Exposed (17 page)

Saturday, September 29
The Slammer

Midnight came and went but time dragged on. Maggie channel surfed. She asked for a novel, a newspaper or any current magazines, maybe a pen and notepad. The woman in the blue space suit said she’d see what she could find, but when she arrived again she had only another syringe to draw more blood.

The faces on the other side of the glass came and went, too. There were fewer as the night grew longer. They had taken her cell phone but allowed her access to a corded phone inside her room. They told her, without apology, that all her phone calls would be monitored then “reminded” her—though it sounded more like a reprimand than a reminder—that she was not to talk about what had happened or mention anything regarding her whereabouts. “Whereabouts,” that’s what the woman in the blue space suit called it.

Earlier Maggie had made two calls. The first she had to leave a voice message, knowing the call wouldn’t be able to be returned. She told her friend, Gwen Patterson, that she’d be okay. “Talk to Tully,” Maggie said, hating that it sounded so mysterious when she really just wanted to let her friend know that she shouldn’t worry.

The second call was to Julia Racine and the detective picked up after only one ring. It was less than an hour before the two were supposed to leave for their weekend road trip to Connecticut.

“It’s Maggie. Sorry, I’m not gonna be able to go.”

“Bummer,” was Racine’s response.

She had expected the high-strung detective to throw a fit, at least show some disappointment. Maggie found herself disappointed, instead, that there was little reaction. The two of them weren’t exactly friends. They were colleagues who had exchanged favors. No big deal. Okay, so the favors were sort of life-changing, the “you saved my mom so I saved your dad” kind of favor. Maybe a little bit of a big deal.

As a result Maggie had grown attached to Racine’s father although his early-onset Alzheimer’s sometimes prevented him from remembering their bond. The two women had been through a lot in a short time, brought together by killers and mutual incentives to bring those killers to justice. What had begun several years ago with animosity and distrust had dissolved into respect and understanding. Though to hear Racine, it was really no big deal.

“So you’ve got a big case or something?” the detective had asked.

“Something like that. I can’t explain right now.”

“Sure, I understand.” Racine had almost cut Maggie off with her instant understanding. “Jill’s been bugging me to spend more time with her anyway.”

Maggie knew little about Racine’s mysterious new lover, except that Racine sometimes called her G.I. Jill, so at least Maggie knew she was in the Army. At first Maggie thought that Racine kept her new lover a mystery because she had once been attracted to and rejected by Maggie. But they were beyond that. In many ways Racine reminded Maggie of herself. She kept her personal life private. That was all it was.

Maggie promised to touch base with Racine on Monday. Maybe the following weekend would work for another road trip. But when she hung up, Maggie couldn’t shake the emptiness that settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t have anyone else to call.

Though she had counted on seeing forensic anthropologist Adam Bonzado in Connecticut over the weekend she hadn’t really made plans with him. That was sort of where they were right now. Casual, spontaneous, the “call me from the road” at the last minute, “oh, by the way, if you don’t have anything going on this weekend…” Now she couldn’t even call him to say she wasn’t making the spontaneous road trip after all. It was supposed to be the grown-up, mature, no-strings kind of relationship she wanted, the ultimate nonrelationship.

Then she found herself thinking about Nick Morrelli, again. Since her trip to Nebraska in July, Morrelli had been persistent in wanting to see her. Through rumors, she heard that he had called off his wedding engagement. Once upon a time Maggie’s mother had accused Nick Morrelli of breaking up Maggie’s marriage, which wasn’t in the least bit true. However, now Maggie did feel responsible that Nick had broken off his engagement to pursue her.

She and Nick Morrelli had worked together on a case four years ago, the murders of two little boys and the kidnapping of Nick’s nephew. Nothing had happened between them. There had been an attraction. Some sexual tension. But mostly the case had been emotionally and physically draining. How could you judge true feelings when you’re running on adrenaline?

Worst of all was that she didn’t feel elated about his canceled engagement or even his sudden pursuit. She didn’t ask for this. She hadn’t expected it and she certainly had not encouraged it.

For the moment Maggie tried to shove aside her personal life and concentrate on her present situation. She had asked the woman in the blue space suit how Mary Louise and her mother were. Her keeper, her informant, her link to the outside world said she didn’t know. Maggie asked if she could see Mary Louise and was told, “I don’t know.” She asked several times to, at least, talk to Assistant Director Cunningham. Each time she was told he would not be available until morning. It seemed an odd thing to say, especially after a string of, “I don’t knows.”

There was another telephone alongside the wall of glass. This one had no dial, no buttons to push, and Maggie knew it was connected to the room next door, the room on the other side of the glass that was lined with blinking monitors, computer screens and other medical equipment. The phone was a communication system between the patient and the techs or doctors or whoever they were. Though none of them had attempted to communicate with her. In fact, they paid little attention to her and left the communications to the woman in the blue space suit.

