Split Second

by Alex Kava

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. Not far from here in Newburgh Heights. Said she was a forensic psychologist. Just moved in. Very impressive young woman.”

  Tully watched Cunningham’s face and saw the transformation from calm to agitated.

  “Yes, I did hear about that. I apologize if she got in the way.”

  “Oh, no apology necessary, Kyle. She proved very helpful. I think the arrogant bastard who was supposed to be investigating may have even learned a thing or two.”

  Tully caught the assistant director with a smile at the corner of his lips, before he realized he was being watched. He turned to Tully and explained, “Agent O’Dell, your predecessor, just bought a new home in this area.”

  “Margaret O’Dell?” Tully held his boss’s eyes until he saw that Cunningham had made the same connection. Suddenly, Tully knew it didn’t matter what they found in the pizza box. Whatever had been discarded, neither of them needed to see the bloody mess to confirm that this was most likely the work of Albert Stucky. And Tully knew it was no coincidence that he had chosen to start again, close to Margaret O’Dell’s new home.

  12

  EXHAUSTION seeped into his bones and threatened to incapacitate him by the time he returned to the safety of his room. He shed his clothes with minimal movement, letting the fabric slide off his lean body, though what he really wanted to do was rip and tear. His body disgusted him. It had taken almost twice as long for him to come this time. Of all the fucking things he had to deal with, that one was the most annoying.

  His fingers fumbled through his duffel bag, searching frantically, tossing items to the floor. He stopped when he felt the smooth cylinder.

  The fatigue had moved to his fingers. It took three attempts to snap off the plastic cap and poke the needle into the rubber top of the vial. He hated not having complete control. He steadied his hands as best he could and watched the syringe suck the liquid from the vial.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, perspiration sliding down his naked back. In one quick motion he stuck the needle into his thigh, forcing the colorless liquid into his bloodstream. Then he lay back and waited.

  Through closed eyelids he was aware of the flickers of lightning that invaded his dim room. A rumble of thunder vibrated the window. Then the rain began again, soft and gentle, tapping out a lullaby.

  Yes, his body disgusted him. He had pushed it to be strong and lean. He ate nutritious meals high in protein and vitamins. He had freed himself of all toxins including caffeine, alcohol and nicotine. Yet, his body still failed him, screaming out its imperfections.

  It had only been three months since he had noticed the symptoms. The first ones were simply annoying—the eternal thirst and the constant urge to piss. Who knew how long this damn thing had been lying dormant inside him, ready to strike at just the right moment?

  Of course, it would be this abnormality that would eventually do him in, a gift from his greedy mother whom he had never even known. The bitch would have to give him something that could destroy him.

  He sat up, ignoring the slight dizziness in his head, his vision still blurred. The lapses came more often and were getting harder and harder to predict. Whatever the limitations, he refused to let them interfere with the game.

  The rain tapped more persistently now. The lightning came in constant flickers. It made the room crawl with movement.

  He grabbed the lamp on the bed stand and twisted it on. In the light, he could see the heap from his spilled bag. Socks, shaving kit, T-shirts, several knives, a scalpel and a Glock 9 mm lay scattered on the plush carpet. He ignored the familiar buzz that had begun to invade his head, and rifled through the mess, stopping when he found the pink panties. He rubbed the silk against his bristled jaw, then breathed in their scent, a lovely combination of talcum powder, come and pizza.

  He noticed the real-estate flyer crumpled under the pile and pulled it out. It included a photo of the beautiful colonial house, a description of its amenities and the blue logo of Heston Realty. The house had definitely lived up to its promises, and he was sure it would continue to do so.

  At the corner of the flyer was a small photo of an attractive woman, trying to look professional despite an insecurity in her eyes. His thumb rubbed over her face, smudging the ink and dragging a trail of black and blue over her skin. That looked better. Yes, already he could feel her vulnerability. Perhaps he could feel it only because he had spent so much time watching her. He wondered what it was that Tess McGowan was trying to hide.

