Alex Kava Bundle

by Alex Kava

  He flipped through one of the many documents scattered over the table but wasn’t taking any of it in. He should probably go home. Even if they brought in Everett and that kid, Brandon, there was nothing more they could do tonight. But he didn’t want to go home. With Emma in Cleveland at her mom’s, the house was too empty, too quiet. It would probably just give him time to think about Boston. That wasn’t good—he was supposed to be forgetting about Boston.

  O’Dell started pacing, close to the table so she could review the messy pile. He watched her as her eyes darted over the crime scene photos, but instead of stopping, she kept pacing, looking at them with each sweep. Had she not been worried about her mother, she’d be straightening out the mess, organizing and sorting and putting things into her neat little piles, trying to create order out of everyone else’s disorder. He wished she was doing just that. It unnerved him to see her like this.

  Suddenly, she noticed something and stopped. She picked up two of the photos from Ginny Brier’s crime scene and started looking from one to the other.

  “What is it?”

  “Not sure.” And she set the photos down. The pacing began again.

  “Do you have any idea what this stuff is and what it’s doing here?” Tully pointed to the heap on the corner of the table. More than anything, he just wanted her attention. She was starting to spook him.

  “Garrison left those things behind. Guess he was in a hurry this morning.”

  “And we’re keeping them because…?”

  She shrugged and this time stopped to pick up the lightweight contraption, turning it over in her hands. She fidgeted with it and accidently popped what was a security latch. The thing sprung open.

  “It’s a tripod,” she said, setting it on the table.

  Now Tully could see the small plate where a camera could be attached and the lever to tilt and swivel it around. Suddenly, he was beside her, staring at the tripod. He rushed around the table and started riffling through photos, plucking three, one from each crime scene out of the mess. Still not saying a word, he came back around to Maggie’s side and placed the photos on the table next to the feet of the tripod. The photos were of the strange circular marks left in the dirt. In the photo from the FDR Memorial crime scene, there had been two, possibly three circular marks, spaced in such a way they could form a triangle.

  “Is it possible?” he asked.

  He had the tripod in his hands and was examining its feet and the length between them. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? The tripod’s feet would certainly leave similar marks in the dirt. While he turned the thing over, Maggie suddenly grabbed the two photos of Ginny Brier—the ones she had picked up earlier—and slapped them down on the table in front of Tully.

  “Look at these two photos,” she said. “Do you see anything different from one to the other?”

  He set the tripod aside and picked up the photos to study them. They looked almost exactly the same, same pose, same angle. There was a flash mark at the bottom of one print where the photo ended just above Ginny Brier’s hands, almost exactly where her wrists were. Tully wondered if perhaps it was some mark caused by the developing process, though he knew little about film or print processing.

  “You mean this white mark at the bottom? This one has it, but the other doesn’t.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Not sure. Could just be a smudge from developing, couldn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t it look more like the flash reflecting off of something?”

  He looked again. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s hard to tell. A reflection off of what, though?”

  “How about handcuffs?”

  He stared at the photo again, then remembered. “She wasn’t wearing handcuffs when we found her.”

  “Exactly,” she said, now excited as she grabbed two other photos and slapped them down. “Now look at these two.” They were close-ups of the Brier girl’s face, the dead eyes wide open, staring directly at her audience. They, too, looked the same.

  “I’m not following, O’Dell.”

  “One is from the roll of film Garrison kept for himself. The roll he used to sell shots to the Enquirer.”

  “Okay. How can you tell? They look identical. Same angle, same distance. Seems like he was trying really hard to duplicate what he took for himself and what he took for us.”

  “Both photos are the same angle, same distance, same shot, but taken at different times,” O’Dell said, slowing down her excitement, as if she was figuring out the puzzle as she spoke.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The eyes,” she said. “Take a close look.”

  As she pointed to the corners of the eyes in each photo Tully finally saw what she was talking about. In one photo there were small clumps of the whitish-yellow eggs in the corners of her eyes. Tully wasn’t an expert, but he knew blowflies usually arrived within minutes to a few hours after death and began laying their eggs immediately. Yet in the photo Garrison had kept for himself, the dead girl’s eyes were completely clear. There wasn’t even the hint of infestation.

  “That’s impossible,” he said, looking to O’Dell. “This photo had to have been taken shortly after her death.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tully picked up the tripod again, now more certain than ever that its feet had caused the strange indentations found at the three crime scenes. “Which would mean he’s on the scene before the cops are. Just what the hell is Ben Garrison up to?”

  “More important, how does he know about the murders before we do?”

  “O’Dell, you’re back,” Cunningham interrupted. He carried a mug of coffee, sipping as he walked, as if he had no time or patience to do only one thing at a time.

  “Any word if the agents arrived at the compound yet?” she asked him.

  “Why don’t you sit down,” he told her, pointing to a chair.

  Tully immediately felt his own muscles tense as he saw O’Dell’s back straighten.

