by Kava, Alex
“It’s a little more complicated.”
“Of course, it is. It’s always more complicated with you, O’Dell. I had you in Nebraska a few years ago for a simple drop by and you almost got yourself killed.”
Maggie winced and her fingers instinctively rubbed at her temple. She didn’t need Kunze to remind her. She still had a scar where the bullet had grazed her head. That “drop by” ended up being a government cover-up with threads that led them from the Nebraska Sandhills all the way to Washington, D.C. It wasn’t the only case that her politically motivated boss had gotten her involved in. She let her silence remind him. However, she should have guessed it wouldn’t work. Instead, he seemed content to continue his lecture.
“You know the locals don’t like it when you start making deals without them.”
“It’s a federal case.”
“No, it is not. Right now Mr. Dunn is a possible suspect in the death of whoever may have been buried in his backyard.”
“And human trafficking.”
“From what I understand there was no evidence found of trafficking.”
“What about the boy, Konnor? Not to mention, that Dunn has an entire wall of photographs of other victims.” She couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “He scrubbed everything down in his house, but there were mattresses on the floor. He was holding that young boy captive.”
“No computer,” Kunze said so casually his words actually stung. “No individuals other than a stoned teenager who as of this morning still hasn’t accused Mr. Dunn of a crime.”
Stoned teenager? That’s how they saw that poor kid?
Maggie stopped pacing, dropped into a chair. Pakula hadn’t gotten much information from the boy named Konnor. Even the cardboard box they’d found inside the RV couldn’t be connected to a single victim.
“It’s not a crime to clean your property,” Kunze said. “Knowing what he’s done to avoid detection, do you really think this guy will be honest with you?”
Maggie and Pakula had already discussed this. There was a good chance Dunn would send them on a wild goose chase. But what did they have to lose? The bones in Dunn’s backyard—which had now been confirmed as human—meant he could possibly be facing a very long prison sentence.
“If we find even one of his victims,” Maggie said, “it means saving that boy or girl’s life.”
“And if you only find dead bodies?”
“We’re still able to bring them home to their families.”
Before Maggie had met Ryder Creed she never understood how important that was to a grieving family. Without any evidence to show otherwise, they always hoped and prayed. How could they move on if there was even the slightest belief that their loved one was still alive?
“I’ve already talked to Stevens and the Douglas County prosecutor,” Kunze told her.
She wasn’t surprised that she would be the last on his list. Knowing Kunze, he’d want all the facts, and he’d want them from someone other than her. It was times like this that Maggie still missed Kyle Cunningham. He had been her mentor more than a boss. Cunningham watched his agents’ backs. Kunze expected his agents to watch his back.
“It seems Elijah Dunn is anxious,” Kunze told her. “He actually wants to show where some of the victims are buried, but he wants to go along.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.” She hadn’t expected this. “We have his journal. He just needs to decipher it for us.”
“He won’t do that. He goes along or there’s no deal. In fact, he’s not admitting to killing any of these victims. He’s claiming he was simply the clean-up man.”
“The clean-up man?” She stopped herself from laughing.
When she met with Dunn, she’d looked into the eyes of a killer. No way did she believe he was only the gravedigger.
“If that’s true,” she said, “why not give us the man who did kill them?”
“He says he’s already risking his life by offering to show you where the bodies are buried.”
“And what about the victims he was trafficking? We know he moved them somewhere else. Probably in the days before the raid.”
“He claims he knows nothing about that. According to the prosecutor, Mr. Dunn insists he and the boy were the only ones there. He also insists that the boy was there of his free will.”
“The CSU techs have found traces of others in that house.”
“Think about it, O’Dell. Unless those traces have measurable DNA that can match to someone who a) is missing and b) has had his or her DNA added to CODIS, there’s no way to prove who else was in that house, let alone that they weren’t there by choice.”
CODIS (Combined DNA Index System) was the FBI’s database of DNA collected from crime scenes and criminals. It also included any DNA from missing persons that family members had offered to be in the system. The odds that anything they found inside the house or the RV matched someone declared as missing was a long shot.
Bottom line, Maggie knew Kunze was right.
In the back of her mind, she had to ask herself if she was prepared to go on another scavenger hunt with a killer in tow. The idea brought back memories that were still too fresh of a scavenger hunt gone bad.
Less than two years ago a convict had offered to reveal where his partner had buried bodies in Florida’s Blackwater River State Forest. The recovery party had only just begun their search when they were ambushed. Maggie’s partner, R.J. Tully took a bullet and would have been killed if Maggie hadn’t handcuffed herself to him. She forced the killing duo to take both she and Tully along when she realized she was the only one they wanted to keep alive.
So many times she wondered how she didn’t see that ambush coming. But she would not make the same mistake ever again.
“Agent O’Dell?”
Kunze’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten about him.
“The deal doesn’t include absolving Dunn of these murders, does it?” She wanted to know.
