by Brenda Novak
“Ready to go back inside?” Cunningham asked.
His eyes darted around now but his head stayed tilted as if he were listening intently to her.
She nodded.
Even as they stepped up into the trailer she noticed that he followed her moving sideways and never turning his back until the last second.
“Where?” he asked as soon as the door was closed.
“The storm cellar.”
Maggie was already walking past Turner and Delaney to where she remembered the utility room.
“What’s going on?” Turner asked.
“Agent O’Dell thinks we might have company in the cellar.”
“Crap!”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a killer came back to watch,” Cunningham said. “But would he choose a place where he could get trapped in?”
Maggie’s pulse was racing. With her stomach empty the smell didn’t affect her as much. The buzzing flies still set her on edge. It took her a second to realize Cunningham was asking her and waiting for a response.
“They don’t believe they’ll get caught. Edmund Kemper met with his psychiatrist while he had a body in the trunk of his car. Berkowitz started fires then stood and watched with other bystanders.” Her husband Greg hated that she could conjure up this kind of trivia with little effort. But here and now, it could justify their next move.
“Then we proceed like it’s him,” Cunningham told them.
“If we can approach from the backyard he won’t be able to see us.” Maggie headed for the utility room and the others followed.
“He’ll hear us,” Delaney said.
“Not if it’s only one of us. And not if there’s a distraction in the front yard,” she said. Glancing into the room she saw a plain wood-paneled door to the outside.
“Agent O’Dell.” Cunningham’s voice stopped her. “This is your first time in the field – sorry, but you’re not going to be the one opening that storm cellar.”
He didn’t wait for an argument. Instead, he waved for Delaney to move around Maggie to get to the back door.
“The clothesline is between here and the cellar,” she told Delaney.
He stared at her, waiting for an explanation.
“Bed sheets,” she said as though that should be enough. When she saw that he still didn’t understand, she added, “They were whipping around in the breeze. Should provide some cover.”
Delaney nodded.
“The bedroom at the end looks out that direction,” Turner said.
“Good idea,” Cunningham told him and Turner started down the hall to take up his post. “Give us a chance to get in position,” Cunningham reminded them.
Sheriff Geller’s cruiser was the closest. Cunningham started telling the sheriff and his deputy about what they’d found inside the trailer. She knew her boss’s reasoning for not immediately telling the two law enforcement officers about the cellar. He didn’t want their surprise blowing his plan. Instead he manipulated the conversation and the men so they followed him around to the trunk of the vehicle, lessening the risk if the killer was armed.
When he was certain they were out of earshot of the storm cellar Cunningham explained the situation.
“Son of a bitch,” Geller mumbled. “Didn’t even think…”
By now Delaney had made his way across the backyard. The storm cellar looked like a mound of dirt with a wooden door on this side of the mound. Someone inside would never be able to see Delaney sneaking around the back. Once he was able to position himself on the hinged side of the door, the intruder still wouldn’t be able to see him. Now in position, he stood silently in place waiting for Cunningham’s signal.
When Delaney heaved the door open there was a flash of movement. Too quick. Someone retreated down the hole.
Cunningham led the way, his weapon gripped firmly in both hands. Maggie followed, matching his movements, her heart pounding. They joined Delaney, keeping to the side but close enough now that Maggie could see the concrete steps that disappeared into darkness.
Sheriff Geller and his deputy had been instructed to stay back but both had their weapons drawn, too.
“FBI. We’ve got you surrounded,” Cunningham yelled. “You just as well come out. Or we’ll start throwing down tear-gas.”
They waited.
Maggie didn’t dare look away. Not even for a second. Sweat trickled down her back even though the breeze was chilly. The heat of the trailer had dampened her hair. Strands stuck to her forehead but she resisted the urge to wipe at them.
Suddenly there was movement.
Maggie could feel it as both men tensed beside her.
Then slowly out of the darkness a young girl peered up at them.
“Please don’t shoot me.”
Chapter 6
He watched from his hiding place. He’d found a new one. This one closer. With the aid of binoculars he could see the surprise in the investigators gestures. And he had to admit, he was as surprised to the see the girl as they were.
He pressed the binoculars against his eyes, squinted and adjusted the focus.
Still too far away.
He wanted to see their faces but to get any closer would be too risky. He could see the girl’s pale white skin and her long tangled blond hair. She looked like a ghost. Maybe she was. That would explain how he had missed her.
Where the hell had she been?
He had gone in and out lickety-split. He simply wanted to see what Loner had done. Thirty minutes out of his sight and the asshole had managed much more than Stucky had ever expected. And yet, he couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, he had seen something in Loner’s eyes during their brief encounter. Not only seen it but recognized it. That was the only reason he had allowed the asshole to live. Because he knew what the guy was capable of doing and he wanted to see it for himself.
Yet for as much as they had in common, Loner was an amateur. That’s why Stucky needed to leave a little something extra in that mess of his. But Stucky had been careful. Always careful. So how the hell did he miss seeing this girl?
