Stranded (27 page)

“I know I might never find her, Hannah. But I can’t just stop looking.”

More silence.

“Okay, but I’m charging the FBI extra for this one,” she finally said.

He smiled, but realized it was more out of relief than humor.

FRIDAY, MARCH 22

CHAPTER 52

Maggie didn’t realize she was gritting her teeth.

“No rain in the forecast until tomorrow,” Tully said, glancing at her grip on the armrest of her seat. “No thunderstorm turbulence.”

Maggie didn’t let up.

They had been greeted by roller-coaster turbulence at the beginning of the week when they flew into Omaha. No threat of turbulence was good. But it really didn’t matter. The plane was still climbing, that awful tilt, the pressure pressing her back against the seat cushion. She hated flying. Hated being thirty-eight thousand feet above control.

But Tully? He was actually excited. Kunze had booked them in first class.

“We get lunch on this flight.” Tully said it like a little boy awaiting a surprise. Maggie even noticed him leaning into the aisle, head tilting as he tried to catch a glimpse of what lunch might be. “First class is real plates, cloth napkins, real food.”

She shot him a look. Like “real” mattered to him. Maggie had seen the man eat Pop-Tarts from a vending machine that were three months past their expiration date. Sometimes she wondered if food was all he thought about. The man could put away a pile and was amazingly indiscriminate about it. Good thing he was
with Gwen, a gourmet cook, who loved to cook as much as Tully loved to eat. Tall and lanky, his knees still didn’t seem to have enough room between his seat and the one in front of him—even in first class.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t have any breakfast.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t wake me. Or that I slept, for that matter.”

“You obviously needed it.”

What she’d wanted to say all morning was that she couldn’t believe Creed had left without saying good-bye. He was gone before she got up. Tully said that Creed had knocked and glanced into her room before he left but saw her sleeping and knew how much of a commodity sleep was for her.

“He was anxious to pick up Grace and get her home,” Tully had explained. “Besides, we’ll see him tomorrow. Alonzo hired him to bring another dog and help track at the new dump site.”

The new “dump site.” All they knew about the site was that it existed somewhere east of Milton, Florida, off Interstate 10 in a heavily wooded area close to some rivers and creeks. That’s all Otis would divulge. He took his job as guide seriously, as well as his ability to manipulate and milk the situation for all it was worth.

Kunze and Alonzo were convinced that Jack had another hiding place close to this new dump site, just like the Iowa farm, complete with privacy and a vacant dwelling. Someplace for him to stay while he took his time with the victims’ bodies. Jack had led them to Iowa. He wanted to share his handiwork. Since the federal government had started building the wildlife preserve, they would have started finding the bodies anyway and Jack would never get credit.

But Kunze hoped to catch the killer off guard by invading this
site without his invitation. Jack had no reason to believe Otis P. Dodd would suddenly share his stories after a year had gone by. Kunze believed that Jack had probably forgotten about the odd, soft-spoken giant who appeared a little slow and awkward.

Jack—but that wasn’t his real name. Not the one he went by anyway. After Lily’s frantic phone call, Maggie and Tully believed their highway killer’s name was Buzz. Thanks to Sheriff Uniss and Agent Alonzo, they now knew that the foreman, Buzz, was Stanley Johnson. However, he had disappeared from Iowa and apparently so had Lily.

“We thought he was watching us,” Maggie said, trying to relax into her seat. “We just didn’t know from how close.”

“It was strange how he gave you that cap and then it just disappeared from our table at the truck stop.”

Maggie pulled out her laptop from the case she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d downloaded a file Alonzo had e-mailed them just before they boarded. Now she was anxious to open it and get her mind off being locked in a metal tube miles above the earth even if it meant digging into the psyche of a serial killer.

“He doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Tully said. “And Buzz was managing that construction crew before we got there.”

“According to Alonzo’s information, thirty-six-year-old Stanley ‘Buzz’ Johnson is an independent contractor. He travels across the country doing mainly federal government projects. He lists his permanent residence as Dothan, Alabama. No criminal record. No traffic citations. No fingerprints on record. Alonzo found a Ford F-150 truck registered to him in the state of Alabama. No other property listed under his name.”

“Wait a minute.” Tully grabbed his messenger bag and pulled
out the map Alonzo had faxed earlier. It showed the general area in Florida where Otis was taking them tomorrow. Tully pushed up his glasses and took a closer look. “Check this out.”

He yanked his tray down in front of him and laid out the map. With his index finger he found and pointed to Dothan, Alabama, then traced down to I-10 directly below. Maggie’s eyes found Milton, Florida, on the map before Tully’s finger did. Buzz Johnson’s permanent residence was less than a hundred miles away from the new dump site.

SATURDAY, MARCH 23

CHAPTER 53

OFF INTERSTATE 10

OUTSIDE MILTON, FLORIDA

Kunze had reserved two rooms for Maggie and Tully at a Red Roof Inn. Just off Interstate 10, the area was tucked up against a forest of pine trees. Clean and comfortable, but Maggie actually missed their adjoining rooms at the Holiday Inn. And surprisingly, she missed Creed. Silly, really. She barely knew the man. Probably missed having the extra company. That was all. She and Tully had been on the road together for too long.