“No. Dunn's insisting he represent himself, and that his cooperation is not an admission that he had anything to do with the deaths. But it’ll still be up to the prosecutor to put together a case. The state patrol will take charge in providing—”
“Sir, Dunn is not in the custody of the Nebraska State Patrol. Detective Pakula and I have been—”
“I’m not getting dragged into local politics, O’Dell.”
Of course, not, Maggie thought to herself. You prefer national politics.
“It’s my understanding,” he continued, his voice now taut with impatience, “that the Douglas County prosecutor is already working out the details with the State Patrol. It’s also my understanding that Mr. Dunn will not accept any kind of deal unless one particular person is in complete charge of the recovery effort.”
Maggie shook her head and held back her anger. It was out of her hands now. She wasn’t sure if she was sorry or relieved.
“Once again, you’ve managed to wedge yourself in the middle of something you had no business getting involved in,” Kunze told her.
“Excuse me?”
“It appears you made quite the impression on Mr. Dunn. He won’t make a deal unless you’re in charge of this whole fiasco.”
Chapter 22
By early evening, Maggie was frustrated and impatient with waiting. Pakula had commandeered a small conference room with a long table, comfortable chairs, a computer, coffeemaker and enough room for her to pace.
She was told that her resources would be limited for the recovery team. Everyone agreed that in order to keep it out of the media and prevent a caravan of TV cameras and reporters, they’d need to use only the essential personnel. And most of the essential personnel would be guarding and securing Eli Dunn.
Maggie and Pakula had gone over who and what would be required to pull off the searches. Unfortunately, she needed to trust Pakula to ch
oose a K9 handler and someone to collect evidence. The State Patrol had agreed to process whatever evidence and remains they found. Pakula, however, wouldn’t be joining the search and recovery team. He’d stay and work the other side of the case. Because both he and Maggie still believed there were trafficking victims who were secretly removed from Dunn’s property and carted away to some new location. Pakula would be searching for those victims.
According to Dunn, the initial burial site—but not the only one—was about two hours away. The others stretched over a fifty mile radius. Dunn would only locate them one at a time and had circled the first one on a map.
Maggie stood over that map. She had spread the accordion folds out on the long table. She stared at the area, taking in as much as she could. The closest major road looked to be a two-lane highway labeled Highway 92. Immediately, she noticed that 92 ran parallel with Interstate 80. Maybe twenty-five to thirty miles separated them.
Pakula had explained to her that Nebraska being smack-dab in the middle of the United States meant a high volume of traffic. Interstate 80 was the second longest interstate in the country, stretching from New York to San Francisco.
She moved her index finger along Highway 92 and noticed that it continued to run parallel from Omaha—at the far eastern part of the state—almost all the way to the state’s western border, stopping short at Alliance. Somewhere around Halsey and the National Forest, Highway 92 changed to Highway 2, and more miles separated it from the interstate. She’d need to ask Pakula if the highway could be a serious alternative to crossing the state and avoiding the interstate.
Why did Eli Dunn choose to bury the bodies here? Was it possible he took this way with his RV when he was trafficking victims, so that he could stay off the interstate? Maybe her mind was racing too far ahead. There could be another reason Dunn had chosen the area, but it was strange that the circled radius was two hours—about 100 miles—away from his farm. Most killers kept to familiar ground. For a man who may have left bones in his backyard firepit, it seemed off to Maggie, that he would travel two hours away to dispose of other victims. Why not just use the cornfields or woods out his back door?
On the other side of the table were the items from the cardboard box that were found in the RV. CSU tech Haney had tagged and admitted into evidence everything they’d found in the RV’s secret compartment. Each item was now individually encased in a plastic bag and labeled.
Haney had also left the notebook, the small spiral pad that Maggie believed was Dunn’s strange journal. The techs had swabbed the cover and several pages for fingerprints along with any other residue. When Maggie asked about the rust-colored stain on the cover, Haney had said, “It’s not blood residue. We think it’s something tomato based.”
Maggie had smiled at that. Given the opportunity she imagined the techs would be able to determine whether that tomato-based stain was ketchup or marinara sauce.
A half hour ago, she’d finally convinced Pakula to leave. His daughter had another volleyball game, and she knew he’d missed last night’s. As it was, he’d probably already missed the first set. He was still waiting for phone calls, but he could certainly do that from the bleachers.
She checked her cell phone. No messages from Creed. She’d left two for him, each asking to please call though warning him that she had no new information. If she didn’t hear from him soon, she’d call Hannah. She hated that she had jumped the gun and told Creed about the photo. They didn’t have anything more to connect Eli Dunn to Brodie. Truth was, all she had was a gut instinct that Creed’s sister might be one of the victims buried along Dunn’s scavenger hunt.
With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Maggie opened the small notebook. The front section was made up of pages and pages of columns. She’d tried to decipher the codes that combined numbers, letters and shapes. The bulk of the notebook was a combination of codes and sketches. Each of these included the universal symbol for map directions.