Had she been inside the trailer? Hiding? Was that possible?
Could she have seen what happened? Watched it from some hiding place?
He caught himself licking his lips. Her skin looked white and creamy. Young ones were usually so soft, like slicing into butter. Such a shame he had missed her.
Earlier he’d been pleased with himself as he watched the woman investigator race out the door and end up on hands and knees puking out her insides. He loved the reactions to his work almost as much as he enjoyed doing it. Their curiosity was usually followed by a double-take like they couldn’t believe their eyes. Then the sheer horror crossed their faces.
Priceless.
The discovery made it a shared experience. What artist didn’t enjoy sharing his masterpieces?
But the girl…It bothered him that he missed seeing her. What was more interesting was that Loner had missed her, too.
He couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all. He had followed that cocky son of a bitch for three days waiting for an opportunity to trip him up. Just a little fun and games. But as it turned out, this ghost of a girl was about to trip up both of them.
Chapter 7
The sky started to turn gray with heavy rain clouds rolling in and threatening to burst. With them came a damp, cold breeze.
Delaney went to wrap his suit jacket around the girl’s bare shoulders. She flinched and he stopped short. She kept blinking and wiping at her eyes. Even the gray sky seemed too bright. Delaney continued talking to her, gentle and slow and without taking another step. Instead he explained to her who they were, that they were there to help.
“No one will hurt you. I promise.”
Maggie watched, mesmerized by him, lulled by the tone of his voice and she could see the girl was, too. Delaney specialized in hostage negotiations. He knew how to convince criminals that he was on their side, that he was willing to listen and help, but Maggie rea
lized this wasn’t just the hostage negotiator talking. This was a father talking to a child. A very cold, hungry and scared child who was also in shock from what she had seen.
Obviously the girl hadn’t witnessed the murders or she wouldn’t still be alive. But there was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that she had seen the dead bodies. One look at the girl’s bloody bare feet and she knew the footprints on the carpet were not the killer’s.
“My name’s Rich,” Delaney was telling the girl. “What can I call you?”
She batted at her hair but didn’t answer. She wore a white tank top and cropped denim pants. Maggie remembered that three days ago the weather had been unseasonably warm. Eighty-degrees and sunshine. The next day, fall returned.
Three days – that sounded about right considering the condition of the bodies. Good Lord, this girl may have been hiding in the dark, damp cellar for three days!
“Katie,” she finally said so quietly it was almost lost in the breeze and the whip-snap of the bed sheets on the clothesline.
“How old are you, Katie?”
But now she just stared like she didn’t hear him.
Maggie guessed the girl was eleven or twelve. Unfortunately, she understood all too well what it meant to be twelve, to be scared and to be alone. She noticed that Katie kept glancing back over her shoulder as if she were looking for someone.
The killer hadn’t seen her, but had Katie seen him?
“Your parents,” Delaney started to say and Maggie could see him struggling with the next question. “We’ll find who did this. Maybe you can help us.”
Cunningham and Turner had backed off. They’d left Delaney and Maggie, giving the girl space. Now Maggie could see Cunningham on his cell phone. But Katie wasn’t interested in the law enforcement men she was glancing back in the other direction. Back toward the river. She didn’t look like she was listening to Delaney anymore either.
“My daddy,” she whispered and then she pointed. “He fell in the river.”
“Your dad?” Delaney shot a look at Maggie. “He’s not in the trailer?”
She shook her head, a quick back and forth like she was shaking the image out of her mind. “Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth.”
Maggie started walking toward the riverbank. Delaney stayed with the girl and called out to Cunningham. Her fingers slipped inside her jacket, settled on her grip of her Smith & Wesson.
Did Katie’s father fall into the water or had he jumped in after killing Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth?
Chapter 8
Dense fog had settled in like smoke hovering above the surface of the water. Maggie guessed they had two hours at most before they lost daylight. Thankfully it wasn’t raining yet, but the breeze had turned brisk especially here on the river’s bank. She wished she had more than the thin windbreaker. Everywhere on her body that had moments ago been hot and sweaty was now cold and damp.
She thought the rowboat looked new. So did the fishing gear inside. It was tied to a post, gently rocking with the river’s current.
“That’s a beauty,” Cunningham said, coming up behind her. “It’s a kit boat. Red and white cedar. Still freshly polished. Probably just put it in the water.”
“Kit boat?”
“Build it yourself. You order it. Comes in pieces.”
Maggie was more interested in the surface of the water. With the fog it was difficult to see more than ten feet. If Katie’s father was out here, his body might be miles downstream.
“CSU team and the medical examiner are on their way,” he said.
Cunningham stepped up beside her on the riverbank. In silence they studied the area, looking and listening. Both stood motionless. The slush-slap of water against the boat was the only sound. Twice Maggie saw something riding the current. Once it was a branch. The second time was debris.
“What are you thinking, Agent O’Dell?” Cunningham finally asked and she wondered if he was asking as a mentor testing his student or simply as her boss looking for an answer?
