Текст книги "Stranded"
Автор книги: Alex Kava
Соавторы: Alex Kava,Alex Kava
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
CHAPTER 51
Before Agent Tully could finish explaining why they were being sent to Florida, Creed’s phone began to ring. It was Hannah. He left the two agents and retreated to the other room as he checked his watch. His jaw clamped tight. Only bad news came at this time of night.
“Is everything okay?” he asked in place of a greeting.
“Everything’s fine. Don’t get your Jockeys in a twist. I knew you’d spazz out but I also knew you’d be awake.”
“Dogs are okay?”
“Everybody is fine. How’s Grace?”
“I can pick her up at seven tomorrow morning. Actually, this morning. I called and checked on her two hours ago and they said she was resting. Doing good.”
“She’s a tough girl, but I won’t lie, I’ll be glad to have her back home where I can fuss over her.”
That made him smile. Hannah probably already had a place set up for Grace in their office where she’d be able to watch her.
“I just got a phone call from Agent Alonzo,” she said. “He wants to know if we can provide a cadaver dog and handler on Saturday here in our neck of the woods.”
So that’s where Maggie and Tully were headed. Creed hated that his first response was a twinge of excitement.
“Felix isn’t back until next week. Andy is still on the West Coast,” Hannah continued.
“It’s an extension of this case,” he told her. “I can do it.”
“Rye, seriously? You’re going to be on the road all day tomorrow.”
“If I leave here by seven, I’ll be home late evening. I can meet them at the site on Saturday.”
“What’s up with you? Something’s going on.”
“This killer’s taking his victims from rest areas, Hannah. That farm up in Iowa—they think he’s had access to it for about ten years. If they’ve found another site, who knows how long he’s been using it.”
She was quiet for so long Creed thought he might have lost the connection.
“Rye, this has already been a long stretch for you.”
Her voice was soft and gentle, that nurturing tone that set him on edge.
“I told you I’d let you know when it was time to worry about me.”
“That you did,” she admitted, and he could hear her let up. He supposed it was a bit like saying if a crazy man knows he’s crazy, then maybe he hasn’t quite fallen off the ledge … yet.
“I know I might never find her, Hannah. But I can’t just stop looking.”
More silence.
“Okay, but I’m charging the FBI extra for this one,” she finally said.
He smiled, but realized it was more out of relief than humor.
FRIDAY, MARCH 22
CHAPTER 52
Maggie didn’t realize she was gritting her teeth.
“No rain in the forecast until tomorrow,” Tully said, glancing at her grip on the armrest of her seat. “No thunderstorm turbulence.”
Maggie didn’t let up.
They had been greeted by roller-coaster turbulence at the beginning of the week when they flew into Omaha. No threat of turbulence was good. But it really didn’t matter. The plane was still climbing, that awful tilt, the pressure pressing her back against the seat cushion. She hated flying. Hated being thirty-eight thousand feet above control.
But Tully? He was actually excited. Kunze had booked them in first class.
“We get lunch on this flight.” Tully said it like a little boy awaiting a surprise. Maggie even noticed him leaning into the aisle, head tilting as he tried to catch a glimpse of what lunch might be. “First class is real plates, cloth napkins, real food.”
She shot him a look. Like “real” mattered to him. Maggie had seen the man eat Pop-Tarts from a vending machine that were three months past their expiration date. Sometimes she wondered if food was all he thought about. The man could put away a pile and was amazingly indiscriminate about it. Good thing he was with Gwen, a gourmet cook, who loved to cook as much as Tully loved to eat. Tall and lanky, his knees still didn’t seem to have enough room between his seat and the one in front of him—even in first class.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t have any breakfast.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t wake me. Or that I slept, for that matter.”
“You obviously needed it.”
What she’d wanted to say all morning was that she couldn’t believe Creed had left without saying good-bye. He was gone before she got up. Tully said that Creed had knocked and glanced into her room before he left but saw her sleeping and knew how much of a commodity sleep was for her.
