Maggie O'Dell Collection, Volume 1: A Perfect Evil ; Split Second ; The Soul Catcher

by Alex Kava

  The headlights came out of nowhere, rounding the corner and barreling down on her. She heard the brakes screech. Gravel pelted metal. Tires skidded. The light blinded her. When two stretched shadows emerged from the vehicle and came toward her, she imagined aliens with bulbous heads and bulging insect eyes. Then she realized it was the hats that made their heads look oversize.

  “Christine. Oh, my good Lord, it’s Christine.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes. She had never heard that kind of fear and panic in her father’s voice. How totally inappropriate for her to be pleased by it.

  When her father and Lloyd Benjamin knelt beside her, the only thing she could think to say was, “Eddie knows where Timmy is.”

  CHAPTER 92

  Nick tried to convince Maggie to stay in the Jeep. They had stopped the bleeding for now, but there was no telling how much blood she had already lost. She could barely stand on her own, had completely lost all color in her face. Perhaps she was delusional, too.

  “You don’t understand, Nick,” she continued to argue with him.

  He was ready to pick her up and throw her into the Jeep. It was bad enough that she wouldn’t let him drive her to the hospital.

  “I’ll go check what’s in the stupid crate,” he said finally. “You wait here.”

  “Nick, wait.” She dug her fingers into his arm, wincing with pain. “It may be Timmy.”

  “What?”

  “Inside the crate.”

  The realization struck him like a fist. He leaned against the Jeep’s hood, suddenly weak in the knees.

  “Why would he do that?” he managed to say, though his throat strangled the words. He didn’t want to imagine Timmy stuffed into a crate. Timmy, dead. Yet, hadn’t he already thought that? “That’s not his style.”

  “Whatever is in the crate might be for my benefit.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Remember the last note? If he knows about Stucky, he may have resorted to Stucky’s habits. Nick, it could be Timmy inside that crate. And if it is, it isn’t something you should see.”

  He stared at her. Blood and dirt streaked her face. More dirt and cobwebs filled her hair. Those beautiful full lips held tight against the pain. Those soft, smooth shoulders slouched from the effort to hold herself up. And still, she wanted to protect him.

  He turned on his heel and stomped back up the hill.

  “Nick, wait.”

  He ignored her calls. Surely she wouldn’t—couldn’t—follow without his assistance.

  He hesitated at the steps Maggie had uncovered. Then forced himself back down into the earth. The entire space reeked with the stifling smell. He found a steel rod and Maggie’s revolver, which he slid into his jacket pocket. Then he tucked the rod and flashlight under his arm and hoisted the crate, lugging it slowly up the steps. His muscles screamed at him to put it down. He ignored them until he was out of the hellhole, until he could breathe fresh air again.

  Maggie was there, waiting, leaning against a headstone. She was even more pale.

  “Let me,” she insisted, reaching for the rod.

  “I can do this, Maggie.” He shoved the rod under the lid and started pumping up and down. The nails screeched and echoed in the silent darkness. Even with the breeze and in the cold the smell of death overpowered all other senses. Once the lid snapped free, he hesitated again. Maggie came beside him, reached around him and pulled open the lid.

  Both of them took a step backward, but it wasn’t because of the odor. Tucked carefully inside and wrapped in a white cloth was the small, delicate body of Matthew Tanner.

  CHAPTER 93

  There was no place for Timmy to run. Nowhere to hide. He slipped down the riverbank, close to the water. Could he swim across, float downstream? He examined the black, churning river racing past him. It was too strong, too fast and much too cold.

  The stranger had stopped to finish his cigarette, but his direction hadn’t changed. In the silence, Timmy heard the stranger mumbling to himself, but he couldn’t make out the words. Every once in a while he kicked rocks and dirt into the water. The splashes were now close enough to spray Timmy.

  He’d have to make a run for it, back into the woods. At least there he could hide. He’d never make it in the water. His shivers from the cold were already close to convulsions. The water would only make it worse.

  Timmy peeked over the riverbank. The stranger was lighting another cigarette. Now. He needed to go now. He scrambled up the bank, kicking rocks and dirt into the water—explosive splashes giving him away. He barely made it to the road when his ankle buckled under him. He slammed down on knees and elbows. He struggled to his feet, then suddenly flew up off the ground. He kicked at air and clawed at the arm around his waist. Another arm squeezed around his neck.

  “Settle down, you little shit.”

  Timmy started screaming and shouting. The arm squeezed harder, cutting off his air, choking him.

  When the car came squealing down the winding road, the stranger still kept his vise grip on Timmy. The car skidded to a stop in front of them, and still the stranger made no attempt to move or flee. The headlights blinded Timmy, but he recognized Deputy Hal. Why didn’t the stranger release him? Timmy’s neck hurt bad. He clawed at the arm again. Why didn’t the stranger make a run for it?

  “What’s going on here?” Deputy Hal demanded. He and another deputy got out of the car and approached slowly.

  Timmy didn’t understand why they didn’t draw their guns. Couldn’t they tell what was going on? Couldn’t they tell the stranger was hurting him?

