Breaking Creed (16 page)

“Tell me what exactly we’re looking for.” He cut to the chase.

“I’m not sure.”

“Holt said something about a crime scene, but that the victim was recovered somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else being the Potomac River.”

“D.C.?”

“Yes.”

He watched her glance over her shoulder and couldn’t help thinking it was just like the feds, holding back information from the local law enforcement. Not necessarily a bad idea. There was a reason for the practice, but as far as Creed knew, Sheriff Jackson Holt did a decent job of following the rules and keeping his mouth shut. But Creed wasn’t here to defend anyone. He usually tried his best to stay far from the fray.

“You pulled him from the river?” he asked when it didn’t look like she was going to offer more.

“Yes, but the medical examiner doesn’t believe he died anywhere close to the District.”

Another glance, this time at Jason.

“We don’t need to know all the details,” Creed told her. “But I do need to know what you expect Grace to find. Or at least, what you’re hoping she might find.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to look for.”

There was more hesitation but not out of secrecy. She really did look like she did not know.

“There were insect bites,” she continued, “all over the back of the body. Red blisters. Pustules. The ME said they contained a toxic alkaloid venom called solenopsin. Supposedly it’s the same stuff fire ants inject.”

Creed saw Jason wince and shake his head as he asked, “Someone killed this guy by putting fire ants all over him?”

“More likely they tied him down. There were ligature marks on his wrists and ankles.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jason shook his head.

“And you think they did this to him somewhere close by?” Creed asked.

“This is his property. Well, his and his wife’s.”

“And what does she have to say about all this?”

“Looks like she may have left in a hurry. Sheriff Holt’s been trying to locate her. Their Land Rover’s missing. He has an APB out on it.”

Creed wiped a sleeve across his forehead and took another look around. Then to O’Dell he said, “Do you know if there’s blood?”

“The way this guy was bitten, it looks like it.”

“Insect bites? That’s all we’ve got? My dogs don’t have miracle noses.”

“The ligatures dug deep enough into the skin that his wrists and ankles most likely did bleed.” She was staring at him now, waiting as if for his assessment.

“How long ago?”

“Excuse me?”

“Does your ME know how long ago this happened?”

Her eyes darted away, and he could tell she knew this whole search was, indeed, a long shot.

“Maybe a week.”

“I can’t make any guarantees.”

“I don’t expect any. Look, I’m not even sure this is the right place.” O’Dell readjusted her ball cap, tucking in strands of hair. Then she put her sunglasses back on before she looked at Creed again. “Truth is, this could be a waste of time, but my gut keeps telling me something happened here. Something bad.”

If this had been the first time Creed was meeting Agent O’Dell, he probably would have wanted to roll his eyes and chalk it up as a wasted trip. But in the other case they’d worked on together he’d seen her instincts prove dead-on.

“This is Jason’s first search. If you don’t mind, we’ll treat it like a training exercise and see what Grace comes up with. But if after an hour she’s not hitting on anything—” He glanced around. “How many acres are we talking about?”

“Almost ten.” Before he could answer, O’Dell saw his skepticism and added, “An hour sounds fair.”

Then she leaned down to pet Grace, and to the dog she said, “It’s so good to see you again, Grace.”

35

C
REED
SNAPPED
THE
LEASH
OFF
of Grace when he was satisfied the terrain was manageable. Still, he told her to stay on the footpath that weaved through the forested area. Otherwise he’d be risking the dog getting tangled in the shrub and thick underbrush. Despite his restrictions, Grace scampered off, nose in the air, pleased and excited.

He hadn’t put on any of her special vests or harnesses as added guidance for what he wanted her to find. He didn’t want to confuse her. Nor did he want to limit her.

He’d promised Hannah he’d give Jason a chance. For some reason she believed this sullen, brooding young man had the ambition to become a dog handler. Creed had yet to see even an ounce of ambition in this guy. He seemed too angry and self-conscious to notice anything other than his own misery. But Hannah was
willing to trust Creed about Amanda. The least he could do was offer the same about Jason.

