Midnight Fear

by Leslie Tentler

  “I’ve got to go,” Reid said to her. “I’ll get someone to drive you back to the office.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I got you the victim’s name and the body’s location,” Caitlyn implored. “I need to be there.”

  “I don’t want you to—”

  “Let her come,” Agent Tierney interjected. He was looking at Reid, not Caitlyn, making her feel like an unwanted child who’d begged to tag along. “She can stay in the car.”

  Frowning, Reid ran a hand through his dark hair. His voice was low. “Let’s go.”

  21

  Deep Creek Lake was tucked into the autumn-hued mountains of western Maryland. Despite the brisk afternoon, sailboats glided along the crystalline waters. Caitlyn leaned against the front of Agent Tierney’s Crown Victoria, shivering inside her wool coat. She watched as the closest of the boats slid past her with sails billowing before returning her attention to the grisly activity occurring a short distance away.

  Forensic technicians were carefully excavating the sunken, brown earth in the location Joshua had described. The spot was about fifty feet back from a maintenance shed, at the edge of a wooded trail leading down to the shoreline. A clearly discernible X had been carved into the bark of a nearby oak, marking the spot where Joshua had supposedly buried Donna Faust’s body. Reid and Agent Tierney stood with Agent Morehouse at the edge of the scene, their backs to Caitlyn.

  “We’ve got something,” one of the jumpsuited technicians called out, his voice raised in excitement. Anxiety tingling along her spine, Caitlyn left the sedan and moved closer. She saw several of the crime scene workers crouched at the edge of the shallow hole, using brushlike whisks to clear away loose dirt.

  “Caitlyn.” Reid gently caught her arm. “You were supposed to stay at the car.”

  She looked down at his hand on her coat sleeve. A latex glove, its tips smudged with dirt, encased his fingers. Caitlyn swallowed, realizing he’d been searching through the soil, as well. Looking for remnants of the woman Joshua had murdered.

  “Go back to the car,” he warned.

  “I can take her back to the District,” Agent Morehouse offered.

  “She stays.” Tierney peered at her, his large hands hooked into the gun belt at his waist. “I think she should get a firsthand look at her baby brother’s work.”

  “Bone.” A technician brushed at a series of grime-covered arches exposed in the dirt and decaying leaves. The man squinted up at the FBI agents and police surrounding the shallow grave. “Appears to be a rib cage, female, judging by the size.”

  He approximated an area about a foot higher, brushing at the dirt there, as well. “We’ve got a skull.”

  Caitlyn stared at the cap of rounded bone rising out of the dirt. She felt Reid’s hand at the small of her back, and she realized her knees had gone weak. Pressing her fingers hard against her lips, she pushed away from him and forced herself to stand erect, watching as the rest of Donna Faust’s skeleton was carefully and incrementally exposed. It had been more than two years since she’d been buried there, after Joshua had finished with her. There was nothing left of her but bones—no tissue, no putrid smell of decomposing flesh. Still, Caitlyn fought the urge to gag.

  Another of the technicians sifted through the dirt with tweezers, extracting a hard, pink glob with leaves attached.

  “Appears to be chewing gum.” He dropped it into an evidence bag, then handed it off to continue his dig.

  Caitlyn’s throat tightened. The thought of Joshua chewing and snapping as he buried his victim, then spitting the gum wad into the makeshift grave after her, made her skin crawl.

  “Probably contains Cahill’s DNA,” Agent Tierney muttered. Forensic cameras snapped at the exposed remains. “Not that we need it.”

  It was late afternoon by the time they rolled away from Deep Creek, leaving Forensics behind to close up the remaining details. Reid stared through the car’s passenger window at the media vans gathered outside the park’s entrance. Apparently word had leaked of a crime scene investigation at the usually placid recreational area, drawing news reporters like rotten food attracts flies.

