Stranded (19 page)

When she didn’t respond, Tully picked up the menu from the corner of the bed and said, “Real food. Not truck stop burgers or deli sandwiches. They have sliders and something called chicken avocado eggrolls.”

“Okay, now you have my attention,” she joked while her eyes stayed on the computer screen.

Tully obviously had gotten his second wind. Of course he had—she was the one who had driven the last three hours. But now that they were here Tully was ready to get to work.

“Lopez believes these two teenagers did something to each other,” Maggie said. “He thinks it may have started out as a game and gotten out of hand.”

“And one of them cuts the other’s finger off?”

“He told me Manhattan, Kansas, is a university town. Said he’s seen stranger things.”

“Well, we both know that’s true. Kids are capable of doing stupid and cruel things to each other. That’s one of the reasons I’d like to lock Emma up in her room until she’s thirty.”

Tully’s daughter was a college freshman. Since she was fourteen, he’d raised her alone, with very little help from Emma’s mother.

“He thinks because Noah won’t talk that he must be guilty of something.”

“But you think his friend was killed by our guy?” Tully asked.

He tapped a couple of keys and zoomed the photo in on the rest area. Thick canopies of trees. Rock ledges. Acres and acres of both, surrounding the small brick building and parking lots.

“One kid missing,” Tully said. “Probably dead. But a survivor. We’ve seen what Jack can do—letting someone get away doesn’t quite fit his MO. Just doesn’t sound right.”

“How do we explain my cell phone number?”

“That part does sound like him. So what’s your gut instinct?”

Maggie thought about it. She rubbed at the exhaustion in her eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t difficult to get her cell phone number. It could be some prank not even related to Jack, their highway killer. But ever since Tully compared this killer’s obsession with her to that of Albert Stucky, her anxiety had been turned up a notch.

If she really thought about it, this guy had been keeping tabs on her for at least a month. He had physically stalked her back
in the District. Now here they were halfway across the country, brought here by his directive. He was playing them, toying with them, showing off what he was capable of doing.

“It’s him,” Maggie finally said. “But I think he may have messed up this time.”

“How’s that?”

“Noah Waters can tell us what he looks like.”

THURSDAY, MARCH 21

CHAPTER 35

MANHATTAN, KANSAS

Noah tried not to meet the eyes of the woman sitting across from him in his parents’ living room. Detective Lopez had introduced her as Agent O’Dell with the FBI. Introduced her and then left.

Oh God … not the FBI!

Noah didn’t hear half of what the detective had said after that because the panic had begun thumping in his chest.

He had gotten very little sleep last night. Up in his old bedroom the windows rattled when there was no wind. At one point he swore he heard something—or someone—scratching at the glass. His bedroom was on the second floor with no tree close enough to scrape against his window or the house. And certainly not close enough to cast the shadows that had woken him.

That’s not true
.

It wasn’t the shadows or the scratching that had woken him. It was Ethan’s screams.

“Detective Lopez told me what happened,” the agent was saying.

Noah almost laughed. His nerves were raw. His emotions played to extremes. But it was funny—how could the detective tell
her anything when Noah had told him nothing? He glanced at the woman. Was she trying to trick him? He realized she was studying him. Would she be able to see what he couldn’t tell?

She was younger than his mother and reminded him of his English professor. He liked Ms. Gilbert. But what would she think of him if she found out what he’d done?

“We need your help,” the FBI agent said. “We need to find your friend Ethan.”

He shook his head. It wouldn’t do any good. But he didn’t say anything.

“Even if Ethan’s dead,” she added as if she could read his mind.

That got Noah’s attention and he stared at her, looking directly into her eyes for as long as he could stand it. Then he glanced away, let his eyes flick back and forth from her face to the new painting his mother had hung over their mantel. Horses, wild horses. His mother had decorated their home with sculptures and paintings, many of them—he only now noticed—of animals or birds fleeing.

“Detective Lopez seems to think you and Ethan were involved in a satanic ritual of some sort.”

This time Noah did laugh out loud, a nervous sputter that he quickly shut down. The madman who had attacked him and Ethan was definitely some kind of Satan.

“What are you willing to do?”
Noah could still hear the man’s voice. He put his head down, chin to his chest. He resisted the urge to look behind him.

Don’t think about it. Stop thinking about it. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t tell
.

Too late. He could smell urine and vomit and blood. The scent so strong that he pulled up his hands to look and make sure they didn’t still have bloodstains. Without warning he could hear
bones snap, flesh being cut. Suddenly he was nauseated. He could already taste bile.

“One bite and I’ll let you go.”

Noah started gagging. His eyes shot up to the FBI woman’s as he bolted for the closest bathroom.