As for the sketches, they looked like doodles or a child’s simple line drawings complete with stick figures. However, after spending more time examining the sketches, Maggie realized all of them appeared to be landscapes of some sort with trees and grass, roads, fences and even what looked like train tracks.
She also noticed that the stick figures were always drawn with arms up and legs out. One drawing put the stick figure at the bottom of a hole.
Another looked to be submerged under the wavy lines of what Maggie suspected was a river or creek.
It seemed obvious that Dunn had recorded where he had buried his victims. And he’d created maps and codes that only he could translate. If he had his way, he’d be their only guide.
She flipped through the pages. So many drawings. So many codes. How many victims were recorded here?
Her cell phone started to ring, and she grabbed it when she recognized Creed’s number.
“Hey,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“Sorry, Grace and I were on the road. Have you had dinner yet?”
“No, but I—”
“We brought burgers and fries. Can you come get us?”
“Come get you?”
“We’re down in the lobby.”
Chapter 23
Creed couldn’t stop smiling despite having to wait in line. Maggie had dropped to her knees to greet the Jack Russell terrier. She scratched and petted Grace while the little dog wiggled and wagged with her entire hind end until she was twisted into a comma.
“Grace, I missed you,” Maggie said as she hugged the dog.
Usually he didn’t encourage his dogs to lick faces, but there was nothing he could do in this case. Maggie had dogs of her own, though Creed had never had the privilege of meeting them. He did know she was connected to them and missed them when she was on the road. He also knew that sometimes Dr. Benjamin Platt took care of Jake and Harvey while Maggie was gone. For Creed that was proof that Ben and Maggie’s relationship was one that Creed shouldn’t interrupt.
Finally Maggie stood and gave him an awkward hug. Awkward because his hands were full and his duffle bag bobbed under his arm. And yet, when she pulled away and met his eyes there was still a dose of electricity sparking between them. There was enough intensity for Creed to question, all over again, if perhaps he had already interrupted Ben and Maggie’s relationship.
They’d known each other now for almost two years. Every time they found themselves working together it was under too much stress and urgency and never enough time to sort out the feelings both of them obviously harbored. They had saved each other’s lives and shared things in confidence. They’d even shared an isolation ward about six months ago. And always, Creed backed off, because Maggie was sort of in a relationship with another guy. Not just a guy—a doctor, a colonel and director of USAMRIID (United State Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases).
The worst part, Creed actually liked and respected Dr. Benjamin Platt. So every time, Creed simply reminded himself that he had a strict rule, his own personal doctrine that he didn’t sleep with women he worked with.
Maggie’s fingers brushed his hair from his forehead when she noticed the butterfly bandage. In that brief moment, he thought who was he fooling? He knew he’d throw out that stupid rule in a second if she gave him even the slightest encouragement.
“What happened?” she asked, concern clouded her eyes.
“I got clumsy trying to keep Bolo from getting hurt.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. His paws got scraped up. We were working an explosion site in Texas.”
She was still examining him, though she had taken a step back and was scrutinizing him with her eyes now and not her fingers though the intensity of her eyes felt like she was still touching him.
He put down the brown paper bags of food then slid the duffle bag off of his shoulder. He’d brought in his gear, knowing
it would need to go through the metal detector, but he needed to feed Grace. He’d been driving with few stops. Both of them were starving.
“Do you mind if I prepare Grace’s food for her?” he asked, not wanting to unload anything without permission. Evidence bags and maps were spread out on the long conference table. He didn’t want to contaminate anything.
“Go ahead.” She slid items to the center, giving him the far end. “I think there might be some paper plates over here.” She headed to the cabinet against the wall that had a coffeemaker on top.
Creed pulled out a bottle of water and spatula and snapped the lid off of the glass bowl that already had a serving of Grace’s food. He poured water over the dehydrated mixture and stirred it. Then he pulled out another bowl and filled it with the rest of the bottled water. He set it down for Grace, but she was too busy watching Maggie.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than what I already told you,” she said as she brought napkins and paper plates back. She started taking the wrapped burgers and fries out of the grease-stained paper bag.
Creed noticed that her eyes were occupied with unwrapping and arranging. He wasn’t sure if she’d be upset that he had decided to come here without an official invitation. Truthfully, he didn’t really care. If this was the last place on earth that Brodie had been then he needed to be here. Maybe his mother had influenced his kneejerk reaction with all those times she’d packed them up and drove to wherever Brodie had been last seen.
“Grace and I are here to help,” he told her. He stirred the food some more and checked his watch. To Grace he said, “Just a few more minutes, girl.”
Then his eyes caught the cover of a book that was encased in one of the plastic bags and his heart skipped a beat.
“Where did you find that?” He pointed.
At first, Maggie appeared guarded until she noticed the look on his face.