  “I found the kid hiding in the woods,” the stranger told them, only he sounded excited and proud. “You might say I rescued him.”

  “I see that,” said Deputy Hal.

  No, it was a lie. Timmy wanted to tell them it was all a lie, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak with the arm squeezing his neck. Why were they looking as if they believed the stranger? He was the killer. Couldn’t they see that?

  “Why don’t the two of you get in with us. Come on, Timmy. You’re safe now.”

  Slowly the arm released from around Timmy’s neck. His feet touched the ground. Timmy pulled free and ran to Deputy Hal, tripping on his swollen ankle.

  Hal grabbed Timmy by the shoulders and gently shoved him behind him. Then Deputy Hal pulled out his gun and said to the stranger, “Come on, now. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Eddie.”

  CHAPTER 94

  Friday, October 31

  Christine awoke to a room full of flowers. Had she died, after all? Through a blur, she saw her mother sitting next to the bed, and Christine knew immediately that she was, in fact, still alive. Certainly the blue and pink jogging suit her mother wore would never be acceptable attire for heaven—or hell.

  “How are you feeling, Christine?” Her mother smiled and reached for Christine’s hand.

  Her mother was finally letting her hair go gray. It looked good. Christine decided to tell her later when a compliment would come in handy to combat the inquisition.

  “Where am I?” It was a stupid question, but after the hours of delusions, hallucinations—whatever they were—she needed to know.

  “You’re in the hospital, dear. Don’t you remember? You just got out of surgery a little while ago.”

  Surgery? Only now did Christine notice all the tubes going in and out of her. In a moment of panic, she ripped off the covers.

  “Christine!”

  Her legs were still there. Yes, thank God. She could move them. There were bandages on one, but she didn’t care as long as the leg moved.

  “You don’t need to catch pneumonia.” Her mother tucked the covers back in around her.

  Christine raised both arms, flexed the fingers and watched the fluids drip into her veins. The pieces all seemed there and working. That her chest and stomach felt like chunks of beaten and sliced chopped liver didn’t matter. At least she was all in one piece.

  “Your father and Bruce went fo
r coffee. They’ll be so pleased to find you awake.”

  “Oh, God, Bruce is here?” Then Christine remembered Timmy, and the panic began to suck all the air from the room.

  “Give him a second chance, Christine,” her mother said, completely oblivious to the lack of air in the room. “This ordeal has really changed him.”

  Ordeal? Was that the newest term they had given to the disappearance of her son?

  Just then, Nick peeked into the room and relief swept over Christine. There was a new cut on Nick’s forehead, but the bruises and swelling around his jaw were hardly noticeable. He was dressed in a crisp blue shirt, navy tie, blue jeans and navy sports jacket. God, how long had she been asleep? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he looked dressed for a funeral. She remembered Timmy again. What exactly had her mother meant by ordeal? A new wave of pain and terror came crashing down, adding its weight to her chest.

  “Hi, honey,” their mother said as Nick leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  Christine studied the two of them, watching for signs. Did she dare ask? Would they only lie to protect her? Did they think she was too fragile?

  “I want the truth, Nicky,” she blurted in a voice so shrill she hardly recognized it as her own. They both stared at her, startled, concerned. But she could see in Nick’s eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.” He headed back for the door, and she wanted to yell at him to stop, to stay, to talk to her.

  “Nicky, please,” she said, not caring how pathetic she sounded.

  He opened the door, and Timmy stood there like an apparition. Christine rubbed her eyes. Was she hallucinating again? Timmy hobbled toward her, and she could see the scratches and bruises, a cut on one cheek and a purple swollen lip. However, his face and hair were scrubbed clean, his clothes crisp and fresh. He even wore new tennis shoes. Had it all been a horrible, horrible nightmare?

  “Hi, Mom,” he said as though it were any other morning. He crawled into the chair his grandmother held out for him, kneeling and making himself tall enough to look over the bed. She allowed the tears, had no choice, really. Was he real? She touched his shoulder, smoothed down his cowlick and caressed his cheek.

  “Aw, Mom. Everybody’s watching,” he said, and she knew he was real.

  CHAPTER 95

  Nick escaped before it got mushy, before his own eyes got blurry. It was all still a little hard to believe. He turned the corner and almost ran into his father, who stepped back, as though worried the coffee he carried would spill.

  “Careful there, son. You’re gonna miss quite a bit being in such a hurry.”

  Nick checked his father’s eyes and immediately saw the sarcastic criticism. He was in too good of a mood to let his father spoil it. So he smiled and started to walk around him.

  “It’s not Eddie, you know,” his father called after him.

  “Yeah?” Nick stopped and turned. “Well, this time that’ll be up to a court of law to decide and not Antonio Morrelli.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Nick took a step closer until he was standing eye to eye with his father.

  “Did you help plant evidence against Jeffreys?”

  “Watch your mouth, boy. I never planted a thing.”

  “Then how did you explain the discrepancies?”

  “As far as I was concerned, there were no discrepancies. I did what was necessary to convict that son of a bitch.”

  “You ignored evidence.”

