Split Second (59 page)

A
t first, Tully had been relieved when he heard the body wasn’t in Newburgh Heights. The call came from the Virginia State Patrol. The state patrolman told Tully that a trucker had grabbed a take-out container from the counter of a small café. On the phone, he explained with a quaking voice how the truck driver hadn’t made it back to his truck before he discovered the container was leaking. What he thought was his leftover chicken-fried steak was suddenly dripping blood.

Tully remembered the truck stop, just north of Stafford, off Interstate 95 but it wasn’t until he pulled into the café’s parking lot that he realized this was probably Agent O’Dell’s route home from Quantico. His relief quickly dissipated. If this wasn’t Tess McGowan, chances were, O’Dell would still recognize the body.

Tully cursed when he saw the media vans and strobe lights already set up for the TV cameras. They had been lucky up to this point. Only local media had taken the time to be interested. Now he could see the national players were here. A group was crowded around a large, bearded man who Tully guessed was the truck driver.

Thank God, the State Patrol had had enough sense to confiscate the take-out container, and restrict the area behind the café. That’s where a battered gray, metal trash bin rested against a chain-link fence. The trash bin was one of the extra-large commercial ones. Tully estimated it to be at least six feet tall. How the hell did Stucky dump the body? Never mind that, how had he gone undetected, with the gas pumps and the café open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?

He flashed his badge at a couple of uniforms keeping the media behind the sawhorses and yellow crime scene tape. His long legs allowed him to step over the ribbon without much effort. The Stafford County detective Tully had previously met behind the pizza place was already on the scene, directing the commotion. Tully couldn’t remember his name, but as soon as the detective saw him, he waved him over.

“She’s still in the Dumpster,” he said, wasting no time. “Doc Holmes is on his way. We’re trying to figure out how the hell to get her out of there.”

“How did you find her?”

The detective took out a pack of gum. He unwrapped a piece and popped it into his mouth. The pack was in his pocket before he thought to offer Tully a piece. He started grabbing for it again, but Tully shook his head. He couldn’t imagine having an appetite for anything, even gum.

“Probably wouldn’t have found her,” the detective finally said, “if not for that snack pack he left behind.”

Tully grimaced. He wondered how many years it would take before he could refer to body parts in such a nonchalant way.

The detective didn’t notice and continued, “Least not until the trash truck dumped this sucker. But you know, these big ones hold a lot. We might never’ve found her. Not like anyone would complain about the smell. This stuff always smells. So it looks like this guy’s on a roll again.”

“It appears so.”

“I was working in Boston the last time.”

Tully would have guessed the accent had the detective not told him. He was keeping an eye on the reporters near the ribbon, constantly looking over Tully’s shoulder. Tully had the impression not much got past this guy. Without knowing anything more, he decided he liked him. But whether Tully liked him or not probably would matter little to the detective. And Tully liked that about him, too.

“Yeah, I remember the last time when they found that councilwoman’s body in the woods. Bite marks, skin ripped off, cuts in places you don’t need to see cuts.”

“Stucky’s one sick bastard, that’s for sure.” Tully remembered the photos of Stucky’s collection that O’Dell had laid out on the conference-room table. Side by side they looked like a savage pack of wolves had ripped up the bodies and left them for the vultures.

“Wasn’t he playing games with one of your agents back then? I remember reading something. That he was messin’ with her head, sending her notes and stuff?”

“Yes, yes he was.”

“Whatever happened to that agent?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s her red car pulling into the parking lot.”

“Fuck, no kidding? She’s still working on this case?”

“She doesn’t have much choice.”

“She’s got some balls.”

“I guess you could say that,” Tully said, now distracted. “More than likely, Agent O’Dell will be able to identify the victim for us.”

He watched O’Dell. Her badge was getting her across the barriers but not without a lot of glances and long looks. He had worked with other attractive women in law enforcement and in the Bureau, but none quite like O’Dell. There was no discomfort and certainly no preening. Instead, she seemed oblivious to the stares, almost as if she had no clue they were aimed at her.

