Before Evil

by Alex Kava

  “Yes, Sir.”

  And she clicked off. The driver behind the wheel hadn’t moved. Maybe he was asleep. Cunningham was right. Steele could just be exhausted.

  She stepped out and closed her door as softly as possible. Her fingers reached into her jacket and unsnapped her holster. She took the long way around so she could approach from the back of his vehicle. She kept on the right side, intending to use his blind spot to her advantage. Although she realized this could backfire on her. Was it smart to sneak up on an armed deputy who was already exhausted?

  The thought made her slowly slide her revolver from its holster. She glanced around. Minutes ago there were employees coming and going. Now there was no one. She held the revolver down at her side. Twenty more feet and she’d be at the passenger window. It looked like he still hadn’t lifted his head.

  She needed to slow down. Her pulse raced and her palms were sweaty.

  The deputy looked like he was napping. She wasn’t sure if it would be safer to announce her approach. Again, she realized that a startled law officer might instinctively grab for his weapon.

  A few more steps.

  She felt a trickle of sweat slide down her back. The rain had stopped, but now she felt a few drops starting again. She relaxed her stance and continued to hold her gun down by her side, out of sight. She decided to walk around the hood of the vehicle, giving the driver the chance to see her. As she passed by the passenger window her eyes darted inside along the empty seat, the console, the dashboard. The deputy’s hands were in his lap. His hat was lowered over his forehead and most of his eyes.

  He definitely looked like he was asleep.

  She’d need to wake him without startling him into reactive mode.

  She moved slowly around the hood of the cruiser. Her hand gripped her weapon. She kept her eyes on him but let them dart around. There was a stretch of woods at the far end of the parking lot. In the opposite direction were rows and rows of vehicles.

  There was something on top of the hood. Something small. Square. White. She tried to ignore it.

  “Deputy Steele,” she called out as she came around the hood.

  He didn’t move.

  Now at the driver’s door, she tapped gently on the window.

  Nothing.

  She knocked with her knuckles.

  This time when he didn’t even stir, she felt her heartbeat start to pound.

  This was not good.

  She grabbed the handle with her left hand, her revolver still clutched in her right. In one quick motion she yanked the door open.

  She smelled the blood before she saw it. The vehicle reeked with the metallic scent. She kept the gun pointed at him as she stretched to see inside the backseat. She reached in and gave the deputy’s hat a gentle push.

  As the hat slid off, his head lolled back. Deputy Steele’s throat had been slashed. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood. She didn’t need to check his pulse.

  Maggie stepped back just when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. She grabbed it but still kept her revolver at her side. Her eyes darted all around her. Whoever did this might still be here somewhere. Was that possible?

  “O’Dell?” It was Cunningham.

  She realized she had clicked her phone on but hadn’t answered.

  “Deputy Steele is dead.”

  “What did you say?”

  “His throat’s been slashed.”

  She closed the car door. Her eyes checked between the rows of vehicles. She had her revolver in one hand and the phone in the other.

  “I’m coming down,” Cunningham told her. She could hear him tell someone else to call security. “Stay on the line with me and be careful, Agent O’Dell. He could still be in the area.”

  But she was already down on her knees looking under the vehicles. If someone was sneaking away, Maggie might be able to see his feet.

  Satisfied there was no one close-by, she got back up. Then she noticed the object on the hood of the cruiser. Earlier she had ignored it. Now she could tell it was a foam container. The type used for takeout food. The raindrops were more frequent. Several splattered the container, and Maggie could see that rain wasn’t the only thing running down one side.

  There was blood. Her stomach took a dive.

  “He left something,” she told Cunningham. “I’m guessing Steele’s throat isn’t the only thing he cut.”

  30

  “He was here!” Katie told Gwen.

  The girl’s wide eyes darted around the room. Her lower lip trembled. Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, and Katie grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly, the fingers like claws trying to hang on.

  She was sleeping when Gwen and Cunningham had left a second time. The doctor on staff insisted that Katie needed to rest. The same nurse offered to sit with her. Yes, she would call immediately if anything changed.

  Cunningham was headed back to the cafeteria for more coffee. He’d just convinced Gwen to go home for a few hours. She desperately wanted to get out of the pantyhose and heels. The exhaustion from being up all night was starting to take a toll that no amount of coffee could revive. But just as they had gotten down to the hospital lobby, Agent O’Dell called.

  Now all Gwen knew was that the deputy standing guard had left his post unannounced. And something was going on down in the hospital parking lot. Gwen had seen a flicker of panic in Cunningham’s eyes before he left. Two hospital security guards were outside Katie’s room. The nurse had left to get instructions from the doctor. And now Katie seemed convinced that someone had been “here.”

  “What do you mean, Katie? Who was here?”

  “The man who hurt my daddy.”

  “In your dreams?”

  “No, in this room. I saw him.”

  The terror in her eyes was real but Gwen wasn’t sure if the girl had been dreaming. Perhaps the drugs caused some side effects. Despite the chaos outside the hospital and the changing of the guards outside the door, there had not been anyone else in Katie’s room.

