Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (121 page)

“Did she see what happened?”

“We’re not sure. General consensus is that if she had, she wouldn’t still be alive. But there were footprints on the carpet and she was barefoot when we found her with bloody soles. Not from cuts on her feet. So she might have wandered in and saw the aftermath.”

“How bad was it?”

“Bad.” Delaney’s eyes darted back up the hallway, making sure no one was in earshot. “Uncle Lou was hanging upside down from the ceiling when his throat was cut.”

Gwen closed her eyes. Shook her head. No little girl should ever have to see such a thing.

“It’s possible she spent two or three days in that storm cellar. Attending doctor says she’s dehydrated. Still in shock.”

“And her father?”

“She said he fell in the river. They were still retrieving his body when we left the scene.”

“Does she know he’s dead?”

Delaney swiped his hand over his jaw. “She asked me about him in the ambulance. Wanted to know if they were taking him to the same hospital.” He met Gwen’s eyes and she could see the pained look when he added, “I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“You did fine, Agent Delaney. She was lucky to have you there with her. How old is she?”

“Maybe eleven or twelve. I’m guessing she’s about the same age as my oldest daughter.”

That explained why this was extra hard for him. Gwen knew he wasn’t just comparing the two girls’ ages.

“I’ll talk to her. Go on home Agent Delaney.”

“You sure you don’t want me there?”

“I promise I’ll be gentle with her. It’s actually better if she only has me to lean on. If you’re there she’ll look to you as a mediator. Go home and hug your daughters.”

She watched him leave then Gwen found the girl’s room. The sedatives had kicked in. Katie was asleep. She looked tiny and fragile in the hospital bed with IV lines going into her thin arms.

Gwen glanced at her watch as she sat in the chair next to the bed. She had cancelled her entire evening to sit and wait. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this with a client and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.

She slipped the heels off and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She studied the girl’s face – it was calm except for a slight pouting of her lips. Every once in a while her eyelids twitched.

There would be nightmares and possibly a fear of the dark. Maybe even claustrophobia. She would grieve for her aunt and uncle. She would cry for her father. There was nothing Gwen could do to make any of that hurt go away.

But maybe if they were lucky, the girl would lead them to the killer. And hopefully she could do so before he realized he had left a witness behind.

Chapter 11

He was beginning to get bored with Loner. The guy was becoming boorishly predictable.

It was one thing to leave an amateur mess like he had in the trailer. But it appeared he’d left another body in the river. And then of course, there was the girl.

He didn’t even need to follow the asshole this time. He knew exactly where Loner would show up next. All he had to do was wait for him.

Stucky left his SUV in the far corner of the parking lot. Then he went through the front doors, walking into the place like he had been there many times. He crossed the lobby with confident strides and passed the reception desk without even looking at the woman behind it. He needed no directions or instructions and just kept walking. It wasn’t until he stood in front of the elevators that he allowed himself a glance at the directory sign.

When he saw that no one was looking at him, he left the elevators and continued down another hallway until he found a door marked Employees Only. He tried the door handle. Not locked. He pulled it open and walked inside the small supply room. By the time he exited the room he was wearing a janitorial uniform and pushing a rolling bucket and mop.

He took the elevator to the first floor of patient rooms. The rollers on the bucket were tricky. Splashing water would draw attention. At the same time he couldn’t afford to look tentative. He stopped at the nursing station and waited for the woman behind the counter to notice him. He needed to be polite and patient – neither trait came easily for him.

When she looked up, he simply said, “They sent me to clean up some little girl’s vomit. Said the ambulance just brought her in about twenty minutes ago. Didn’t give me no room number or anything.”

She pulled out a chart and started flipping pages. She didn’t even question his lack of information.

“Only patient we admitted by ambulance in the last hour is up on second floor. Room 233.” Then she shook her head and looked back up at him. “Poor thing. Hopefully she won’t be sick all night long.”