Tully didn’t see it until O’Dell was closer to them. She carried a small black bag, not a purse but a case. They couldn’t touch the body until the medical examiner got to the scene. He hoped O’Dell didn’t have other plans.

Her eyes met his as her only greeting. He could see the exhaustion, the nervous anticipation.

“Detective—” Tully again realized he didn’t know the man’s name “—this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

She offered him her hand, and immediately Tully could see the detective’s tough exterior softening.

“Sam Rosen,” he said, more than willing to fill in the blank for Tully.

“Detective Rosen.” O’Dell gave him her polite and professional greeting.

“Call me Sam.”

Tully resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sam here—” Tully tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum “—is with the Stafford County Sheriff’s Department. He was at the first crime scene with the pizza delivery…with Jessica Beckwith.”

“Is the victim still in the Dumpster?” O’Dell appeared anxious and unwilling, or unable, to hide her anticipation.

“We’re waiting for Doc Holmes,” Sam told her.

“Is there any way I can take a look without disturbing the scene?” She was already taking out a pair of latex gloves from her black case.

“Probably not a good idea,” Tully said, knowing that O’Dell wanted to see if she recognized the victim. He saw her eyeing the trash bin. The thing was almost a foot taller than her. She brushed past them for a closer look.

“How were your men able to look inside?”

“We pulled a cruiser alongside. Davis crawled up on the roof. He took a couple of Polaroids. Want me to get them for you?” Sam looked as if he’d do just about anything she asked. Tully couldn’t help being amazed. And even more amazing was how oblivious O’Dell seemed to it all.

“Actually, Sam, would you mind pulling the cruiser alongside it again?”

Or maybe she wasn’t entirely oblivious. Without hesitation, Detective Rosen shouted at one of the uniforms holding back the reporters. He left them to meet the officer halfway and started telling him what he wanted, with hands gesturing as quickly as he talked.

“There’s a chance it might not be her,” Tully said while Detective Rosen was still busy giving directions. He knew she was expecting this to be the missing real estate agent.

“I want to assist with the autopsy. Do you think we can convince Dr. Holmes to do it tonight?” She avoided looking at him and kept her eyes on Rosen.

It was the first time she had asked anything of him, and he could tell it was not an easy thing for her to do.

“We’ll insist he do it tonight,” he promised.

She nodded, still keeping her eyes from him. They stood quietly, side by side, watching the police cruiser drive up as close as possible to the metal trash bin. He heard her take a deep breath as she set down the black case and threw the pair of gloves she had extracted on top. Detective Rosen met her at the bumper, offering her a hand, but she waved it off. She kicked out of her shoes and crawled up on the trunk with bare feet and little effort.

She paused, almost as if preparing herself mentally. Then she carefully stepped up on top of the roof and stood upright, able to stare down into the trash bin.

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” she called out.

One of the officers from the group who had gathered around to watch hurried to the cruiser to hand her a long-handled flashlight. O’Dell shone a stream of light into the bin, and Tully watched her face. She took her time, sweeping the inside, back and forth. He knew she was trying to examine as much of the scene as she could with her eyes since she couldn’t use her hands. Her face remained composed, indifferent, and he couldn’t tell whether she recognized the victim as the McGowan woman or not.

Finally she crawled down. She handed back the flashlight, tapped the cruiser’s window to thank the driver and then found her shoes.

“Well?” Tully asked, still watching her closely.

“It’s not Tess McGowan.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed.

“Not really a relief at all.”

Now under a lamppost, he could see she looked agitated, her face tight with tension, the exhaustion clouding her eyes.

“It’s not Tess, but I do recognize her.”

Tully felt the knot winding around his stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what O’Dell was feeling.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Hannah. She’s a clerk at Shep’s Liquor Mart. She helped me pick out a bottle of wine last night.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, and Tully saw the slight tremor in the fingers.

“We need to stop this goddamn son of a bitch,” she said, and Tully heard that the tremor had also invaded her normally calm voice.