  He tacked the flyer to the bulletin board. Then he slid a box out from under the table. Unfortunately, movers were so negligent these days. Taking breaks without tending to the precious possessions in their care. He smiled as he broke the tape and flipped off the lid marked “M.O’Dell.”

  He took out yellowed newspaper clippings: FIREFIGHTER SACRIFICES LIFE. What a horrible way for her to lose her father, in a hellish fire.

  “Do you dream about him, Maggie O’Dell?” he whispered. “Do you imagine the flames licking off his skin?”

  He wondered if he had finally found an Achilles’ heel to the brave, unflinching Special Agent O’Dell.

  He set the articles aside. Underneath, he discovered a bigger treasure—a leather appointment book. He flipped to the upcoming week, immediately disappointed. She would be in Kansas City at a law enforcement conference. Then he calmed himself and smiled again. Maybe it was better this way. Still, what a shame Agent O’Dell would miss his debut in Newburgh Heights.

  13

  THE doorbell rang, and again Maggie had her Smith & Wesson in her hand before she realized it. She tucked the revolver into what was becoming its regular spot, the waistband of her jeans.

  She didn’t recognize the petite brunette standing on her portico. Maggie’s eyes searched the street, the shadows created by trees and bushes, before she moved to disarm the security system. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Did she honestly believe Stucky would have followed her to her new house?

  “Yes?” she asked, opening the door only wide enough to place her body in the space.

  “Hi!” the woman said with a false cheerfulness.

  Dressed in a black-and-white cardigan and matching skirt, she looked ready for an evening out. Her shoulder-length hair didn’t move in the breeze. The diamond necklace, earrings and wedding ring were modest and tasteful, but Maggie recognized how expensive they were. Okay, so at least the woman wasn’t trying to sell anything.

  “I’m Susan Lyndell. I live next door.”

  “Maggie O’Dell.”

  “I saw you at Rachel Endicott’s house.” She sounded uncomfortable, and it was obvious she wasn’t here to welcome Maggie to the neighborhood.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m a friend of Rachel’s. I know that the police…” She stopped and glanced in both directions. “I know they’re saying Rachel may have just left on her own, but I don’t think she would do that.”

  “Did you tell Detective Manx that? He’s in charge of the investigation. I was simply trying to lend a hand as a concerned neighbor.”

  “But you’re with the FBI, right?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t there in an official capacity. If you have any information, I suggest you talk to Detective Manx.”

  All Maggie needed was to step on Manx’s toes again. However, Susan Lyndell didn’t seem pleased with her advice.

  “I know this is an awkward introduction, and I apologize, but if I could just talk to you for a few minutes. May I come in?”

  Her gut told her to send Lyndell home. Yet for some reason she found herself letting the woman into her foyer.

  “I have a flight to catch.” Maggie allowed impatience to show. “As you can see I haven’t had time to unpack, let alone pack for a business trip.”

  “Yes, I understand. It’s quite possible I’m simply being paranoid.”

  “You don’t believe Ms. Endicott just left town for a couple of days?”

  Susan Lyndell’
s eyes met Maggie’s.

  “I know there was something in the house that suggests Rachel didn’t do that.”

  “Ms. Lyndell, I don’t know what you’ve heard—”

  “It’s okay.” She stopped Maggie with a wave of her slender fingers. “I know you can’t divulge anything you may have seen. Look, I know it’s not routine for three police cruisers and the county medical examiner to come rescue an injured dog. Even if it belongs to the wife of Sidney Endicott.”

  Maggie didn’t recognize the man’s name, nor did she care. The less she knew about the Endicotts, the easier it would be to keep out of this case. She crossed her arms and waited. Lyndell seemed to interpret it as having Maggie’s full attention.