“You and me both,” he told her and she smiled at him before turning back to her charts.

He headed back for the elevators, a kick of adrenaline making it difficult to keep his pace slow and the bucket from sloshing over its rim.

This was almost too easy.

Chapter 12

Maggie could smell ashes, something burning – no, the fire was already out. It wasn’t smoke she smelled but singed hair and burnt flesh.

She searched but couldn’t see through the fog. Where was the smell coming from?

Then she saw it.

Another boat was floating on the river. She kept her eyes fixed on the boat while she pointed at it.

“Row up a little closer,” she told Cunningham without looking back at him.

He didn’t say a word but obeyed.

Closer, just a little bit closer.

The fog grew thicker. Now she wasn’t sure if it fog. Or was the air filled with ashes?

Suddenly the boat appeared right in front of them. Too late to stop. Their rowboat crashed into it. Only it wasn’t another boat.

It was a casket.

Smooth, dark wood, polished with brass rails and soft, tufted fabric peeking over the edges. The lid was gone but Maggie hesitated to look inside. Her stomach felt sick again. She was shivering from the cold, damp air. She could hardly breathe without sucking in the thick ashes.

She didn’t want to look. Suddenly she felt like she was twelve years old again. She already knew what she would find inside. It was the same every time, and she didn’t want to see her father lying there in a crisply pressed brown suit that she’d never seen him in before.

She couldn’t bear to see the side of his face where the mortician had painted over his burned flesh in an attempt to salvage what skin remained. She remembered the crinkle of plastic under his sleeve when she touched him. She remembered how his hair was combed all wrong. She had reached up to brush it off his forehead and snapped her hand back when she saw the blisters and the Frankenstein scar that the flap of hair had been hiding.

“I told you not to touch him,” her mother scolded her.

But how could she not touch her father?

And now this casket was floating here in the river. It couldn’t be her father’s. That was ridiculous.

Maggie stood up in the rowboat. She braced herself and leaned over the edge of the casket to see inside.

Empty.

“It’s empty,” she told Cunningham, relieved and able to breathe again.

Then she turned to look at him. But Cunningham was gone. Her father sat in his place. He smiled at her, dressed in the brown suit with his plastic-wrapped hands gripping the oars.

Maggie jolted back so suddenly that her feet slipped. She fell backwards over the side of the boat.

Falling with arms flailing.

Falling and falling.

Where was the water?

She jerked awake. Sat up and searched the dark surroundings. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her breathing came in gasps. Sweat drenched her body. In the shadows she searched for the boat, searched for her father.

Then finally she recognized her own small living room. She heard the familiar hum of the refrigerator behind her. Smelled the air freshener Greg insisted they use. She eased herself back down on their worn but comfortable sofa. The afghan she had covered herself with was in a tangled ball at her feet, and she pulled it up now that she was shivering.

Her pulse still raced as she tried to calm her breathing, as she tried to remember.

She had gotten home late last night. All she wanted to do was wash the smell of that trailer full of death off her body. She wanted the water and the steam to return some warmth deep inside her. She wanted the smell gone. After a hot shower she snuggled down on the sofa under the afghan, not wanting to wake Greg.

Truth was she didn’t want to talk to him about any of it last night. She was too exhausted. And he’d have questions, which he’d be sure to follow up with a lecture. She already knew he wouldn’t be happy that Cunningham had taken her to such a bloodbath for her first real crime scene.

She was so tired and wanted to give in to the exhaustion. Closed her eyes. Tried to think about something other than the crime scene – of the body hanging from the ceiling, of Katie’s father bobbing just under the surface. But her dream hadn’t included any of those images. Instead it had been her father, his casket…Her father replacing Cunningham in the boat.

She needed to just shut off her mind? She could do that. She used to dream about her father inside his casket.

Used to.
It had been a while.

Had Cunningham’s questions about him prompted the nightmare’s return?

Or was it Katie?