  He dropped the sun visor to conceal his face from the reporters they passed, and also to use its mirror to glimpse Caitlyn in the backseat. She sat huddled inside her coat with her hands clasped in her lap, her features drawn and pale. The wind had blown her honeyed hair for most of the afternoon so that it now hung in wild tangles. She peered out the window, her eyes clouded with pain and no doubt the ghastly recollection of Donna Faust’s remains. Reid hadn’t wanted to bring her out here, and he silently cursed Mitch for exposing Caitlyn to the full extent of her brother’s violence.

  I used to have the same fantasies about you… I’d imagine sneaking up on you when no one was home, tying you down and…

  He wondered if Caitlyn was imagining herself in the shallow earth, another of Joshua’s victims. Reid thought of the lewd, venomous words her brother had spewed at her in the stark confines of the prison interrogation room. Cahill had used her—he’d clearly gotten off on her shock and horror—and yet she’d steadfastly remained until he had given up the body’s location as promised.

  “I’m starving,” Mitch announced from behind the wheel. He looked at Reid. “We’re three hours away from D.C. I say we get away from all this hoopla and stop for a bite.”

  Reid nodded faintly. “Fine.”

  “There’s a diner outside Swanton, right before the interstate exit. I’ve been there a time or two before.” Mitch glanced at Caitlyn in the rearview mirror. “Or would a greasy spoon, cop hangout offend your culinary tastes, Ms. Cahill?”

  “Give her a break, damn it,” Reid muttered under his breath. “She’s been through enough today.”

  Mitch fished his cell phone from his suit jacket to let Agent Morehouse, who was following in the car behind them, know of the planned stop.

  The meal at the diner was eaten mostly in silence, save for the agents discussing a few specific aspects of the investigation. Caitlyn had ordered coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich, which Reid noticed she’d mostly picked at before leaving the congealed mess on the plate and excusing herself to the ladies’ room. Not that he had eaten much himself. He hadn’t slept well the night before, plagued by a headache and Julianne Hunter’s image in the Metrorail haunting his dreams. Unfortunately, he had been unable to use the prescription sleeping pills, since he’d been due at the FBI offices early that morning for the drive to the penitentiary and didn’t want to risk being groggy.

  “Any news on Hunter?” Mitch asked, reaching for a ketchup bottle in a carousel at the edge of the table. He squeezed it, sending out a thick, red spurt across the fries on his plate.

  “Not yet.” Morehouse paused as he swallowed his last mouthful of a pastrami sandwich. “The psych evaluation should be completed tomorrow or Wednesday.”

  Mitch grunted, then turned to Reid. “When’s your recertification on firearms?”

  “I’m due at the range on Thursday.”

  “Good. It’s about time you strapped on a gun again.” He popped another fry into his mouth. “Besides, you’ve been spending so much time working this case you might as well start getting full pay for it. How much time left on your leave?”

  “Just this week.” Reid thought of Julianne Hunter again and fought back the worry lacing through him.

  Caitlyn returned to the table. Morehouse made a move to get up so she could slide back into the circular booth between him and Reid.

  “It’s okay,” she said, halting him. She looked at no one in particular. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just wait in the car. I know you’re all discussing…business.”

  Mitch twisted sideways and began digging in his pocket to hand her the keys.

  “You know what?” Morehouse wadded his paper napkin and tossed it onto the vinyl tablecloth. “You’re still eating and I need to get back to the District. Why don’t I t
ake Ms. Cahill with me?”

  “I’d appreciate it, Agent Morehouse,” Caitlyn said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Reid frowned. He didn’t want Morehouse taking her back to D.C. In fact, what he wanted was to escort her directly to her car himself and make certain she was safely on her way back home. Hell, what he really wanted was a few minutes alone with her so they could talk privately for the first time that day.

  He cradled the ceramic coffee mug he held between his palms, feeling what was left of its warmth. “Walk her all the way to her car, Morehouse, okay?”

  “You got it. Good night.”

  Reid could have sworn he saw the younger agent blushing as he opened the door for Caitlyn and they went out together into the dusk. He returned his gaze to Mitch, who was studying the laminated menu with the focused concentration of a surgeon.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said. “But I’m thinking of having the coconut cream pie.”