  “I think Rachel was meeting someone. I think this someone may have taken her against her will.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Rachel met a man last week. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. It’s not something she’s in the habit of doing. It just sort of happened. You know how that is.” She waited for some sign of agreement from Maggie. When there was none, she hurried on. “It was strictly a physical attraction. I’m sure she had no intention of leaving Sidney,” she added as though needing to convince herself.

  “Ms. Endicott was having an affair?”

  “God, no, but I think she was tempted. As far as I know, it was just some heavy-duty flirting.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Susan avoided Maggie’s eyes. “Rachel and I were friends.”

  Maggie didn’t point out that Susan had suddenly switched to past tense. “How did she meet him?”

  “He’s been working in the area. On the phone lines. Something to do with cable that’s going to be laid. They’re constantly putting in something new in this area.”

  “Why do you think this man may have taken Rachel against her will?”

  “It sounded like he was getting serious, trying to escalate their flirting. You know how guys like that can be. They really just want one thing—” She stopped herself, realizing she may have revealed more than she intended. “Well, let’s just say,” she continued, “that I have a hunch this guy wanted more from Rachel than she meant to give him.”

  The image of the bedroom came to Maggie. Had Rachel Endicott invited a telephone repairman to her bedroom, then changed her mind?

  “So you think she may have invited him in and that things got carried away?”

  “Isn’t there something in the house that makes it look that way?”

  Maggie hesitated. Were Susan Lyndell and Rachel Endicott really friends, or was Susan simply looking for some juicy gossip?

  Finally Maggie said, “Yes, there is something that makes it look like Rachel was taken from the house. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Susan paled beneath the carefully applied makeup. This time, her response seemed genuine.

  “I think you need to tell the police,” Maggie told her again.

  “No.” Immediately her face grew scarlet. “I mean, I’m not even sure she met him. I wouldn’t want Rachel to get in trouble with Sid.”

  “Then you need to at least tell them about the telephone repairman so they can question him. Have you seen him in the area?”

  “Actually, I’ve never seen him. Just his van—Northeastern Bell. I’d hate him to lose his job because of my hunch.”

  “Then why are you telling me all this, Ms. Lyndell? What do you expect me to do?”

  “I just thought…well…” She leaned against the wall, and seemed flustered. Yet, she made a weak effort to continue. “You’re with the FBI. I thought maybe you could do a check…you know, discreetly…well, I guess I don’t know.”

  Maggie let the silence hang between them as she examined the woman’s discomfort.

  “Rachel’s not the only one who’s flirted with a repairman, is she, Ms. Lyndell? Are you afraid of your husband finding out?”

  She didn’t need to answer. The anguished look in Lyndell’s eyes told Maggie she was right. And she wondered if Lyndell would even call Detective Manx, though she promised to as she turned and hurried away.

  14

  TESS McGowan smiled at the wine steward. Daniel had rambled on into the phone the whole time the young man had uncorked the bottle and poured the obligatory amount for the taste test. Now they both waited. She hated all the interruptions. It was bad enough they were having an unusually late Sunday dinner because of Daniel’s business dealings. Why couldn’t he, at least, take Sundays off?

  Finally, Daniel firmly, but calmly, called the person on the other end of the line “an incompetent asshole.” He snapped the cell phone in half and slipped it into his pocket. Without looking up, he grabbed the glass, sipped then spit the wine back without giving it a swirl in his mouth.

  “This is sewer water. I asked for a 1984 Bordeaux. What the hell is this crap?”

  Tess felt her nerves tense. Not again. Why couldn’t they ever go out without Daniel making a scene? She watched the poor wine steward twist the bottle around to read the label.

  “It is a 1984 Bordeaux, sir.”

  Daniel snatched the bottle from the young man’s hands and took a look. Immediately, he snorted under his breath and handed it back.

  “I don’t want a goddamn California wine.”

  “Yes, of course, sir. I’ll bring another bottle.”

  “So,” Daniel said. “You said we had something to celebrate?”