  “I knew Jeffreys killed that little Wilson boy. You didn’t see that boy. You didn’t see what he made that boy go through. Jeffreys deserved to die.”

  “Don’t you dare make your horrors superior to mine,” Nick said, hands clenched into fists but quiet and steady at his sides. “I’ve seen enough this week to last me a lifetime. Maybe Jeffreys did deserve to die. But by pinning the other two murders on him, you let another murderer get away. You closed the investigation. You made a community feel safe again.”

  “I did what I thought was necessary.”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell that to Laura Alverez and Michelle Tanner. Tell them how you did what was necessary.”

  Nick walked away, his knees feeling a bit spongy. There was little victory in telling Antonio Morrelli he had been wrong. Why had he expected there to be some feeling of celebration? But as his boot heels echoed down the quiet hall, he walked a bit taller.

  He stopped by the nurses’ station and was startled by the unit secretary dressed in a black cape and witch’s hat. It took a minute before he noticed the orange and black crepe paper and pumpkin cutouts. Of course, today was Halloween. Even the sun had emerged, finally bright enough and warm enough to start melting some of the snow.

  He waited patiently while the unit secretary recited ingredients of a recipe into the phone. Her eyes told him she’d only be a moment, but there was no urgency in her voice.

  “Hi, Nick.” Sandy Kennedy came up behind him, scooted back behind the secretary and grabbed a clipboard.

  “Sandy, you finally made it to the day shift.” He smiled at the shapely brunette, while thinking what a stupid thing to say. Why not “How are you” or “It’s been a long time”? Then he wondered if there was anyplace in this city he could go without running into a former lover or one-night stand.

  “Sounds like Christine is doing better,” she said, ignoring his stupid comment.

  He tried to remember why he had never pursued a relationship with Sandy. Just seeing her reminded him how bright and beautiful she was. But then, so were all the women he chose. However, not one of them could live up to Maggie O’Dell.

  “Nick, are you okay? Can we do something for you?”

  Both Sandy and the secretary stared at him.

  “Can you tell me Agent O’Dell’s room number?”

  “It’s 372,” the secretary said without looking it up. “At the end of the hall and to the right. Although she may be gone.”

  “Gone? What do mean gone?”

  “She checked out earlier and was just waiting for some clothes. Hers were pretty trashed when she came in last night,” she explained, but Nick already was halfway down the hall.

  He burst through the door without knocking, startling Maggie, who turned quickly from the window, then positioned her back—and the open hospital gown—to the wall.

  “Jesus, Morrelli, don’t you knock?”

  “Sorry.” His heart settled down, almost to its regular rhythm. She looked wonderful. The short, dark hair was smooth and shiny again. Her creamy skin had some color. And her eyes—those luscious brown eyes—actually sparkled. “They said you might be gone.”

  “I’m waiting for some clothes. One of the hospital volunteers offered to go shopping for me.” She paced, carefully using the wall to shield her back. “That was about two hours ago. I just hope she doesn’t come back with something pink.”

  “The doctor said it’s okay for you to check out?” He tried to make it a simple question. Was there too much concern in his voice?

  “He’s leaving it to my discretion.”

  She caught him staring at her, and when their eyes met, he held her gaze. He didn’t care if she saw the concern. In fact, he wanted her to see it.

  “How’s Christine?” she asked, breaking the trance.

  “Surgery went well.”

  “What about her leg?”

  “The doctor seems certain there won’t be any permanent damage. I just took Timmy in to see her.”

  For a minute she stopped pacing. Her eyes softened, though there was a faraway look in them.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe in happy endings,” she said.

  Her eyes met his again, this time accompanied by a faint smile, a slight tug at the corners of her lips. Jesus, she was beautiful when she smiled. He wanted to tell her that. Opened his mouth, in fact, to do just that, then thought better of it. Did she have any idea how scared he was when he thought she’d
left without so much as a goodbye? Could she even tell what effect she had on him? The hell with her husband, her marriage. He needed to take the risk, let the chips fall where they may. He needed to tell her he loved her.

  Instead, he said, “We arrested Eddie Gillick this morning.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for more.

  “We brought in Ray Howard again for questioning. This time he admitted that sometimes he loaned the old blue pickup to Eddie.”

  “The day Danny disappeared?”

  “Howard conveniently couldn’t remember. But there’s more—lots more. Eddie came to work for the sheriff’s department the summer before the first killings. The Omaha Police Department had given him a letter of recommendation, but there were three separate reprimands in his file, all for unnecessary force while making arrests. Two of the cases were juveniles. He even broke one kid’s arm.”

  “What about the last rites?”

  “Eddie’s mom—a single mom, by the way—worked two jobs just to send him to Catholic school, all the way through high school.”

  “I don’t know, Nick.”

  She didn’t look convinced. It didn’t surprise him. He went on with the rest.

  “He would have had access to the evidence in Jeffreys’ case and could easily have framed him. He’s also had access to the morgue. In fact, he was there yesterday afternoon picking up the autopsy photos. He could have easily snatched Matthew’s body when he realized the teeth marks in the photos might ID him. Plus, it would have been easy for him to make a few phone calls, use his badge number and get information on Albert Stucky.”