  “It’s another standoff, isn’t it?” she wanted to know.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Eve told me that Everett would never allow himself to be taken alive. He has them prepared for suicide drills. Just like those boys at the cabin.” Her voice seemed calm, but Tully could see her right hand twisting the hem of her windbreaker into her fist. “He’s refusing to give up, isn’t he?”

  “Actually…” Cunningham pulled off his eyeglasses and rubbed his eyes. Tully knew their boss wasn’t the type to stall, but lately the man seemed a bit unpredictable. “Everett isn’t there. He’s gone. We think he might already be on his way to Ohio, maybe Colorado.”

  O’Dell looked relieved until Cunningham put a hand on her shoulder and said, “That’s not all, Maggie. There were people still at the compound. Between the short time that the Hostage Rescue Team announced its presence and then actually gained access to the compound there must have been a panic. You’re right about the suicide drill. HRT’s not sure how many, but there are bodies.”

  CHAPTER 67

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, but the nausea remained. How the hell could he have motion sickness? It was impossible. It had to be something else. Perhaps just the excitement, the anticipation for the inevitable climax.

  The engines continued to rumble. He hated having them so close. He tried to let the sound relax him. He tried to concentrate on the next step, the last step. He just needed to keep steady. He was almost out of his homemade concoction. He couldn’t afford to take any until it was absolutely necessary. He’d need to wait. He could do that. He could be patient. Patience was a virtue. His mother had written that somewhere in one of her journal entries. So much patience. So much wisdom.

  Then he realized he didn’t have the book. Damn it! How the hell could he have forgotten it?

  CHAPTER 68

  Kathleen O’Dell laid her head back against the seat and tried to let the rumbling of the bus lull the throbbing at her temples. She knew exactly what
would get rid of the pain, but unfortunately, there hadn’t been a drop of alcohol in sight. She had even raided the cafeteria’s medicine cabinet, hoping to find some cough medicine. Instead, all she had found was a plastic bag full of red-and-white headache capsules. Now she wished she had taken several of them to stop this insistent banging in her head.

  The girl named Alice sat quietly in the aisle seat beside her, but her eyes kept looking over at the young man who had helped Kathleen earlier in the cafeteria. Now she couldn’t remember his name. Why did she have such a problem remembering names? Or was it just because too much was happening? Her eyes still stung. Her ears were still ringing with the memory of those insults, those verbal jabs. And, of course, the physical jabs—she could feel the bruises. She just wanted to forget. She just wanted to sleep, to pretend everything was okay. And maybe everything would be as soon as they got to Colorado.

  She noticed Alice’s glances getting longer, braver now that all the inside lights on the bus had been extinguished, except for the bright green floor tracking lights. “You like him, don’t you?” she whispered to Alice.

  “What?”

  “The boy across the aisle that you keep looking at. Justin.”

  Even in the dim light, Kathleen could see Alice blush, the freckles even more pronounced.

  “We’re just friends,” Alice said. “You know Father doesn’t allow anything more. We must keep ourselves chaste and our bodies pure.” It sounded like she was reading the words off a pamphlet.

  “I think he’s very nice.” She ignored Alice’s benediction and nodded her chin in his direction. “And quite handsome.”

  Another blush, but this time it came with a smile. “I think he’s upset with me, but I don’t know why.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He told me he was just tired. That everything was fine.”

  Kathleen leaned closer to the girl. “It’s been my experience with men that they’re just as confused as we are. If he says he’s just tired, he may just be tired.”

  “Really? You think so?”

  “Sure.”

  It seemed to bring the girl relief and she relaxed in her seat. “I was worried, because I really don’t have very much experience with boys.”

  “Really? A pretty girl like you?”

  “My parents were always very strict. They never even let me date.”

  “Where are your parents now?”

  Alice got quiet, and Kathleen wished she hadn’t pried.

  “They died in a car accident two years ago. A month later, I went to one of Father’s rallies. It was like he could see how lost and alone I was. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t found the church. I have no other family.” She was quiet for a while, then she looked at Kathleen. “Why did you join the church?”

  Good question, she wanted to tell the girl. For the last twenty-four hours she had been asking herself that very same thing. She needed to remember all the good things she had found since joining, like self-respect and dignity. Things the alcohol had stolen from her. Yet, after tonight’s humiliation…It was hard to think of anything except sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “You probably don’t want to talk about stuff like that after tonight’s meeting.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She wanted to tell the girl that she hadn’t betrayed the church. That she hadn’t told Maggie anything and she wasn’t sure why Stephen thought she had. But she knew it wouldn’t matter to Alice or probably any of the other members. Most of them were simply relieved they hadn’t been the ones called up. “I suppose I was lost in a different sort of way,” Kathleen finally said.

  “You don’t have any family, either, huh?”

  “I have a daughter. A beautiful, smart, young woman.”

  “I bet she looks a lot like you. You’re very pretty.”