CHAPTER 36

Maggie waited patiently. From where she sat she could hear Noah vomiting in the bathroom. She hadn’t even started her interview. The teenager was obviously experiencing post-traumatic shock.

What Detective Lopez had labeled as guilt ran much deeper and was much more disturbing. He thought it was Noah’s guilt that caused this erratic and uncooperative behavior. Maggie was quickly beginning to question whether it wasn’t what Noah had done, but what he had seen.

He seemed surprised to find her where he had left her when he came out of the bathroom. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. However, he took his seat on the sofa across from her.

She had convinced Tully to let her interview the boy alone. Whatever he had been through deserved a softer approach than Detective Lopez’s. But time wasn’t on their side. It was over forty-eight hours. If there was the slightest chance that Ethan was still alive, he was losing blood. The window of opportunity was rapidly closing. If Jack had attacked these two teenagers two nights ago then he could still be in the area. But wouldn’t be for long.

“Noah, let me tell you about a case I’m working on.”

His eyes met hers and stayed put this time. She thought she saw relief in his face but the distrust hadn’t been dislodged.

“My partner and I have been tracking a serial killer.”

He looked surprised and worried. She could see that he hadn’t considered the madman who had attacked him could be a serial killer.

“We know he gets his victims from truck stops and interstate rest areas.”

Again she paused, giving him time to take it all in. She kept her tone gentle and conversational while she examined his face and his mannerisms and his posture. His hands were in his lap. Earlier they had flexed almost constantly. Now one was a tight fist held inside the other’s palm.

“We think he takes advantage of them. Plays on his victims’ vulnerabilities. Perhaps the person’s car has stalled. Maybe they’ve run out of gas and are stranded for one reason or another. These are places where travelers let down their guard. They’re tired. Sometimes they’ve been on the road for hours, maybe days. It’s late at night. All they want to do is use the restroom, get a soda, something to snack on before they get back on the road again. That’s probably why you and Ethan stopped, right?”

He nodded. “Ethan had to pee.” His eyes darted away for a second or two. “We were almost home.”

“You were coming home from college? Spring break.”

Another nod.

“Where do you go to school?”

“University of Missouri.”

“Mizzou Tigers.”

He looked surprised but pleased. It was the first genuine feeling he allowed her to see.

“That’s right.”

“I love college football,” Maggie said. “Do you play?”

“Naw.”

“You didn’t want to go to K-State?”

“Didn’t want to stay at home.”

The statement delivered, Maggie thought, exactly like a regular teenager.

“This killer,” he said, without prompting. “How many people has he killed?”

“We’ve found five,” Maggie said, continuing to keep her tone gentle. She had him talking. “We know there are more.”

His eyes flashed. He seemed surprised by the number. His brow furrowed as though he was trying to remember, or maybe trying
not
to remember. Detective Lopez had told them that Noah had been found wearing only his underwear and had been covered with blood. Most of it not his own.

Then in a whisper that Maggie could barely hear, Noah asked, “What did he do to them?”

She hesitated but only for a second or two before she said, “Probably the same things he did to Ethan.”

CHAPTER 37

VIRGINIA

Gwen hated being back at the prison. This time AD Kunze tried to abbreviate the full-body search that Warden Demarcus ordered. Demarcus knew he had something they wanted or they wouldn’t be back here this soon. He had the upper hand and he was going to use it to his full extent. For his effort, Kunze ended up getting groped as well.

This time, however, Gwen had worn sensible shoes and her control-top pantyhose again, along with what she called her best “old lady” bra. Still, the guard managed to grope and paw, not even pretending that any of it was accidental.

As soon as Otis sat down across from her—even as the guard finished clasping his shackles to the floor—Gwen noticed the bruise on Otis’s face. It looked fresh and swollen, deep purple, the size of a golf ball above his left temple. Maybe larger because part of it blended into his sideburn.

She waited for the guard to leave.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“Oh this?” Otis smiled, uncharacteristically wide and toothy,
his signal that he wasn’t going to tell. His fingertips brushed over the area. “That’s just a love tap.”

She saw his eyes dart over to the wall of tinted glass that kept Kunze and Demarcus invisible as they sat and watched and listened.

Had Demarcus struck a prisoner? No, he probably wouldn’t have done it himself. Just like his full-body searches, he would have had one of his men do it. But why? She tried to remember what Otis may have said the last time. Of course, it might not have been related to her visit. It could have been something else. Some other disciplinary action that had been well deserved.

“I hoped you’d come back,” Otis said.

He was watching her. His lopsided grin firmly in place. He was sitting back with his arms crossed—that is, crossed in an awkward manner because of the shackle and short length of chain. Again, he reminded her of an overgrown teenager, uncomfortable and not knowing what to do with his hands.