Tully, however, was happy. There was a Waffle House right next door.

Maggie wanted to go home and spend time with her dogs. This stretch had been too long. Though she had to remind herself that she didn’t have a home right now. Hers had been gutted by fire. Cleanup had been heart-wrenching. She had left in the middle of rebuilding as electricians, plumbers, and drywallers tramped in and out, removing, restoring, and replacing. Maybe staying on the road wasn’t such a bad idea.

There had been no word on Stanley “Buzz” Johnson. Agent Alonzo had gotten a photo from the man’s driver’s license and
was now working with Detective Lopez in Kansas to see if Noah Waters might identify Buzz as the man who attacked him and his friend Ethan. Maggie didn’t believe that would happen. Noah was still too frightened.

Thunderstorms had rumbled through Florida earlier in the morning, leaving the air thick with humidity and making sixty-three degrees feel damp and chilly even as the sun broke free of the clouds. More thunderstorms were predicted for later in the afternoon.

Both Maggie and Tully had their FBI windbreakers with them. Before they left Kansas they had bought ankle-high hiking boots. Maggie wore jeans and a T-shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Tully chose to look more official in khakis and a polo shirt. Both also wore their shoulder holsters and weapons.

Tully had already spoken to Creed. He was running late and said he’d meet them at the site. This area was Creed’s backyard. His training facility was less than half an hour away. Tully agreed to text GPS coordinates as soon as they arrived wherever Otis was taking them.

At exactly noon—right on time—two black Chevy Tahoes with Florida Highway Patrol insignias pulled into the empty back parking lot of the hotel. They stopped in the farthest corner, where the pine trees bordered them on two sides. Maggie and Tully had been waiting in the lobby and came out to greet them.

Both of the Florida state troopers were dressed in gray uniforms and wide-brimmed black hats. They introduced themselves as Wiley and Campos. A man emerged from the front passenger side of the lead SUV. Maggie knew he had to be Warden Demarcus. Kunze had told them the man insisted on accompanying his prisoner.

Demarcus looked like a politician—a shot of gray at the temples, square shoulders, confident gait, freshly creased trousers, white oxford with a silk tie, and expensive leather shoes that she immediately noticed were polished and shiny. It was the perfect outfit for a hike in search of dead bodies. Maggie wondered if he expected a TV news crew to meet them at the site. Instead of a warden taking responsibility for his prisoner, he looked like a man wanting to capitalize on a celebrity moment.

Left in the backseat of the first SUV was Otis P. Dodd. Maggie was close enough that she could see him behind the tinted glass. He was watching them, smiling and eating a chicken drumstick.

“He insisted we stop for fried chicken,” Demarcus told Maggie. “We barely get off the plane and he wants KFC.”

“I guess he gets whatever he wants today,” Tully said.

“Within reason,” Demarcus shot back.

Gwen had described Otis as being a giant of a man, and just the glimpse through the window told Maggie that was true. Despite his receding hairline and droopy eyes with crow’s-feet at the corners, when he gave her a lopsided grin—one that looked quite content but with almost an innocent quality—he did remind her of a teenager.

Maggie and Tully went to the second SUV with Trooper Wiley. Tully conceded the front passenger side to her. Campos and Demarcus got back inside the lead SUV with Otis. Before Wiley could put the vehicle in gear and follow, Demarcus was back out in the parking lot, trying to manage the fury that was taking over his face. He stomped to their vehicle and stood in front of Maggie’s door. Both she and Tully, who was sitting behind her, opened their windows.

“Is there a problem?”

“He wants
you
to ride in his vehicle,” Demarcus said through gritted teeth, not only with anger but with accusation. “I told them it was a bad idea to have a woman along.”

His fingers reached for Maggie’s door but she opened it before he made contact. She let the heavy door swing open a bit too fast, knocking Demarcus smack in the chest.

“Oops, sorry,” she said. “Sometimes we women can be a little clumsy and we just don’t know our strength.”

She heard both Wiley and Tully laughing as she exited the vehicle.

CHAPTER 54

Maggie sat at an angle in the Tahoe’s leather captain seat, so she could see Otis. He was shackled to the floor of the SUV, sitting in the seat directly behind Trooper Campos. A metal grill separated the front from the back of the vehicle.

The interior smelled of fried chicken. Otis’s chin was still shiny where he hadn’t wiped it. He was excited to have her in his SUV.

“You’re Miss Gwen’s friend, ain’t that right?”

And Maggie immediately understood what Gwen had meant when she said the man had a simple-minded charm about him.

Now his face was turned toward the window and his gaze was intense. The nervous lopsided grin, which was as much a part of his features as his nose, was subdued. He appeared to know exactly where he was taking them. Yet it wouldn’t surprise Maggie if he had lied about a second dump site just to get a day outside the prison walls. He’d be able to take a plane ride and go for a drive. Get some fresh air and some fried chicken. When he let them pass the exit for the interstate rest area, Maggie suspected that was exactly what Otis had done.