  “He was standing in the doorway,” she said, pointing at the now closed door. “He was looking in. I saw him. I swear I saw him.”

  “Okay, sweetie, I believe you.” Gwen pulled the girl against her, hugging her as best she could without disturbing the IV lines. She held her close even as she asked, “Tell me what he looked like.”

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “He can’t hurt you. We won’t let him.”

  She pulled the girl away to meet her eyes.

  “Just do your best, okay? Describe him to me.”

  “I couldn’t see his face.”

  Gwen realized it must have been a dream. She can see him, but his face would be in shadows.

  Then Katie added, “It was hard to see his face with that hat on.”

  “He wore a hat?”

  “Yes. And he had it on when he hurt my daddy.”

  “What kind of a hat?”

  But Gwen already knew.

  “The big round ones like police wear.”

  Before Gwen could ask another question there was a knock. Katie’s eyes went wide and flew to the door. The hospital security man with the friendly demeanor and wrestler’s build suddenly filled the space. There was a woman standing behind him, impatiently trying to peek around.

  “Dr. Patterson, there’s someone here—”

  Gwen saw the resemblance in the woman’s face even as Katie squealed, “Grandma!”

  31

  Cunningham caught himself clenching his teeth, biting back his anger. His jaw was clamped so tight he was sure it contributed to the pounding in his head. He didn’t like being broadsided, and that was exactly how he was feeling. Like this killer had slammed into him when he wasn’t looking.

  Hell, not just slammed into him. Knocked him completely off his feet.

/>   He already had two perimeters in place. The wider one encompassed the entire employee parking lot on this side of the hospital. Local law enforcement and hospital security managed it. No one—absolutely no one—was allowed to cross without Cunningham’s permission. The narrower perimeter formed around the police cruiser and spanned out enough for the CSU techs to work. Keith Ganza had brought only two with him to help process the vehicle. Stan Wenhoff was on his way to take care of Steele’s body.

  Cunningham stood about twenty feet away. His eyes scanned a steady loop around the controlled chaos. He’d sent Agents O’Dell, Turner and Delaney to check out anything and anyone in the parking lot and surrounding areas. He saw Agent Turner on hands and knees searching under a row of vehicles. Delaney was in front of the hospital talking to a couple of employees in blue scrubs.

  Where the hell was O’Dell?

  He turned a full circle before he caught a glimpse of her across the street. The main entrance and a busy highway were in the other direction. Agent O’Dell had crossed a quiet street to another parking lot. This one belonged to set of red brick apartments. He could see her head swivel up, looking for cameras on the light poles. Then she’d look back down examining the insides of parked cars.

  Cunningham put his hands on his hips and fought back a smile. This is what she did best. She was already thinking like the killer. Where would he park if he wanted to escape with little notice? Probably not the busy hospital lot. But an apartment complex where most residents were at work in the middle of the day would provide a perfect spot.

  He fought back regret that Agent O’Dell was the one to find Deputy Steele. Especially after yesterday. First day in the field and she had witnessed one of the most vicious murders even he had seen in years. And now this. But today she didn’t flinch at the sight of another bloody takeout container. Of course, they hadn’t opened it, yet. Cunningham was leaving that to Ganza.

  O’Dell had good instincts. She saw things that others dismissed. Cunningham still wasn’t convinced that her special talents would transfer easily to the field. On the academic side he knew she could teach other law enforcement officers what to look for, how to process and piece together bits of evidence that might ordinarily be viewed as insignificant. Already she was doing that with the long distance cases.

  And for every case she was working on, he had two dozen more requests, specifically for her. He’d gotten comfortable keeping her busy with those. But there was the rub—he’d gotten comfortable. This wasn’t about him. Phenoms like O’Dell belonged in the field. That’s where they shined. It became a passion, not unlike an addiction. At some point, photos of the crime scenes weren’t enough. There would be a need to walk where the killer had walked; to see everything that the victim saw for the last time; and to smell, feel and hear all of it. He knew this because twenty-five years ago he was exactly like her.

  “A.D. Cunningham,” Ganza called from behind him.

  Cunningham turned. Ganza was at the hood of the police cruiser with the open takeout container. His techs wore windbreakers. Ganza wore a hip-length lab coat that used to be white but was now a dingy gray, probably from too many washings with blue jeans. He had on purple latex gloves and offered Cunningham a pair. He also pointed to a box of shoe covers and Cunningham didn’t hesitate to do as the man asked.

  “There’s another note,” Ganza told him.

  “In the container?”

  “Yeah. You know he left a speeding ticket in the one you guys found yesterday.”

  Cunningham nodded and drew closer, pushing up his glasses. Ganza pulled the container forward and set it at an angle for Cunningham to see clearly inside.

  “By the way,” Ganza told him. “It’s a toe.” But this was not what Ganza had called him over to see. “Left foot. Big toe. I don’t think it’s his.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t think it’s Deputy Steele’s?”