“He was anxious to pick up Grace and get her home,” Tully had explained. “Besides, we’ll see him tomorrow. Alonzo hired him to bring another dog and help track at the new dump site.”
The new “dump site.” All they knew about the site was that it existed somewhere east of Milton, Florida, off Interstate 10 in a heavily wooded area close to some rivers and creeks. That’s all Otis would divulge. He took his job as guide seriously, as well as his ability to manipulate and milk the situation for all it was worth.
Kunze and Alonzo were convinced that Jack had another hiding place close to this new dump site, just like the Iowa farm, complete with privacy and a vacant dwelling. Someplace for him to stay while he took his time with the victims’ bodies. Jack had led them to Iowa. He wanted to share his handiwork. Since the federal government had started building the wildlife preserve, they would have started finding the bodies anyway and Jack would never get credit.
But Kunze hoped to catch the killer off guard by invading this site without his invitation. Jack had no reason to believe Otis P. Dodd would suddenly share his stories after a year had gone by. Kunze believed that Jack had probably forgotten about the odd, soft-spoken giant who appeared a little slow and awkward.
Jack—but that wasn’t his real name. Not the one he went by anyway. After Lily’s frantic phone call, Maggie and Tully believed their highway killer’s name was Buzz. Thanks to Sheriff Uniss and Agent Alonzo, they now knew that the foreman, Buzz, was Stanley Johnson. However, he had disappeared from Iowa and apparently so had Lily.
“We thought he was watching us,” Maggie said, trying to relax into her seat. “We just didn’t know from how close.”
“It was strange how he gave you that cap and then it just disappeared from our table at the truck stop.”
Maggie pulled out her laptop from the case she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d downloaded a file Alonzo had e-mailed them just before they boarded. Now she was anxious to open it and get her mind off being locked in a metal tube miles above the earth even if it meant digging into the psyche of a serial killer.
“He doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Tully said. “And Buzz was managing that construction crew before we got there.”
“According to Alonzo’s information, thirty-six-year-old Stanley ‘Buzz’ Johnson is an independent contractor. He travels across the country doing mainly federal government projects. He lists his permanent residence as Dothan, Alabama. No criminal record. No traffic citations. No fingerprints on record. Alonzo found a Ford F-150 truck registered to him in the state of Alabama. No other property listed under his name.”
“Wait a minute.” Tully grabbed his messenger bag and pulled out the map Alonzo had faxed earlier. It showed the general area in Florida where Otis was taking them tomorrow. Tully pushed up his glasses and took a closer look. “Check this out.”
He yanked his tray down in front of him and laid out the map. With his index finger he found and pointed to Dothan, Alabama, then traced down to I-10 directly below. Maggie’s eyes found Milton, Florida, on the map before Tully’s finger did. Buzz Johnson’s permanent residence was less than a hundred miles away from the new dump site.
SATURDAY, MARCH 23
CHAPTER 53
OFF INTERSTATE 10
OUTSIDE MILTON, FLORIDA
Kunze had reserved two rooms for Maggie and Tully at a Red Roof Inn. Just off Interstate 10, the area was tucked up against a forest of pine trees. Clean and comfortable, but Maggie actually missed their adjoining rooms at the Holiday Inn. And surprisingly, she missed Creed. Silly, really. She barely knew the man. Probably missed having the extra company. That was all. She and Tully had been on the road together for too long.
Tully, however, was happy. There was a Waffle House right next door.
Maggie wanted to go home and spend time with her dogs. This stretch had been too long. Though she had to remind herself that she didn’t have a home right now. Hers had been gutted by fire. Cleanup had been heart-wrenching. She had left in the middle of rebuilding as electricians, plumbers, and drywallers tramped in and out, removing, restoring, and replacing. Maybe staying on the road wasn’t such a bad idea.
There had been no word on Stanley “Buzz” Johnson. Agent Alonzo had gotten a photo from the man’s driver’s license and was now working with Detective Lopez in Kansas to see if Noah Waters might identify Buzz as the man who attacked him and his friend Ethan. Maggie didn’t believe that would happen. Noah was still too frightened.
