Split Second (65 page)

M
aggie got up before dawn. She left Nick a scrawled note, apologizing for last night and giving him brief instructions for setting the alarm. He had said that he needed to get back to Boston to prepare for a trial, but she knew as he was telling her that he was trying to figure a way out of it. She told him she didn’t want him to jeopardize his new job. What she left out was that she didn’t want him close by for Albert Stucky to hurt.

She called Agent Tully from the road, but when he answered his door he didn’t look as if he expected her. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt and was barefoot. He hadn’t shaved yet, and his short hair stuck up. He let her in without much of a greeting and gathered up a scattered edition of the
Washington Post
. He grabbed a coffee mug from the top of the TV.

“I’m brewing coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks.” She wanted to tell him there was no time for coffee. Why did he not feel the same urgency she was feeling?

He disappeared into what she thought must be the kitchen. Instead of following, she sat down on a stiff sofa that looked and smelled brand-new. The house was small with very little furniture, and most of it looked like hand-me-downs. It reminded her of the apartment she and Greg had right out of college—with milk crates for a TV stand, and concrete blocks and stained two-by-sixes for bookshelves. The only thing missing was a lime green beanbag chair. The sofa and a black halogen floor lamp were the only two new pieces.

A girl wandered into the room rubbing her eyes and not bothering to acknowledge Maggie. She wore only a short nightshirt. Her long blond hair was tangled and her steps were those of a sleepwalker. Maggie recognized the teenager as the little girl in the photo Tully paid homage to on his office desk. The girl plopped into an oversize chair facing the TV, found a remote between the cushions and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels but not paying much attention. Maggie hated feeling that she had gotten the entire household out of bed as if it was the middle of the night instead of morning.

The girl stopped her channel surfing in the middle of a local news report. With the volume muted, Maggie still recognized the truck stop behind the handsome, young reporter who gestured to the gray trash bin cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

“Emma, shut the TV off, please,” Tully instructed after only a glance at the screen. His coffee mug was filled to the brim and the aroma filtered in with him. He handed Maggie a cold can of Diet Pepsi.

“What’s this?” she asked, taken by surprise.

“I remembered Pepsi is sorta your version of morning coffee.”

She stared at him, amazed that he would have noticed. No one except Anita ever remembered.

“Did I get it wrong? Is it regular and not diet?”

“No, it’s diet,” she said, finally taking the can. “Thanks.”

“Emma, this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell. Agent O’Dell, this is my ill-mannered daughter, Emma.”

“Hi, Emma.”

The girl looked up and manufactured a smile that looked neither genuine nor comfortable.

“Emma, if you’re up for the morning, please put on some regular clothes.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” She pulled herself out of the chair and wandered out of the room.

“Sorry about that,” he said while he skidded the chair Emma had vacated around to face Maggie and the sofa rather than the TV. “Sometimes I feel like aliens abducted my real daughter and transplanted this impostor.”

Maggie smiled and popped open the Diet Pepsi.

“You have any kids, Agent O’Dell?”

“No.” The answer seemed simple enough, but she noticed Tully still staring at her as though an explanation should follow. “Having a family is a little bit tougher to accomplish when you’re a woman in the FBI than when you’re a man in the FBI.”

He nodded as though it was some new revelation, as though he had never considered it before.

“I hope I didn’t wake your wife, too.”

“You’d have to be pretty noisy to do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“My wife lives in Cleveland…my ex-wife, that is.”

It was still a touchy subject. Maggie could see it in the way he suddenly avoided making eye contact. He sipped his coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug and taking his time. Then, as though he remembered why they were here in his living room on a Sunday morning, he stood up abruptly, set down the mug on the overflowing coffee table and started digging through the piles. Maggie couldn’t help wondering if there was any part of Agent Tully’s life that he kept organized.

He pulled out a map and started unfolding and spreading it out over the surface of uneven piles.

“From what you told me on the phone, I’m figuring this is the area we’re talking about.”

She took a close look at the spot he had highlighted on the map in fluorescent yellow. Here she had thought he wasn’t even listening to her when she had called and woken him.

He continued, “If Rosen was lost, it’s hard telling exactly where he was, but if you cross the Potomac using this toll bridge, there is this piece of land about five miles wide and fifteen miles long that hangs out into the river sort of like a peninsula. The toll bridge passes over the top half. The map shows no roads, not even unpaved ones down in the peninsula part. In fact, it looks like it’s all woods, rocks, probably ravines. Pretty tough terrain. In other words, a great place to hide out.”

“And a difficult place to escape from.” Maggie sat forward, hardly able to contain her excitement. This was it. This was where Stucky was hiding out and keeping his collection. “So when do we leave?”

“Hold on,” Tully sat down and reached for his coffee. “We’re doing this by the book, O’Dell.”

“Stucky strikes hard and fast and then disappears.” She let him hear her anger and urgency. “He’s already killed three women and possibly kidnapped two others in a week. And those are just the ones we know about.”

“I know,” he said much too calmly.

Was she the only one who seemed to understand this madman?

“He could pick up and leave any day, any minute. We can’t wait for court orders and county police cooperation or whatever the hell you think we need to wait for.”

He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “Are you finished?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back. She should never have called Tully. She knew she could talk Rosen into assembling a search team, though the area in question was across the river, which meant not only a different jurisdiction but also a different state.

“First of all, Assistant Director Cunningham is getting in touch with the Maryland officials.”