Maggie could relate to the girl’s loss. Earlier that feeling of vulnerability, of fear – all of it had been palpable.

She kept her eyes closed. Concentrated on her breathing. If she tried hard enough she could conjure up images of good times with her father. Saturday afternoons watching college football. Or Sundays if there was a Packers game on.

Her mother didn’t have the patience to learn the rules. She’d go shopping and leave the two of them in front of the TV. They’d have popcorn. Sometimes they’d order a pizza. If Maggie thought about it hard enough she could even smell the Italian sausage and Romano cheese. Her dad’s favorites became her favorites.

She used to wear his old Packers jersey as a sleep shirt until Greg complained.

She needed to find it. She no longer cared what Greg thought or said.

That decision made, she started to fall asleep as she tried to remember where she might have packed it away. Like counting sheep, Maggie opened and closed drawers in her mind. She unfolded and folded, looking for the jersey. She knew it was here. Maybe at the back of the closet. There was no sense of panic. Instead it became a quiet and lulling search. Comforted by the memory of its softness. For a long time it even smelled like her father.

She had drifted off when the banging of pots and pans woke her up. Behind the sofa in the kitchen she could hear a skillet pulled from the hanging rack. The refrigerator door opened and closed. A metal whisk click-clacked against a glass bowl. Fresh brewed coffee filled the air.

Greg never made breakfast. He even picked up coffee on his way to work. But of course, he would make breakfast this morning. And she realized she hadn’t avoided anything by going to great length to not wake him last night. Instead she had only made things worse. He was upset. She hadn’t avoided his lecture. She’d only just delayed it.

Chapter 13

Washington, D.C.

Gwen had left the girl’s side only once to get some coffee. And only then because a nurse had come in to go through her checklist. A sheriff’s deputy was posted outside Katie’s room. He simply nodded at Gwen when she returned, watching her step carefully over the freshly scrubbed floor in the hallway. The slick floor was one more obstacle to make her regret the three-inch heels.

She barely sat back down and the door opened again. Cunningham hesitated, glancing at the girl then Gwen.

“Has she said anything at all?”

“She hasn’t woken up. They had to sedate her before I arrived.”

He came in slowly, almost on tiptoes, holding the door as it closed to keep it from making a noise. Then he approached the bed with the same caution. When he looked at Gwen a second time she felt his eyes run over her.

“I pulled you away from an evening out.”

She wondered if he was surprised. But instead he looked genuinely sorry.

She shrugged but stopped herself from using the same line she’d used with Delaney to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe she wanted Cunningham to think it had been a big deal.

Just then she noticed the girl’s eyes flutter open. She made a slight groan.

Cunningham looked to Gwen and she put a finger up to stop him from moving. Then she sat up and leaned in. She touched the girl’s hand and waited a second.

“Hi Katie.”

The girl’s eyes darted around the room. She noticed the IV, saw the needle in the back her hand. Panic sat her up and Gwen came out of the chair, calming her with gentle but firm hands on her shoulders.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital but you’re okay.”

The girl’s head swiveled, taking in the surroundings. She saw Cunningham and seemed to recognize him.

She asked him, “My dad…he fell in the river. You went to look for him.”

Again, Cunningham looked to Gwen but instead of waiting for instruction he said, “We found your dad in the river, Katie.”

Gwen rubbed the girl’s shoulder and back, keeping her hands close in case she needed to hold her down. She didn’t want Katie to jump out of the bed and rip the needle out of her hand. Gwen glanced around to see where the call button was. Maybe they should have a nurse here.

But the girl sat still. Silent tears slid down her face. The sedative was probably still in her system. There was no hitch in her throat, no thrashing around like the night before. Just a sad, quiet acceptance of what Cunningham had said and what it meant.

“Katie,” Gwen said, waiting for the girl to look at her. “I’m Dr. Patterson. This is Mr. Cunningham. We’re here to help you. We’re going to make sure you’re okay and that nothing bad is going to happen to you.”