Thunderstorms had rumbled through Florida earlier in the morning, leaving the air thick with humidity and making sixty-three degrees feel damp and chilly even as the sun broke free of the clouds. More thunderstorms were predicted for later in the afternoon.
Both Maggie and Tully had their FBI windbreakers with them. Before they left Kansas they had bought ankle-high hiking boots. Maggie wore jeans and a T-shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Tully chose to look more official in khakis and a polo shirt. Both also wore their shoulder holsters and weapons.
Tully had already spoken to Creed. He was running late and said he’d meet them at the site. This area was Creed’s backyard. His training facility was less than half an hour away. Tully agreed to text GPS coordinates as soon as they arrived wherever Otis was taking them.
At exactly noon—right on time—two black Chevy Tahoes with Florida Highway Patrol insignias pulled into the empty back parking lot of the hotel. They stopped in the farthest corner, where the pine trees bordered them on two sides. Maggie and Tully had been waiting in the lobby and came out to greet them.
Both of the Florida state troopers were dressed in gray uniforms and wide-brimmed black hats. They introduced themselves as Wiley and Campos. A man emerged from the front passenger side of the lead SUV. Maggie knew he had to be Warden Demarcus. Kunze had told them the man insisted on accompanying his prisoner.
Demarcus looked like a politician—a shot of gray at the temples, square shoulders, confident gait, freshly creased trousers, white oxford with a silk tie, and expensive leather shoes that she immediately noticed were polished and shiny. It was the perfect outfit for a hike in search of dead bodies. Maggie wondered if he expected a TV news crew to meet them at the site. Instead of a warden taking responsibility for his prisoner, he looked like a man wanting to capitalize on a celebrity moment.
Left in the backseat of the first SUV was Otis P. Dodd. Maggie was close enough that she could see him behind the tinted glass. He was watching them, smiling and eating a chicken drumstick.
“He insisted we stop for fried chicken,” Demarcus told Maggie. “We barely get off the plane and he wants KFC.”
“I guess he gets whatever he wants today,” Tully said.
“Within reason,” Demarcus shot back.
Gwen had described Otis as being a giant of a man, and just the glimpse through the window told Maggie that was true. Despite his receding hairline and droopy eyes with crow’s-feet at the corners, when he gave her a lopsided grin—one that looked quite content but with almost an innocent quality—he did remind her of a teenager.
Maggie and Tully went to the second SUV with Trooper Wiley. Tully conceded the front passenger side to her. Campos and Demarcus got back inside the lead SUV with Otis. Before Wiley could put the vehicle in gear and follow, Demarcus was back out in the parking lot, trying to manage the fury that was taking over his face. He stomped to their vehicle and stood in front of Maggie’s door. Both she and Tully, who was sitting behind her, opened their windows.
“Is there a problem?”
“He wants you to ride in his vehicle,” Demarcus said through gritted teeth, not only with anger but with accusation. “I told them it was a bad idea to have a woman along.”
His fingers reached for Maggie’s door but she opened it before he made contact. She let the heavy door swing open a bit too fast, knocking Demarcus smack in the chest.
“Oops, sorry,” she said. “Sometimes we women can be a little clumsy and we just don’t know our strength.”
She heard both Wiley and Tully laughing as she exited the vehicle.
CHAPTER 54
Maggie sat at an angle in the Tahoe’s leather captain seat, so she could see Otis. He was shackled to the floor of the SUV, sitting in the seat directly behind Trooper Campos. A metal grill separated the front from the back of the vehicle.
The interior smelled of fried chicken. Otis’s chin was still shiny where he hadn’t wiped it. He was excited to have her in his SUV.
“You’re Miss Gwen’s friend, ain’t that right?”
And Maggie immediately understood what Gwen had meant when she said the man had a simple-minded charm about him.
