Blood of Eden (9 page)

Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Eden

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Six miles was worse than five. I wasn't looking forward to this. Maybe JT would can that silly notion of walking it. Really, if we drove, we'd still get some idea of what our victim saw. And I'd avoid getting blisters.

“Did she ever mention someone was following her? Was she uneasy about jogging in the last week or so?” I asked.

Miller didn't hesitate to answer. “No. Not at all. She would've told me if there'd been anything like that going on.”

“What about unexplained injuries? Bruises? Scrapes?” JT asked.

This time, Miller took a moment before responding. “No, I don't remember seeing anything like that.”

“And you're absolutely certain she ran the exact same route every morning, including the day she collapsed?” I asked.

Miller nodded. “Yes. I'm positive.”

That seemed odd to me. If I'd been accosted by some strange man while I was out for my morning jogânot that I had to worry about that happening, because I am so
not
a joggerâyou wouldn't see me running down the same street again.

Unless I didn't remember.

“And finally,” I asked, noticing JT was staring at his notebook, deep in thought, “were you home the morning she collapsed, when she returned from her jog?”

Miller nodded. “Yes. I leave for work after my wife doesâdid.”

“And again, you noticed no injuries? No scrapes or bruises?” I asked.

“Nothing. I saw her ... er ... get dressed after her shower.” Miller hesitated, looking a little uneasy. I got a feeling I knew why, and it had nothing to do with our case.”Um, I would've noticed anything unusual that morning.”

I got his drift.

After thanking Mr. Miller, we headed back to the car. JT tucked his notebook into his pocket. “Okay, let's start walking.”

I gave JT a look, the kind that said, “Are you crazy?”

He chuckled and opened the car door. “I'm with you. We'll drive the route first.”

“Thank God!” I climbed in, buckled myself up, and watched out the open window as JT followed the victim's jogging route. Once we got outside of the subdivision, the roads were two-lane highways cutting through lightly wooded landscapes. Here and there were sprinkled ranch homes, tucked between patches of forest. The traffic was very light. “It would be easy enough to surprise a jogger out here.”

“Sure would.” He turned left onto Clarksville Pike, and I pointed at a landmark I recognized. “Take a look, that's the park Richardson lives behind. Oh, it's a school, not just a park.”

“Interesting.”

We drove past the River Hill Garden Center and the cemetery. I tried to spot Debbie Richardson's house from the road, but I couldn't. “I don't believe for a minute that it's a coincidence Laura Miller was jogging every morning less than a quarter of a mile from Debbie Richardson's house. Do you?”

“Nope.”

“The unsub could've stumbled upon her anywhere along her route, infected her with the malaria, and nobody would have heard her cries for help. Then he could have released her. And if he gave her an amnesic, she wouldn't remember being attacked. Thus, she wouldn't be afraid. That must be how it went. It's the only explanation that makes sense.”

JT chewed on his lower lip as he steered the car onto Great Star Drive, which took us back into the subdivision. “Maybe. But how do you explain the fact that she showered after she jogged? A shower should've washed away the unsub's DNA.”

“Huh. Good point. He must've waited until after she showered.” When JT pulled up in front of the Millers' house again, I looked at him. “Now what?”

“We head to Einstein Brothers Bagels.”

“Okay. I could use a shot of caffeine ... and maybe an everything bagel while we're there. Or maybe one of those egg sandwiches, with spinach, mushroom, and Swiss cheese. Ever had one?”

“No.” He navigated the car back onto Great Star Drive, heading back to I-95, which would take us into the heart of Baltimore. It was a quick drive, thank God, just under a half hour. I was salivating for egg, spinach, and Swiss cheese already. I'd need a drool bib if it took any longer.

“They're insanely good,” I told him. “You have to try one.”

He scrunched his nose. “Not a fan of eggs. Nope.”

“Your loss.”

By the time we rolled up in front of the Einstein Bros. Bagels store, my stomach was making all kinds of embarrassing noises. If not for the radioâJT loved to listen to talk radioâI would have died of embarrassment long before we'd reached our destination.

I hurried inside. The smell of coffee and toasted bagels made my stomach rumble louder. I wrapped my arms around my waist and took my place in line, behind a woman dressed from head to toe in black. In front of her was a man dressed similarly. I checked my watch. It was after eleven. It was no wonder I was starving. I glanced behind me, expecting to find JT. He was nowhere to be found.

I placed my order and agonized over the wait. Finally I had my little bag and paper cup in handâI'd opted for an iced tea instead of coffee. I strolled outside.

I looked in the general direction of JT's car. No JT. I looked left. I looked right. Still no JT. I went to the car and set the tea on the hood, after taking a slurp. I partially unwrapped my sandwich so I could take a bite. Half of it was gone before I realized I'd eaten any of it. Then it was all nearly gone.

Still no JT.

I tried the door. Unlocked? Where did he go?

After washing down the last bite of sandwich with some tea, I put my cup in the car's cup holder and wandered around one side of the building.

I found JT in back, Dumpster diving. The life of an FBI agent is oh, so glamorous.

“Did you find something?” I asked the only part of his anatomy I could seeâhis butt.

“No.” With one hand flattened over the back of his head, he stood up, turned around, crunched his way to the edge, and climbed out. “I don't know how I got in there. One minute I was checking the back of the buildingâI thought I saw someone running back hereâand the next, I woke up, feeling like my head had been flattened in a sheet metal press, and smelling like month-old meat.”

“Oh, my gosh, you're kidding.” I took a cautious look around. I wouldn't want to end up getting clobbered on the head and thrown in the trash too.