  22

  She struggled against the cords binding her wrists and ankles, tried to scream through the thick cloth gag shoved into her mouth. The movement of shadows in the darkness told her Joshua was here. Hiding. Watching her. He moved slowly forward, moonlight falling onto his slim form.

  “I brought you a gift, Caity.” He held the mutilated Barbie doll, swinging it in front of her face by its long, blond hair. The straight pins inserted into its anatomy glimmered dully. “Don’t you think she looks like you?”

  She felt the dip of the mattress as he sat on its edge, his hands sinking roughly into her hair. “I do.”

  Caitlyn awoke, her chest heaving and her body slick with perspiration. The bedroom was quiet except for her own labored breathing. She pressed her hands over her face.

  It was a dream, she told herself. Another one of her nightmares, brought on by seeing Joshua again and witnessing Donna Faust’s remains being dug up from the ground. Still, Caitlyn pushed back the sheets and got out of bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to reclaim sleep, at least not for a while.

  Downstairs, she made a cup of herbal tea in the kitchen, turning on the small counter television set to keep her company and distract her thoughts. But Joshua loomed in her mind like a thug on a darkened street corner, waiting for her.

  She couldn’t help it, Caitlyn wanted to talk to Reid—she craved hearing his voice telling her things would be all right. She had nearly asked to speak to him in private at the diner, but Agent Tierney’s intimidating presence had discouraged her, as did Reid’s aloofness throughout most of the day. Returning to D.C. with Agent Morehouse, Caitlyn had engaged in small talk although she’d felt anything but social. Once they reached the VCU offices in Judiciary Square, he had dutifully accompanied her to her car, then stood watching until she pulled from the parking garage. On the drive back to Middleburg, Caitlyn had half expected Reid to call her cell and check on her, but the device sat mutely in her purse all the way home.

  She jumped, spilling some of her tea into the saucer as the phone in the kitchen rang. Caitlyn looked at the wall clock, a black cat in silhouette with a swinging tail beating out the seconds. It was a little after 3:00 a.m. Steeling herself, she rose to answer it, her intuition telling her a call at this late hour could only be bad news.

  “Hello?” No one responded, so she repeated the salutation. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Cahill?” A woman’s voice sounded hesitant. “This is Nurse Hillary at the Vinings Care Facility…”

  Caitlyn’s stomach sank.

  “I’m calling about your mother, Caroline. I’m sorry to tell you this, but there’s been an accident.”

  “What happened? Is she all right?”

  “She got out of her room—we’re really not sure how. The last time anyone checked on her was just after eleven when the night shift took over,” the nurse explained in a nervous rush. “We started looking for her as soon as we realized she was missing—”

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  “She fell down a flight of stairs in the emergency exit. We think she might’ve been there for several hours—”

  “Oh, my God.” Caitlyn closed her eyes, fear tightening her chest. “How badly is she hurt?”

  “She’s been taken to the E.R. at George Washington University Medical Center. I think you should go there.” She hesitated again. “As soon as possible.”

  “Is she conscious?”

  “I’m sorry…I’m not really sure.”

  Caitlyn hung up the phone, paralyzed by images of her mother and the vital woman she had been before the heartbreak and scandal of Joshua’s arrest. Before her husband’s fatal stroke.

  Her mother was all she had left.

  When she arrived in D.C., it was nearly four-thirty in the morning, dark outside and well before the business rush hour. As Caitlyn’s car made the voyage over the Francis Scott Key Bridge heading into Georgetown, she barely noticed the stately, spired buildings of George Washington University rising up over the dark Potomac, or the iron moon that hung low in the sky. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she felt wired and jittery, her only thought to talk to the medical staff and find out the severity of her mother’s injuries.

  She’s going to be okay.