Now his face was turned toward the window and his gaze was intense. The nervous lopsided grin, which was as much a part of his features as his nose, was subdued. He appeared to know exactly where he was taking them. Yet it wouldn’t surprise Maggie if he had lied about a second dump site just to get a day outside the prison walls. He’d be able to take a plane ride and go for a drive. Get some fresh air and some fried chicken. When he let them pass the exit for the interstate rest area, Maggie suspected that was exactly what Otis had done.
However, he directed Trooper Campos to the next exit and instructed him turn by turn. Ten minutes later they entered Blackwater River State Forest and Maggie thought to herself, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
The narrow road was flanked on both sides by tall, thin pine trees so close together daylight had to fight to get through. They passed by the entrances to a couple of dirt roads, two tracks in red clay that twisted and disappeared into the trees. Trooper Campos continued farther into the forest. He drove over a bridge and Maggie noticed that the water beneath was tea-colored but clear and shallow enough to see the bottom. A sandbar with pristine white sand appeared in the river. Surrounded by the pine trees, the beach looked out of place. In season, it would be a perfect retreat, but in March it was empty.
“If you had mentioned the forest,” Campos said in his rearview mirror to Otis, “I would have called one of the rangers.”
“Wouldn’t be no need for that,” Otis told him.
“You been here before?” Campos asked.
“No, sir. Never been to Florida before.” He was polite and soft-spoken with a pronounced Southern drawl.
“Then how do you know where to go?”
Otis gently tapped two fingers to his temple and grinned but didn’t take his eyes away from his side window.
“When people tell me stuff, I remember. I don’t know why it is, but I get a real good picture in my mind.”
Campos shot Maggie a look but thankfully he didn’t roll his eyes. The trooper looked about forty. Old enough to have heard all kinds of stories, and Maggie could see he was also beginning to wonder about the validity of Otis’s claim.
“There’s nobody around out here,” Campos said to Maggie. “Not this time of year. Milton is canoe capital of Florida. Blackwater River runs through the forest. A bunch of other creeks and tributaries flow into it. Coldwater Creek, Juniper, Sweetwater.”
“How big is the forest?” Maggie asked.
“Over two hundred thousand acres. Stretches all the way north to the Alabama state border.”
Maggie glanced back at Otis. She had a feeling of dread. How deep into the forest would he take them? How long would he have them walking in circles before he admitted there was no dump site?
To the west through a clearing in the thick forest, she could see storm clouds gathering. It wasn’t even six months since she had spent an evening in a forest in Nebraska. She had never experienced such a sense of isolation before. She wasn’t looking forward to repeating it. Instinctively she pulled out her cell phone and checked how many bars she had. It blinked between one and two, then none.
Trooper Campos noticed. “Should be able to get reception,” he said, then quickly added, “in most spots.” He didn’t sound convincing.
“After that big-ass tree up there,” Otis said, pointing up ahead to a huge dead oak, “there’s a little narrow road afterward to the right.”
It was a landmark anyone would remember. Was that exactly what he was thinking?
Campos slowed down but still almost missed the road. It was more of a path than a road. The overgrowth hid the tire tracks and the entrance. He stopped the SUV. Made sure the one behind him had stopped and given him enough room to back up. Then he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right and drove into the forest.
The road curved, sometimes sharply. They bounced and jerked over the ruts. The road never widened. In several places branches scraped the sides of the SUV and Campos grimaced. The overhanging ones threatened to do the same. Every once in while Maggie saw splotches of color, spring blooms. As the sky continued to darken with clouds, so too did their path.
“How far are we going, buddy?” Trooper Campos asked, and Maggie thought she saw Otis grimace for the first time at the term “buddy.” “You sure this is the right way?”
“Just a little bit more,” he said.
A few seconds later, the SUV came around a curve and into a small clearing.
“Here we go,” he said.
Maggie had to admit it was the perfect isolated spot to dump bodies. Remote but with vehicle access. The only problem—there didn’t appear to be anything else. No cabin, no lean-to.