“I don’t think Katie’s father is the killer.”
“Why not?”
“A father who’d let his daughter witness that? Even if she just saw the aftermath. If he let her see that he probably wouldn’t have a problem killing her, too.”
“So that means if she’s still alive…”
“Her father is most likely dead.”
She felt his eyes on her now. Without looking she could see him push up the bridge of his eyeglasses and cross his arms. A gesture she was used to seeing.
“I think you’re right.” And he stared back out at the river.
They stood side by side, again, in silence. Several minutes passed and suddenly Cunningham’s arm shot out.
“There. On the other side of the river.” He was pointing to his right, head tilted, body bent at the waist, trying to get a better view.
Maggie saw it now, too. Something bobbing in the water. Something large but not moving with the current. Obviously tethered down.
“Let’s check it out.” Cunningham started to untie the boat.
He caught her off guard. Was that the way they did things in the field? Weren’t the CSU techs supposed to recover the bodies? What about evidence? And she found herself digging in her pockets for another pair of latex gloves.
Cunningham glanced up and saw her hesitancy.
“We’re just going to take a look.”
“But the boat –”
“It’s pretty clean. If it has been used we’re adding only our prints – easy enough to discount.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, but how could she argue with her boss who was already climbing down into the boat.
She looked over her shoulder. No one else had followed. From this angle the double-wide seemed far away and insignificant. The bed sheets continued to flap on the clothesline blocking her view of Delaney and the girl. A good thing. The girl was dehydrated and in shock. The last thing she needed was to watch them fish the bloated body of her father out of the river.
Cunningham rowed. It was obvious he’d done this before. He knew how to maneuver the oars to keep the small boat going in the right direction despite the current. Surprisingly it wasn’t any easier to see once they were in the water. What had looked to be a large mass suddenly disappeared as the fog moved in thick layers. Twice Cunningham stopped rowing and waited until one of them could spot it again.
“There.” Maggie pointed at what looked like a pile of debris bobbing and bumping against the opposite bank of the river.
Three feet away she could see the arms tangled in the branches. As Cunningham brought the rowboat parallel to the rubble Maggie saw the bloated face of a man before his head dipped under the surface again. The constant wash of water was probably the only thing that discouraged the insects.
“I don’t think his throat was slashed like the others,” she told Cunningham who was working to keep the boat beside the debris while she got a better look.
Frustrated, she grabbed at the vines and branches that made it impossible to see. The water was cold but the biggest tangle was just beneath the surface. Cunningham didn’t stop her. Instead he worked the oars encouraging her to tell him what else she could see.
“Do you think he drown?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
Maggie pulled and tugged at prickly twigs. The water was murky. She couldn’t see what was anchoring the body down. His arms were twisted inside the debris. At times his face bobbed up, eyes open almost as if staring at her, imploring her to help. She tried to focus instead on the tangled mess that kept him submerged, working her fingers until her hands were numb from the cold water.
“Is it possible he was hiding out here?” Cunningham asked.
“Why not hide in the cellar with his daughter?”
“Maybe he was trying to lead the killer away from her so that she could hide.”
“She said he fell in the water,” Maggie said, sitting to rest. “But she didn’t say anything about the killer. Do you
think she saw him?”
Cunningham shrugged. “Might not make a difference. You know how reliable witnesses are. Compound that with the shock and her being just a little girl. But I know someone who can help her remember.”
Maggie turned back to the debris.
“Stop Agent O’Dell. Your hands – they’re bleeding.”
She hadn’t even noticed.
“There isn’t anything more we can do. We’ll let the CSU techs bring him in.”
He focused on turning the boat around against the current. Maggie rubbed her hands, trying to warm them and wiping the blood on her jeans. She’d pricked several fingers and scraped the back of one hand. It looked worse than it was. Not that big of a deal.
But something didn’t feel quite right. That’s when she realized that somewhere in the murky water she had lost her wedding ring.
Chapter 9
Maggie tucked her hands under her arms trying not to shiver. She stayed back at the crime scene while Cunningham and the sheriff took one of the CSU techs to the river’s edge and offer directions. The rest of the CSU team unpacked equipment onto the front lawn while they waited for the medical examiner to arrive.
Deputy Wilson had offered Maggie the backseat of the cruiser. She noticed he didn’t make the same offer to any of the men. Tempting as it was, she shook her head. She didn’t want any special favors.
Cunningham had insisted that Delaney crawl into the ambulance when Katie had refused to get in. Not just refused but started screaming, arms flailing, bare feet ready to kick if anyone dared to grab her.
“I can’t leave without my dad.”
Maggie wasn’t sure what Delaney told her, but somehow he had convinced her. The role he had taken on – negotiator, friend, father – was now the only bond the girl had. The ambulance had left just as the CSU mobile crime lab pulled into the long driveway.
Turner and Maggie waited for Cunningham. Their work here was finished as the next set of investigators took over. With his boss gone Wilson suddenly became talkative.