

He was watching her. His lopsided grin firmly in place. He was sitting back with his arms crossed—that is, crossed in an awkward manner because of the shackle and short length of chain. Again, he reminded her of an overgrown teenager, uncomfortable and not knowing what to do with his hands.

Then without waiting for her to speak, he said, “You found something.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes.” It was silly to say anything else.

“And now you believe me.” His tongue flicked over his lips. He was pleased.

“Yes.”

His face lit up like a little boy’s on Christmas morning. Obviously pleased, so much so that even the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes smiled.

“I’m hoping,” she continued slowly, deliberately, “that you’ll share with me more of what Jack told you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, then paused, head now tilted, watching her, gauging her body language. He still didn’t trust her. “Why would I wanna do that?”

She wondered the same thing. Why would he want to share? If he had wanted a deal to reduce his sentence or one that gave him any perks, he would have brought it up last month when he shared the first information about the victim in the culvert with the orange socks.

Gwen suspected Otis had shared Jack’s stories with her and with the news reporter last month simply because he enjoyed the attention. Even he had pronounced himself a “powermaniac.” She knew that arsonists—especially serial arsonists like Otis—set fires not just because of the power they felt through destruction but also the power they gained from the attention. But now he was looking at her expectantly, like there was something tangible he wanted from her.

“Depending on what else you offer,” she said, “I would certainly consider personally testifying to your parole board about how you’ve helped us.”

She had absolutely no authority to make that offer and she imagined Kunze jumping out of his chair and screaming at her through the soundproof wall. Whatever the repercussions, she saw immediately that the payoff would be worth it.

There was something that swept across Otis’s face, an emotion so strong he couldn’t hide it behind one of his silly grins. Gwen recognized that they were his coping mechanism, an internal leveler that he used even when they didn’t match his words or moods. But in the seconds that followed Gwen’s offer, Otis slipped. His eyes flashed disbelief. The smile waned—but just for a couple of seconds, at most. And in that brief momentary lapse, Gwen saw that Otis P. Dodd was surprised—maybe “flabbergasted” was a better word—that someone like her would sincerely offer to speak on his behalf.

“You’d do that?” The smile returned, along with the poke of the tongue.

Finally he sat up and leaned forward, but only slightly. Trust was such a delicate thing, so fragile, not easily earned and harder to repair.

“If you provide us with more information that helps us find Jack, yes, I would do that.”

“Find Jack?”

He slipped back in his seat. He hadn’t seen that one coming and he shook his head as if she had sucker-punched him.

So much for trust. She had shattered it before she could claim it.

“Perhaps you can help me understand him. You know, learn about him and why he does what he does.”

Would he notice how much she was backtracking? If they wanted someone who was good at sucking up to criminals they should have hired a hostage negotiator. She never pretended to understand how to relate to the criminal mind even as she studied it and hoped to dissect it.

“Maybe I will tell you about Jack just because I like your company. And I think you’re pretty.”

Her turn—she had not seen that one coming. It was definitely becoming a battle of wits. And Otis was certainly not a dim one.

“You like older women?” She produced a laugh to make it sound like she thought he was putting her on.

“Why now, you can’t be a day past what’s old enough for me.”

It sounded sweet and charming and only reinforced her image of him as a teenage boy. Even Otis’s neck flushed red.

“Tell me about meeting Jack. You said you spent an evening drinking with him. It sounds like you had an opportunity to get to know him.”

Otis leaned forward. Was he finally ready to confide in her?

“Funny thing about Jack. Just when you might think you’re getting to know him and what not, you sorta realize you don’t know Jack. I think there ain’t nobody that knows Jack.”

“But he told you things.”

“Yep, that’s right. He told me a whole bunch of stuff.”

“Why do you suppose he did that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Otis said, but he wasn’t rattled or defensive. He leaned back and did his search of the ceiling, like he’d find the answers there. “I supposed he saw that me and him have something in common, you know. Both of us kinda got messed up when we were kids.”

“He talked to you about when he was a boy?”

“No, he doesn’t really like to talk about it. I could just tell. Like there was something there. But Jack could see that me and him, we ain’t like normal people.”

“What’s normal? Does anyone know?”

Otis laughed, a genuine chuckle this time. Gwen should have been pleased that she’d made him laugh. Then he squinted at her as if he were trying to determine if she was serious, or if she was playing him.

“Whatever it is, I’m not sure I can get back to normal,” he said.

She met his eyes and knew there was nothing dimwitted about this man. He was too good at throwing out simple remarks that cut deeper.

Gwen shrugged, trying to encourage him to continue. She could see that he wanted to.

“And Jack?”

“Oh, he’s not normal.” He laughed again. But this time it didn’t sound genuine or joyful. It sounded nervous and forced.

“So what makes him kill?”

He shrugged with both shoulders, practically bringing them up to his huge earlobes, an exaggerated gesture. Gwen realized Otis knew much more than he was willing to share.

“I suppose you’d have to ask Jack. But he does seem to enjoy it quite a bit.”

“He told you that?”

Another shrug. “I guess he likes the challenge or what have you. He likes to study them.”

“By killing them?”

He was watching her. His tongue darted out the corner of his mouth. Gwen was starting to recognize the mannerism as a tell, a nervous twitch when he was trying to decide if he should confide or reveal what was evidently on the tip of his tongue.

“Well, it’s not just the killing.” His voice was so quiet and soft, Gwen found herself leaning over the table between them so she could hear him.

Otis hesitated, either struggling to find words or measuring them. Gwen wasn’t sure which.

“He said he enjoys seeing what they’re made of, you know. What they’re willing to do, what kinds of things they’ll say just to stay alive. What they’ll tell him and what not, just so he won’t kill them.”

He paused. Eyes darted up to the ceiling, again, for a moment. Back to Gwen.

“And he said he likes to … oh, I don’t know … he likes to feel what they’re made of, too. Their skin and their blood, what have you. He really enjoys cutting them. Cutting up a person isn’t really any different from butchering a hog.” Another pause, but now he was watching Gwen to see her reaction. “At least that’s what he said.”

The room felt hot. Gwen’s blouse stuck to her back. She resisted the urge to wipe her forehead. She didn’t want Otis to see that she was uncomfortable. That she was sweating. She had forgotten her mission. Somehow they had verged way off the path. She didn’t need to know all this. She needed to focus. She needed to get what she came for.

“It’s been over a year since you talked to Jack. You think you’d still be able to recognize him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty ordinary looking.”

“Did he tell you where he lived or worked?”

Otis’s smile grew wider but he twisted up his face, then shook his head. He knew exactly what she was doing and he wasn’t playing.

“You found one of his dumping grounds.” He said it like the discovery should mean something more.

“Does he live close by?”

Still shaking his head. Gwen wasn’t sure it meant “no,” or if he just couldn’t believe she was asking.

“I can’t give you Jack.”

She stifled a sigh and shifted in her chair. This was a big waste of time.

“But I can give you another one of his dumping grounds.”

“There really is another one?”

“Oh yeah. Several.”

Gwen reminded herself that everything he had told her so far had been true.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“But this time there’s something I want. I want to go along and show you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not gonna tell anything more unless I get to go along.”

And sure enough he pushed his chair away and stood up as best he could with the limitations of the shackles. He was finished with her.

“Otis, I don’t know that I can arrange that.”

The guard came in and Otis lifted his hands to him.

“You let me know. I’ll be waiting. I’m not going anywhere.”