“I doubt we’ll find anything,” he told Jason, though he was watching O’Dell’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. “But you can never let the dog know. She takes her leads from her handler.” Even as he said this, Grace looked back at him.

“As far as she’s concerned,” he continued in a casual tone, purposely not using her name, “I need to relay that I’m just as excited as she is. And that this search is going to be more interesting than piss on a fence post.”

He saw O’Dell smile. Jason’s stoic expression didn’t waver even a smidgen. With his ball cap low over his eyes, he tromped through the grass, picking up and dropping his feet as if they were cemented in concrete instead of in hiking boots. He didn’t want to be here, and Creed wished he’d left him back at the kennels cleaning up dog crap.

The grass continued to get higher as the path started to disappear. A light breeze kept the humidity bearable. It was blowing in their direction, an unexpected gift, bringing the scents toward Grace. The thick overhang of branches protected them from the heat. Still, he’d need to keep Grace to twenty-minute work intervals. A scent dog could easily hyperventilate.

“You have to be careful in this kind of weather,” Creed said. Although Jason didn’t seem interested, Creed kicked himself into training mode. He’d never given instructions to someone who didn’t care about learning. “When a dog is working a scent, she isn’t just breathing more quickly. She’s actually pulling in more air and sending it around inside her nose in an attempt to identify it. She’s breathing in about a hundred and fifty to two hundred times a minute, compared to the thirty times a minute when she’s out for a leisurely walk.”

Just as he finished he noticed Grace was, indeed, sniffing more quickly, whiskers twitching, muzzle darting in all directions. Her small body had been zigzagging through the brush, clearing one area and dashing off to the next. With the path no longer visible, she had weaved farther into the trees and gotten ahead of them. But now she stopped. And so did Creed.

“Did she find something already?” Jason asked, keeping his voice low and standing as still as Creed. Maybe he
had
been paying attention.

“I don’t know.”

Creed looked back. They had climbed a gradual incline, and he could see a roofline through the trees.

“I wouldn’t expect there to be anything this close to the house.”

He looked to O’Dell.

“Grace won’t step on the ants, will she?”

He was about to say that she wouldn’t just as she started to paw the ground. She wasn’t supposed to touch what she found. Sometimes dogs forgot in their excitement. But Grace never did. And sudden panic knotted in his gut. He signaled for O’Dell and Jason to stay put, and he hurried while trying not to disturb or alarm Grace. She stopped before he reached her. Turned around. Found his eyes and stared at him.

Creed slowed his pace. He took careful steps and held her gaze.

When he got closer, Grace glanced back at what she had discovered, as if pointing it out to him, telling him that it was right there in the tall grass. Then she started looking at his pockets and his daypack. She wanted her reward, and she knew where he kept the pink elephant. But she wouldn’t leave her post until he gave the okay.

He couldn’t reward her for a false alert. It was one of the golden rules. Only one time and it could ruin the best scent dog. If she had
found a mound of fire ants, he’d need to see if there was blood or some decomp before he could reward her.

A couple more steps and he could see what she had unearthed. It wasn’t a mound of fire ants. Not even close. The item was partially buried, but enough of it had broken free that he recognized it as an article of clothing. One sleeve poked up from under the ground.

Creed fumbled with the clasp on his daypack and shoved his hand inside to find Grace’s toy. He didn’t take his eyes off the item, even when he knew his fingers were trembling.

He tossed the pink elephant to Grace as he turned to O’Dell and Jason.

“It’s not fire ants,” he told them. “It looks like a T-shirt. A child’s T-shirt.” He swallowed the bile that caught him off guard before adding, “And it’s covered in blood.”

36

T
HIS
WAS
NOT
AT
ALL
what O’Dell had expected.

Creed and Jason had left her. She could hear Grace squeaking her toy. They waited in a clearing about fifty feet behind her. She knew it was part of Creed’s routine. He did it out of respect for the law enforcement officers he worked with. He and his dog provided a service—search and find or search and rescue. He wasn’t trained for cadaver retrieval or evidence collection, and so he quietly left them. No questions asked. No sticking around to appease his curiosity. All he wanted to do was reward his dog and move out of their way.