But when they got out of the SUVs, Otis told them they’d have to walk to the actual site and he pointed to a footpath.
“It’s just up the way through them trees.”
“Are you jerking us around?” It was Demarcus.
“Should be about a hundred to a hundred fifty yards up that way.”
Otis went on to ask about getting the shackles from his feet removed.
Troopers Campos and Wiley looked to Demarcus for instruction. Demarcus looked to Tully.
“We’ve already come this far. Let’s at least check it out before the thunder and lightning get here.”
Otis was right. About 100 to 150 yards through the trees they came to another clearing. This one was much bigger, wider and with tall grass and yellow wildflowers, a meadow in the middle of the forest. Trooper Wiley walked beside Otis as the prisoner, with his hands still shackled, led them to the center and stopped. Demarcus was close behind them, and Tully, Maggie, and Trooper Campos were about twenty feet back, bringing up the rear.
Again, Maggie noticed there was nothing else but thick forest surrounding the area. No shelters in sight. Although she couldn’t see beyond the dark shadows inside the forest. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the beginning rumble of the brewing storm.
In fact, the first crack Maggie heard, she thought it was thunder until she saw Trooper Wiley fall to his knees, holding his throat. In a gulp of a breath, a second gunshot followed. Right next to her, Trooper Campos’s head exploded, splattering Maggie in the face.
She ripped at her windbreaker as Campos fell against her, taking her with him to the ground. Her fingers yanked at her holster.
Then a third shot. This one hit Tully.
CHAPTER 55
Maggie belly-crawled to where Tully lay. The tall grass offered little camouflage. But Campos’s body provided a barrier. Weapon drawn, she couldn’t see the shooter. Could he still see her? All she knew was that the shots came from the trees and they came within seconds, easy targets.
A fourth shot and she heard Demarcus scream.
She ducked her head, her cheek against the cold, damp earth. Everything had gone quiet except for her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Her body was drenched in sweat.
She twisted her neck till she could see Tully.
Blood stained his windbreaker. An entrance wound. Oh dear God. Right over his heart.
“Damn it, Tully. No!”
She said it under her breath. Angry tears threatened.
She blinked hard. Pushed up on her elbows. Her pulse raced. She tried to sneak a glimpse over Campos’s body.
No orange jumpsuit. Where the hell was Otis?
And where was his buddy Jack? Or Buzz, or whatever the hell his name was.
It was quiet now. Too quiet.
And then there was one.
The thought sent a fresh panic through her body. Tully had warned her that this guy was obsessed with her. It was her, not the scavenger hunt, that he was after. And now she was the only one left because Jack wanted it that way. He wanted her alive.
She gripped her revolver, trigger finger ready. She pulled herself up against Campos’s body. With her free hand, she rummaged through the cases attached to his three-inch gun belt. She tucked his ASR (aerosol subject restraint) spray canister into the cuff of her left sock. His Taser went into her waistband, under her jacket at the small of her back. He was lying on his holstered service revolver. She couldn’t get to it without rolling him over.
Something behind her moved. She turned around, ready to take aim.
A groan from Tully. His eyelids fluttered. He blinked, trying to focus. He looked to be in shock. And in pain.
A flicker of relief washed over her. It was quickly replaced by urgency. She needed to see how badly he was hit. She needed to stop the bleeding. But there was something else she needed to do and quickly.
She clawed at the case on Trooper Campos’s belt, yanked it open, and removed two items. One she slid into her other sock, shoving it all the way down. Then she crawled, using her elbows to pull her so she could stay down as low as possible to the ground. Just a few more inches.
She heard the crunch of footsteps. Close. Too close.
She reached out and touched Tully. She had to put her revolver down for three seconds. One second—she grabbed his wrist. Two—snapped a handcuff on. Three—snapped the other onto her wrist. Then she reached for her revolver just as a shadow came over her.
“Leave it, Magpie,” a voice said from above and behind her.
The use of her nickname made her catch her breath. It was a term of endearment that only her father and mother had used.