  “Well, thank you, Alice. It’s been a long time since someone has said that to me.” Tonight she certainly didn’t feel pretty.

  “So why aren’t you with your daughter?”

  “We have a…well, a strained relationship. She’s been angry with me for more years than I can remember.”

  “Angry? Why would she be angry with you?”

  “Lots of reasons. But mostly because I’m not her father.”

  “What?”

  She saw the confusion on Alice’s face and smiled. “It’s a long, boring story, I’m afraid.” She patted Alice’s hand. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  She rested her own head against the seat again, but now her mind was filled with thoughts about Maggie and thoughts about Thomas. Dear God, she hadn’t thought of him in years. At least, not without getting angry all over again. Maggie still idolized the man. And Kathleen had promised herself years ago to never tell Maggie the truth about her father. So why had she? Why now after all these years?

  She remembered the disbelief, the hurt on Maggie’s face. The surprise when she slapped her. Those sad, brown eyes—they were the eyes of a twelve-year-old little girl who still loved her daddy so much. How in the world could she have tried to destroy that? And why would she want to? What was wrong with her? No wonder her own daughter didn’t love her. Maybe she didn’t deserve her love. But Thomas didn’t, either.

  Kathleen still remembered getting the phone call from the fire station in the middle of the night. The dispatcher had been calling in every available man to answer the three-alarm blaze. She had lied to the dispatcher and told her Thomas was upstairs, asleep. And then she had to call him. She hated that she knew exactly where he was. And she hated even more that she had to call him at that woman’s apartment. But she had to. She had no choice but to call and give him the message, so that no one else would know the lie.

  She had always imagined she had interrupted their lovemaking, their passionate sex-fests, which Thomas had told her she wasn’t capable of. Maybe that was why she had spent the last twenty years trying to prove him wrong, sleeping with any man who wanted her, and unlike Thomas, there had been plenty of men who had wanted her. But back then, that particular day, she had vowed to herself that she wouldn’t take it anymore, that she would take Maggie and leave. And then the son of a bitch had to go and get himself killed. Not only killed but made into a hero.

  There had been many times she’d wondered what Maggie would think of her saintly, heroic father if she knew the truth. So many times in a drunken fit, she had come close to telling her. But somehow she had always managed to stop herself.

  After Thomas’s death, she had moved as far away as she could. It was part of the pact she had made with the devil, with the whore who claimed she was carrying Thomas’s child. In order to keep Maggie from knowing the truth about her father, she had to also keep Maggie from knowing her half brother. At the time it seemed a small price to pay. It had seemed like the right thing to do. But now she wasn’t sure.

  The other day Maggie had been so angry, so unwilling to accept the truth about her father. Would she also not want to accept that she had a brother, a half brother who had been kept from her for all these years? Would she be too angry to believe?

  The woman had even named the boy Patrick, after Thomas’s brother who had been killed in Vietnam. Kathleen wondered if he looked like Thomas. He’d be a young man now—twenty-one years old, the same age Thomas was when they first met.

  Kathleen felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to find Reverend Everett standing in the aisle. He smiled at Alice, and then to Kathleen he said, “There are some things we need to discuss, Kathleen. Perhaps we can discuss them in my compartment.”

  She crawled over Alice and followed him to the small space at the back of the bus. Her knees were unsteady and her stomach tense. He hadn’t said a word to her since her punishment ceremony. Was he still upset?

  The compartment was small, with a bed that filled most of the area and a tiny bathroom in the corner next to a desk. She could hear the roar of the engines. He
closed the door behind them, and Kathleen heard him turn the lock.

  “I know how painful that was for you tonight, Kathleen,” he said in such a soft, gentle voice that she immediately felt relieved. “I would have stepped in, but it would have looked as though I was playing favorites, and that would have only made it harder on you. I do care about you and that’s why I’m willing to do this special favor for you.”

  He motioned for her to sit on the bed and make herself comfortable. Despite his soft and gentle voice, she saw a coldness in his eyes that she didn’t recognize, that unnerved her. She sat, anyway, not wanting to make him upset, especially if he was willing to do some special favor for her. He had been so kind in the past.

  “I’m very sorry,” she offered, not knowing what explanation he hoped to receive. She knew he didn’t like it when members made excuses, and no matter what she told him, he might misconstrue it as an excuse.

  “Well, that’s in the past. With my special graces, I’m sure you’ll not betray us like that again.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Then with that same cold look in his eyes, he began unzipping his pants while he said to her, “I’m doing this for your own good, Kathleen. Now you must take off all your clothes.”

  CHAPTER 69

  Gwen found Maggie down in her office, curled in the overstuffed chair, her legs thrown over an arm, a stack of files resting on her chest, her eyes closed. Without saying a word, she let go of Harvey’s leash and gave him a pat on the hind end, telling him it was okay to go to his master. He didn’t hesitate and didn’t ask for permission to put his huge paws up on the chair to reach Maggie’s face and begin licking.