“Cunningham? You called Cunningham? Oh wonderful.”

“I’ve been trying to find out who owns the property.” He ignored her and went on. “It used to be owned by the government, which may account for that weird chemical concoction in the dirt. Probably something they were testing. It was purchased by a private corporation about four years ago, something called WH Enterprises. I can’t seem to find out anything about it, no managing CEO, no trustees, nothing.”

“Since when does the FBI need permission to hunt down a serial killer?”

“We’re operating on hunches, Agent O’Dell. We can’t send in a SWAT team when we don’t know what’s there. Even the mud simply means that Stucky may have been in this area. Doesn’t prove he’s still there.”

“Goddamn it, Tully!” She stood up and paced his living room. “This is the only lead we have as to where he might be, and you need to analyze it to death when we could just go find out!”

“Don’t you want to know what you might be walking into this time, Agent O’Dell?” He emphasized “this time,” and she knew he was referring to last August when she went running off to find Albert Stucky in an abandoned Miami warehouse. She hadn’t told anyone else. She had been following up on a hunch then, too. Only Stucky had been expecting her, waiting for her with a trap. Was it possible he’d be waiting for her again?

“So what do you suggest?”

“We wait,” Tully said as though waiting was no big deal. “We find out what’s there. The Maryland authorities and their resource people can fill us in. We find out who owns the property. Who knows? We certainly don’t want to go onto private property if there’s some white supremacist group holed up with an arsenal that could blow us off the planet.”

“How long are we talking?”

“It’s tough getting in touch with everyone we need on a Sunday.”

“How long, Agent Tully?”

“A day. Two at the most.”

She stared at him, the anger clawing to reveal itself.

“By now you should know what Albert Stucky can do in a day or two.” She calmly walked to the door and left, allowing the slamming door to enunciate what she thought about waiting.

T
ully sank into the chair and laid his head back against the cushion. He listened to O’Dell slam her car door and then gun the engine, squealing the tires—taking out her anger on his driveway. He could understand her frustration. Hell, he was frustrated, too. He wanted Stucky caught just as badly as O’Dell. But he knew this was personal for O’Dell. He couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. Three women, all of them acquaintances of hers, all of them brutally murdered simply because they had the misfortune of meeting Maggie O’Dell.

When he looked up, Emma stood in the door to the hallway, leaning against the wall and watching him. She hadn’t changed or combed her hair. He was suddenly too tired to remind her. She continued to stare at him, and he remembered that she still wasn’t talking to him. Well, fine. He wasn’t talking to her either. He laid his head back again.

“Was that your new partner?”

He glanced at her without moving from his comfortable position, trying to keep the surprise of her sudden armistice to himself in case she had temporarily forgotten.

“Yeah, O’Dell’s my new partner.”

“She sounded really pissed at you.”

“Yeah, I think she is. I guess I really have a way with women, don’t I?”

Surprisingly, Emma smiled. He smiled back and then she laughed. In two steps she came to him and crawled into his lap the way she used to do when she was a little girl. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him before she could change her mind. She tucked her head under his chin and settled in.

“Do you like her?”

“Who?” Tully forgot what they were talking about. It felt so good to hold his little girl again.

“O’Dell, your new partner.”

“Yeah, I guess I like her. She’s a smart, tough lady.”

“She’s really pretty.”

He hesitated, wondering if Emma was concerned he would run off with one of his co-workers just as her mother had done.

“Maggie O’Dell and I are only partners at work, Emma. There isn’t anything else going on between us.”

She sat quietly, and he wished she’d talk to him about any fears she might have.

“She did seem really pissed at you,” she finally said with a bit of a giggle.

“She’ll get over it. I’m more concerned about you.”

“Me?” She twisted around to look at him.

“Yeah. You seemed really pissed at me, too.”

“Oh, that,” she said, settling in against him again. “I’m over that.”

“Really?”

“I was thinking if we don’t spend all that money it’d cost me to go to the prom, I thought maybe I could get a really cool CD Walkman, instead?”

“Oh, really?” Tully smiled. Yes, he was quite certain he’d never understand women.

“Don’t have a cow. I have enough of my own money saved.” She wiggled out of his arms and out of his lap. Now she stood in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for his response and looking more like the teenager he remembered. “Can we go pick one out today?”

Was this any way to raise a teenage daughter, teaching her that she would receive some material thing for good behavior? Instead of analyzing it, he simply said, “Sure. Let’s go this afternoon.”

“All right!”

He watched her practically skip back to her room while he got up and wandered over to the coffee table. He found the file folder and slid it out from under one of the piles. He flipped it open and started going through the file: a police report, a copy from a DNA lab, a plastic bag with a pinch of metallic-flecked dirt stapled to an evidence document, a medical release form from Riley’s Veterinary Clinic.

Last night Detective Manx had given him the file marked Rachel Endicott, the missing neighbor O’Dell suspected Stucky had taken. Now, from the looks of the evidence and a recent DNA lab report, even the arrogant, stubborn Manx had been able to figure out that Ms. Endicott may have indeed been kidnapped. After seeing how close to the edge O’Dell was this morning, Tully wondered whether or not he should show her the file. Because according to the lab’s DNA test, Albert Stucky had not only been in Rachel Endicott’s house, but he’d helped himself to a sandwich and several candy bars. And now there was no doubt in Tully’s mind that Stucky had also helped himself to Ms. Endicott.