“Does it look like I'm kidding?” Standing somewhat unsteadily, he picked bits of crumpled napkin, mushy bagel, and unidentifiable ick from his clothes.

Evidently, JT's personality got ugly after a knock on the melon. I didn't hold it against him. Mine would too.

I brushed a piece of bagel off the back of his shirt. “Sorry. Of course, it doesn't look like you're kidding. Are you okay? Is your wallet missing? Your gun?” I reached for him, offering some support if he needed it.

He rejected my offer with a shake of the head. Which led to a staggering sway. “I'm fine.” He patted himself down. “Wallet's there. So is the gun.”

“How strange.” I circled around his back and tried to get a peek at his head. His hair was matted down and covered in something dark and sticky. Congealed tea? Melted chocolate? Blood? “Maybe we should get you looked at.”

“No, I'm okay.” He shuffled toward the side of the building. “Shit, my head hurts.” He glanced back at the Dumpster. “What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing. What do you mean, what did I do?”

“To my head. It hurts like a son of a bitch.” Grimacing, he fingered the place where the sticky stuff was. “Did you hit me with something?”

I was thinking ... concussion. Definitely. Or ... had he been doped too?

I gently steered him toward the car. “Let's take a ride. You need to get checked out.” I had no idea where the nearest hospital was.

Thank God for GPS.

It wasn't easy convincing JT that he needed to be the passenger, not the driver. He was one stubborn man. But after about ten minutes of him repeating himself, and then vomiting, he finally slumped into the passenger seat and belted himself in. I took the driver's seat. I rummaged through the contents of his trunk and scored a plastic shopping bag. I handed it to him, just in case he felt sick again. It took about five minutes to adjust the mirrors, seat, and steering wheel. In that time, JT tried, and failed, to convince me he wasn't hurt. And while I looked up the location of the closest emergency room, he reminded me that I didn't know how to drive a stick, and that there was a killer running loose, and his next victim didn't have much time left.

There was no need to remind me of any of those things, especially the last one. I was more than aware of how fast time was flying and how little we were accomplishing. Wasting hours upon hours in an emergency room was the last thing we needed to do. But it was necessary. Vomiting after a head injury was a bad sign in an adult.

I handed my phone to JT. “Here, you're the navigator. Tell me when I need to turn. I can't hear the GPS very well. Stupid phone doesn't have a decent speaker.”

“Okay.” His head bobbed to the side. His eyes rolled around in their sockets. He was going to be as useful as a toddler.

Before he dropped the phone, forcing me to pull over to retrieve it from the floor, I snatched it from him and set it in my lap. “Miss GPS” was my only company as I lurched and sputtered JT's car to the hospital. JT took a nap.

When we pulled up to the emergency entry, I had to more or less drag him out of the vehicle. He put up a fight. A security guard wheeled a cussing JT inside, while I stalled the car twice in the driveway before bouncing it into a parking spot. I called Chief Peyton before I headed inside, asked what she wanted me to doâstay with JT or continue without him. She told me there hadn't been a new victim reported yet, so I should stay with JT, so that's what I did.

JT slept some more.

After JT was taken back to a room, I opened the romance novel Katie had downloaded onto my phone. I wasn't a big novel reader, but what the hell? Katie had been bugging me for months to read it. I couldn't get a signal on my laptop. And I was in the mood to be amused. Surely,
The Viking King and the Maiden
would amuse me.

A nurse came to the waiting room to get me just as I was opening my newly downloaded e-book. She escorted me back to JT's room and asked what the problem was.

Sporting a blue hospital gown, JT looked at her with squinty eyes and snapped, “I told you, nothing's wrong.”

I said, “He was hit in the head and is acting weird.”

She nodded, Velcroed a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and squeezed the little bulb at the end of the rubber tube to inflate it. “Do you remember what happened, sir?”

“Yes.” JT looked at me. He looked at her. “No.” He winced, fingered the back of his head. “Damn, my head hurts. And I feel sick.”

“He threw up once already,” I mentioned. “You might want to give him a pan.”

The nurse finished taking his blood pressure before fetching a pink plastic basin from the cabinet. Lucky for her, he didn't need it before that. He made use of it shortly after she handed it to him, though. I had to look away. It felt wrong watching him lose his breakfast like that. It was a private, shameful moment. Granted, he'd seen me toss my cookies at the crime scene my first day on the job. But he was a man. Men were supposed to be strong. And he was a strong man. But he sure didn't look it when he was vomiting.

A doctor who looked like she was fresh out of junior high came in a few minutes later. I didn't think much about it. I'd graduated a smidge early myself. But I did think something about the timing of her arrival. I read seven words per second. The fact that she came strolling in before I'd finished a single paragraph suggested they were taking JT's injury seriously. This was a good thing. I didn't like what I was seeing either.

She greeted him with a cheery “Hello, sir.”

He responded with a mumbled “Hi.”

“What happened today? Why are you here?” the doctor asked, skimming his chart.

“I dunno.” He closed his eyes. “I'm tired. And I think I might hurl again.”

“Hmm.” She grabbed the little handheld light from the wall and twisted the top to illuminate the little bulb. “Open your eyes, please.” As she checked his pupils, she asked, “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Thursday.”

It was Friday.

“Can you tell me who the president is?”

“Obama.”

“Good.” She turned off her light. “Where does your head hurt?”

“Back here.” Grimacing, he touched the lump on the back of his head.

“Can I see it?” she asked.