  She pushed up her dress strap, wondering why she had spent two hundred and fifty dollars on a dress that wouldn’t stay up on her. A sexy black dress that Daniel hadn’t noticed. Even when he looked up at her, he raised an eyebrow at her fumbling instead of at the dress, and instantly he frowned at her. She pretended not to notice his frown and launched into her good news. If she kept enthusiastic, he couldn’t possibly ruin this night for her. Could he?

  “I sold the Saunderses’ house last week. But the best part is that Delores is letting me keep the entire selling bonus.”

  “Well, that is good news, Tess. We should be having champagne and not wine.” He turned in his chair, going into what looked like a search-and-destroy mode. “Where the hell is that incompetent imbecile?”

  “No, Daniel, don’t. You know I enjoy wine much more than champagne. Please, let’s have wine.”

  He raised his hands in mock defeat. “Whatever pleases you. Tonight is your night.”

  He began to sip from his water glass but stopped, grabbed his napkin and wiped at the water spots. Tess braced herself for another scene, but Daniel managed to get the glass in satisfactory condition on his own.

  “So, how much is this selling bonus? I hope you didn’t spend it all on that overpriced frock that won’t stay on your shoulders.”

  “Of course not.” She kept her voice strong and managed a smile, pretending to enjoy his savage attempt at what he called dry humor.

  “So? How much?” he wanted to know.

  “Almost ten thousand,” she said, holding up her chin proudly.

  “Well, that is a nice little chunk of change, isn’t it?”

  This time he sipped his water without cleaning the glass. Already his eyes darted around the room, looking for familiar faces. She knew it was a sort of professional habit and not meant to be rude, but she felt as though he was hoping to be rescued from a mundane conversation.

  “Do you think I should invest it in the stock market?” she asked, hoping to bring his attention back to her with the one topic he loved to discuss.

  This time he looked back at her with that smile she immediately recognized as the beginning of another lesson.

  “Tess, ten thousand dollars really isn’t enough for you to be getting into the market. You don’t want to mess with something you don’t understand.”

  Before she could protest, his phone started ringing. Daniel flipped it out of his pocket as though it were the most important thing in the room. Tess pushed up her strap. Why kid herself? The damn phone was the most important thing in th
e room.

  The wine steward returned, glanced at Daniel on the phone again, and Tess wanted to laugh at the young man’s pained expression.

  “Why the hell is it so hard to fucking get this right?” Daniel barked into the phone. “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

  He slapped the phone shut and was on his feet before he had it tucked back into his pocket.

  “Tess, sweetie, I need to go take care of something. These idiots can’t seem to get one fucking thing right.” He pulled out a credit card and slipped out two hundred-dollar bills from his money clip. “Please have a shamefully expensive dinner to celebrate your bonus. And you don’t mind taking a cab home, do you?”

  He handed her the credit card and the folded bills. He pecked her on the cheek and then left before she could object.

  Suddenly, she realized the wine steward was still at the table and now staring at her, stunned and waiting for her instructions.

  “I think I’d like the bill, please.

  He held up the uncorked bottle. “I didn’t even pour one glass.”

  “Enjoy it later with the other waiters.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “On me. Really. Oh, and before you bring the bill, would you add two of the most expensive entrées on the menu?”

  “You want them as takeout?”

  “I don’t want them at all. I just want to pay for them.” She smiled and held up the credit card. Finally, he smiled back and hurried off to take care of it.

  If Daniel insisted on treating her like a hooker, she could certainly accommodate him. Maybe her silly little mind couldn’t comprehend something as complex as the stock market, but there were plenty of other things she knew about that Daniel didn’t have a clue about.

  She signed the bill for the wine steward, making sure to add a hefty tip. Then she took her two hundred dollars and hailed a cab, hoping the anger would burn off by the time she got home. How could he ruin this for her? She had been looking forward to a celebration.