But O’Dell had caught something in his eyes before he retreated with Grace. There was surprise and sadness mixed with unease that this might not be the only thing buried here. That this was only the beginning of what they might find. And in that brief passing glance,
she noticed one other thing before he stepped away . . . she caught a glimpse of his dread.

Now, as she stood here alone, she shared that sentiment.

It was always tough when a child was involved. O’Dell had witnessed seasoned investigators tear up at the sight of a child’s body. As much as they trained and hardened themselves, that was the one thing that could dismantle almost every tough guy’s attitude. And she wasn’t immune to it either.

She had already called Sheriff Holt and asked him to bring in a forensic team. They would need to include the house and the outbuildings in their search. She hesitated now, holding a paper evidence bag that she had stuffed into her daypack earlier. She was more than qualified to collect this. She had done it many times before. But something stopped her.

The T-shirt looked to be the size for a small boy, maybe five or six years old. The blue-and-yellow-striped sleeve poked up and out almost as if its owner had just wiggled out of it. The other sleeve and half the chest were still buried in the dirt. From what she could see, there were no puncture marks, rips, or tears. However, rust-colored splatters stained the fabric. Even with the cloud cover and the canopy of branches, it wasn’t dark enough for her to use her black light. She didn’t really need to. She knew it was blood.

Fire ants.

That’s all she wanted to find here today. A possible crime scene where Trevor Bagley may have been tortured and, as a result, died. O’Dell had hoped to resolve whether or not Bagley was a drug dealer or a drug runner. All she wanted was to learn more about the victim, to understand his killer. But this . . .

Was it possible that Mrs. Bagley had taken the child and fled?

O’Dell tried to remember going through the house yesterday. There were no photos on display with any children. She was sure of
that. The spare bedroom had not been decorated with the typical stuff that kids love. In fact, there had been a treadmill in the corner and storage boxes on the bed. She couldn’t remember seeing any toys, no bicycle or video games—there was nothing to indicate a child lived there. Even the breakfast that had been interrupted was set up for only two people, not three. Two adults—coffee mugs, no juice or milk glasses.

She squatted and examined the T-shirt again, without touching it. She realized she was holding her breath. She could be wrong about the blood. Then she remembered the altar set up in the Bagleys’ bedroom. She’d worked other cases involving all kinds of strange rituals. That someone had possibly tortured Trevor Bagley by tying him down over a massive amount of fire ants, that they had listened to him scream and writhe in pain—that alone was strange and cruel. But if a child was involved . . .

Her eyes made another careful scan around the immediate area. Except for where the T-shirt lay, the grass and dirt nearby didn’t look disturbed or dug up. There appeared to be no signs of a grave. But even that brought little relief. It certainly didn’t mean that a body was
not
buried close by, only that a killer may have been more precise.

More questions than answers. All the more reason they needed to continue looking.

O’Dell stood and folded the evidence bag back into her daypack. With her cell phone she snapped off several photos. Then she pulled out a bright orange ribbon and tied it to one of the branches at eye level and just above their discovery.

Finally she turned away, feet suddenly heavy, and walked toward Creed and Jason, stopping three times to tie additional ribbons to shrubs, marking a path for the forensic team. The underbrush was thick and it took effort not to get tangled. If it hadn’t been for Grace, no one ever would have ventured this way. O’Dell couldn’t
shake the feeling that they had stumbled upon something that was never meant to be found.

When she looked up, the two men were watching her, waiting for her. Even Grace had stopped her play and had already relinquished her pink elephant. They were ready to continue.

37

T
HERE
WAS
SOMETHING
she wasn’t telling him. It wouldn’t be the first time law enforcement officers had held back information or important details from him, but for some reason Creed expected more from Maggie O’Dell. Yes, they had worked only one case together, but he thought it had been enough for her to know him, to know that she could trust him. And yet, she didn’t trust him.