T
ess felt the panic seeping into her system as the last bit of light turned everything into shadows. She tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that kept telling her to crawl out of this tomb, to run as far away as possible. It didn’t matter what direction or where she ended up, at least she would be out of this hell pit, this grave of mutilated bones and lost souls.

She sat next to the woman named Rachel, close enough to hear her ragged breathing. Soon she wouldn’t be able to see, but she had made certain the blanket covered her. The woman would not spend another cold night exposed to the elements.

Tess wasn’t sure why she had returned. Why hadn’t she just left for good? She knew it would be best for Rachel if she went for help. But after an afternoon of roaming the endless woods, she knew help was not close by. She had barely found her way back, trying to leave herself a trail of pinecones. Now she wondered if it had been a mistake to come back. If by doing so, she might be guaranteeing her own death. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to leave this woman. She wasn’t certain whether she was being gallant or just selfish, because she couldn’t bear to spend an entire night out here alone.

Tess had managed to bring back a shoeful of water, using the broken-heeled leather pump she had unearthed. Rachel had to be incredibly thirsty, yet she drank little, most of it dribbling out of her cut and swollen lips and trickling down her bruised chin.

She had said little since uttering her name. Sometimes she answered Tess’s questions with a simple yes or no. Most of the time she remained silent as though breathing took all her effort. And Tess had noticed that the woman’s breathing had become more raspy, more labored. She had a fever and her muscles went into spasms for long periods racking her entire body, no matter what Tess tried to do to help her.

After hours of analyzing the area, and examining every possible rock step, dirt ledge and sturdy root, Tess had resigned herself to the fact that she could not pull or carry or drag Rachel out. And no amount of rest would cure or repair the damage already done to her body.

Tess leaned her head against the dirt wall, no longer caring that pieces crumbled inside her collar and down her back. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something or somewhere pleasant. A difficult task, considering her empty reservoir of pleasant experiences. Without much effort, Will Finley came to mind. His face, his body, his hands, his voice were all so easily retrieved from her memory bank. He had touched her so gently, so lovingly, despite his urgency and his insatiable passion. It was as though he genuinely felt something deeper than pleasure. And he seemed so intent on pleasing her, as though it truly mattered that she feel what he was feeling.

In all her many experiences with men and sex, she had never thought to associate sex with love. Oh sure, she knew that was the way it was supposed to be, but it had certainly never been a part of her experiences. Even with Daniel, she felt nothing remotely close to love. But she had never expected to—she had never promised or lied to herself that it would ever happen.

She didn’t know Will Finley, so how was it possible to feel something remotely close to love? He was a stranger, a one-night stand. How could that be any different than any of the many johns she had serviced? Yet, even here—especially here—she couldn’t lie to herself. Will Finley and their one night together had been different. She wouldn’t turn it into something cheap and dirty. Not when it could be the closest she may ever get to feeling real love. And not now, when she needed it most. So she tried to remember. She remembered his soft lips, his gentle exploring hands, his hard body, his whispers, his energy, his warmth.

It worked for a short while, carrying her away from the smell of decay and the feel of mud. She thought perhaps she might even sleep. Then suddenly Tess noticed how quiet it was. She held her breath and listened. When the realization came, it swept over her like ice water being injected into her veins. The panic rushed through her, squeezing her heart. Her breathing resumed in quick bursts, frantic gasps. Her body began shaking uncontrollably, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rocking back and forth.

“Oh dear God. Oh God, no,” she mumbled over and over like a madwoman. When she could get her body to keep still for a moment, she listened again, straining over the pounding of her heart, straining to hear, willing the truth to be untrue. It was no use. The silence couldn’t lie. She knew Rachel was dead.

Tess curled into the damp corner and then allowed herself to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child. She cried out loud, releasing years of welled-up sobs and letting them rack her entire body in hysterical convulsions over which she had absolutely no control. The sound pierced the silent darkness. At first she didn’t recognize it as something coming out of her, coming up from some deep well inside herself. But there was no stopping, no confining it. And so, she surrendered herself to it.