  The affirmation repeated inside her head as she pulled into the hospital parking garage, her fingers tight on the steering wheel. She drove up three levels before finding a few vacant spots, then pulled the BMW into the first space and got out. Pressing the key fob to activate the car’s security system, she heard its electronic chirp echo inside the concrete-and-steel structure. Caitlyn walked toward the elevators on the far side of the garage. She had dressed hastily in jeans, a loose sweater and jacket, and her boots thudded on the concrete floor. Although her path so far had been illuminated by fluorescent light panels in the garage’s low ceiling, the elevator bay was dark, as if the lighting there had burned out. She stepped into the shadows, leaning forward to press the button.

  Sudden awareness chilled her skin. She wasn’t alone.

  A male figure loomed in her peripheral vision. Caitlyn gasped, turning just in time to catch the blow across the side of her head. Stars exploded in front of her as she fell onto the hard concrete deck. She tried to scream, but the breath had been knocked from her and what emerged from her mouth sounded more like a mewling cry.

  Caitlyn fought the pain inside her skull, trying to get a look at her attacker. But her vision was hazy, clouded and the man wore a ski mask. He made a grab for her, dragging her by her arms several feet across the garage floor. Caitlyn broke one hand free, closing it around her key chain that had fallen nearby and attempting to set off the panic button on its fob. She screamed in pain as the man stomped her hand under his heel, forcing her to let go.

  She writhed in agony, crying out for help. He began dragging her again toward a white van parked nearby, its back door hanging open to reveal its darkened interior. The realization that he planned to abduct her was like a shot of adrenaline to her system. Caitlyn screamed louder and began kicking wildly, trying to tear free from her attacker’s viselike grip. She cringed as the man drew his right hand into a fist and pulled it back, preparing to slug her again.

  The elevator chime rang, the sound breaking through the madness. The man froze. He let go of Caitlyn, causing the back of her head to bounce against the concrete floor. The area around her tilted and spun as another white-hot flare shot through her skull.

  She heard the elevator doors slide open, as well as the man’s heavy footfalls as he made a run for the van. Caitlyn tried to sit up, wanting to call out for help to the couple who had emerged from the elevator, but a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her voice when it finally croaked out of her sounded as if she were at the far end of a tunnel.

  “Help me…please.”

  The van’s engine roared to life, its tires screeching as it sped away.

  “Just lie still, miss.” One of the two people, an elderly man with thick spectacles and gray hair, reached her. He squatted as best he could on the groun
d next to her, tentatively patting her shoulder. “My wife’s calling the campus police.”

  Behind him, the woman talked excitedly into her cell phone. Caitlyn wanted to ask if they had gotten a license plate, but the words bouncing inside her head never quite formed on her lips. The side of her head felt sticky and warm, and her left hand had gone numb. The man dug into his coat pocket and removed a white handkerchief, folded into a neat square. She heard her own feeble groan as he pressed it against her temple.

  “You’re going to be fine, miss.” He didn’t sound all that convincing. His concerned expression wavered in front of her.

  Caitlyn’s world slowly faded to black.

  23

  Reid walked briskly across parking level three. Around him, evidence techs snapped photos of tire marks and splotches of dried blood. Caitlyn’s blood. He’d received the call from Mitch a half hour ago.

  He had broken every speed limit to get there.

  “I don’t understand,” Morehouse said as he approached. He looked like a schoolboy expecting a reprimand from his teacher. “I walked her all the way to her car. I watched her get in, just like you said. I saw her drive off. She said she was going straight back to Middleburg.”

  Reid’s mouth formed a grim line. “What time did you see her last?”

  “About seven-thirty.”

  Through the open side of the garage, morning sunlight dappled the floor of the parking deck. He’d wanted to call her last night—in fact, he’d opened his cell phone on more than one occasion only to stare at its LCD panel before closing it again.

  He thought he’d been doing the right thing. Taking a step back from Caitlyn. If he’d been the one to drive her back from Deep Creek Lake last night, would this have happened?

  “Why would she lie to me about going home?” Morehouse asked.

  “I don’t know.”