  “The smeared blood is probably his. And Wenhoff will make the determination. It’s too cold to be his.”

  “Cold?”

  “As in ice cold.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying he left someone else’s toe?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Feels like he had it on ice,” Ganza said, but he was more interested in getting to the piece of paper he held between a pair forceps. “He folded this up and tucked it neatly underneath.”

  Cunningham could see the creased lines. Ganza had eased it open just enough to read but it wasn’t enough for Cunningham to be able to read.

  Ganza glanced around. Nobody except his techs was in earshot and even they were crawling around inside the vehicle. Ganza kept his wire-rimmed glasses at the end of his nose and held up the paper to accommodate his sightline.

  “Block print. Almost looks like a child’s. It says, dear pretty FBI agent. Hopefully my work will soon fascinate you instead of make you sick.”

  Cunningham wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. He asked Ganza to read it again.

  This time when he finished, Cunningham could feel Ganza’s eyes on him.

  “The bastard was there watching us yesterday.”

  32

  The stand of trees along the corner of the parking lot was deeper than Maggie realized. She entered from the back and made her way through the tall pines. She could hear traffic but couldn’t see it. She hiked for some distance before she saw the hospital, and then only slices of it through the branches.

  If the killer had left this way, no one would have seen him. In fact, he could have watched from somewhere behind a cluster of trees and probably not be visible from the parking lot.

  Maggie started looking for the police cruiser as she walked. As soon as she got a first glimpse she slowed her pace. She kept her eyes moving, scanning the ground, searching for anything out of place. Pine needles and cones crunched underfoot. There were no freshly broken twigs or branches that she could see. No mud for footprints.

  The incline leveled and now from where she stood she had a view of Ganza and his team packing up their gear. Her eyes darted along the ground, and she almost missed something small and metallic amongst the pine needles. She pulled out a plastic evidence bag from her jacket pocket and bent down.

  It was a foil gum wrapper, folded over a wad of discarded gum. She pinched it gently by the corner using the inside of the plastic bag so she didn’t touch it with her fingers. No guarantee this was the killer’s. Still she sealed it and put it in her pocket. As far as she could see there was no other litter. Maybe the area was too remote for a lunch break stroll and certainly not a convenient cut through.

  By the time Maggie made it back to the hospital, the police cruiser was being towed out of the lot. Cunningham’s perimeters were being dismantled. She saw him just as he was turning. He gestured for her to meet him inside the hospital, pointing to a side entrance.

  “Anything?” he asked when he joined her.

  “Found this up in the trees.” She showed him the plastic encased gum wrapper and shrugged. “Looks fresh. The gum was still soft. But it might be nothing.”

  Cunningham walked to the entryway, craning his neck to see the stand of trees.

  “You think he could have been watching from up there?”

  “Hard to say. But there would have been a great view of the police cruiser. On the other side of the trees is another parking lot for a couple of apartment buildings. Nobody around this time of day.”

  She watched him scrape a hand over his jaw ending with a quick shove at the bridge of his glasses.

  “I’ve asked everyone to meet back at Quantico in two hours. Could be a late night. Get yourself something to eat. I’m going to check on Katie one more time.” He started to leave then stopped and turned. “And Agent O’Dell, watch your back.”

  Maggie checked the time then searched for a vending machine. Food could wait but she’d grab a Diet Pepsi for now. She found one of
f the lobby. Instead of backtracking and finding the side entrance she and Cunningham had used, she made the mistake of heading out the front entrance of the hospital. As soon as she turned the corner she walked right into the middle of a dozen reporters and TV cameras. She tried to casually pass through, except her FBI windbreaker gave her away.

  “Any information about the dead officer?”

  “Has he been identified?”

  They didn’t even bother to ask if she was on the case. Of course she was on the case. Why hadn’t she thought to take off her windbreaker? Suddenly she was surrounded with microphones stuck out in front of her and tape recorders pushed within inches of her face.

  “I’m not authorized to give any comments,” she said, impressed at how official she sounded.

  “What about the little girl?”

  “Is the officer’s death related?”

  “Can you at least identify her?”

  “No, I can’t,” Maggie said as she tried to politely step between the reporters who blocked her. She knew two of the cameras pointed at her were rolling. Cunningham wouldn’t want her to be rude. Boring or mediocre rarely made the evening news. Rude or angry would certainly be picked up even if she didn’t provide any details.

  “Is it true the people in that trailer were tortured before they were murdered?”

  She pretended to not hear the question. How the hell did they already know about that?

  She reached out with one hand to try to make a space for herself. The short dark-haired man, who had asked the question, didn’t budge, and now he shoved the microphone up closer to her mouth. Maggie gently pushed it away. This time she led with her shoulder.

  From behind her she heard a woman call out, “Was the little girl tortured too?”

  Then someone else added, “Is it true she was gang raped?”

  Maggie had managed to move only a foot or two at the most but now she stopped and turned around. Reminded herself to keep calm and cool.

  “It really doesn’t help matters for anyone to speculate,” she said. “When we know something, I’m sure we’ll let you know.”