Maggie thought about picking up the phone and demanding to get an update. Then she calmed herself. It wouldn’t help to antagonize her caretakers, her keepers, her wardens. She could get through the night. That’s all she needed to do. Just get through this night.

Over the course of the evening the woman in the blue space suit had brought Maggie water but no food. Again, no apology, but at least an explanation. They would be taking blood and urine samples throughout the night, so they couldn’t allow her to eat. Maggie asked what they were looking for. The woman hesitated, then said she didn’t know. Maggie asked if they had narrowed it down.

Another pause while the woman simply shrugged. After some thought she yelled, “THOSE ARE QUESTIONS YOU WOULD NEED TO ASK COLONEL PLATT.”

But when Maggie asked if the colonel would be stopping by soon to see her, the woman said she didn’t know.

“Could you please tell him I’d like to see him?”

“OF COURSE,” the woman shouted over her blower, but she answered this too quickly and Maggie wondered if Platt had gone home hours ago.

Newburgh Heights, Virginia

“Somehow I never imagined you as a stalker, Morrelli.” Tully was not pleased to see the Boston A.D.A.

“I brought Maggie some flowers. She wasn’t home. I left them. Nothing strange about that.”

“Was she expecting you?”

“No, she wasn’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’re sitting in a parked car outside her house. I’m checking on her house. It’s my business.”

It had been a long day. Tully wondered if he’d be reacting differently if Emma wasn’t waiting for him just yards away. Something about needing to bring out his Glock while his daughter was in the vicinity set him on edge. He didn’t like it and he wasn’t about to let Morrelli off the hook for putting him in this position. Besides, if Morrelli was important enough to Maggie, wouldn’t she have called him? Boston was about an eight-hour drive, an hour-and-a-half flight. Not exactly a spontaneous trip just to deliver flowers.

“So you dropped off the flowers,” Tully said, leaning on the rental like he was ready for a long explanation. “Maggie’s not here. Why are you still here?”

“I saw someone go inside her house. Thought maybe I should stick around and make sure it was okay.”

Tully shook his head. Morrelli was good. Convincing. Classic good looks with an easy charm. No wonder he was an assistant D.A. Tully didn’t know him very well. The first time he met him he thought Morrelli was a bit too slick. Too good looking. Too cocky. Too incompetent. Tully and Gwen had traveled to Boston, to Suffolk County’s courthouse. Morrelli’s territory. Gwen was only supposed to interview a kid in federal custody and had almost been stabbed inside the interrogation room. Morrelli had been in charge. In Tully’s book that was reason enough for him to hold a grudge against the guy.

“So you think burglars are in the habit of bringing teenagers along?”

“Teenager? To me she looks like a pretty young woman.”

He smiled up at Tully, obviously unaware that Emma was his daughter. Tully flexed his hands, kept them from balling up into fists. It was the wrong thing for Morrelli to say. “You’ve already pissed me off, Morrelli. You’re lucky you’re not kissing concrete right now.”

“Did something happen to Maggie?” Morrelli’s eyes were suddenly serious. Maybe he finally sensed Tully’s anger was real.

“She’s fine, Morrelli. She’s out of town for the weekend. That’s all.”

Morrelli looked past Tully’s shoulder.

Tully glanced back and then spun around to find Emma with Harvey pulling her on his leash, coming up the sidewalk.

“Is everything okay, Dad?”

Newburgh Heights, Virginia

“Somehow I never imagined you as a stalker, Morrelli.” Tully was not pleased to see the Boston A.D.A.

“I brought Maggie some flowers. She wasn’t home. I left them. Nothing strange about that.”

“Was she expecting you?”

“No, she wasn’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’re sitting in a parked car outside her house. I’m checking on her house. It’s my business.”

It had been a long day. Tully wondered if he’d be reacting differently if Emma wasn’t waiting for him just yards away. Something about needing to bring out his Glock while his daughter was in the vicinity set him on edge. He didn’t like it and he wasn’t about to let Morrelli off the hook for putting him in this position. Besides, if Morrelli was important enough to Maggie, wouldn’t she have called him? Boston was about an eight-hour drive, an hour-and-a-half flight. Not exactly a spontaneous trip just to deliver flowers.

“So you dropped off the flowers,” Tully said, leaning on the rental like he was ready for a long explanation. “Maggie’s not here. Why are you still here?”

“I saw someone go inside her house. Thought maybe I should stick around and make sure it was okay.”

Tully shook his head. Morrelli was good. Convincing. Classic good looks with an easy charm. No wonder he was an assistant D.A. Tully didn’t know him very well. The first time he met him he thought Morrelli was a bit too slick. Too good looking. Too cocky. Too incompetent. Tully and Gwen had traveled to Boston, to Suffolk County’s courthouse. Morrelli’s territory. Gwen was only supposed to interview a kid in federal custody and had almost been stabbed inside the interrogation room. Morrelli had been in charge. In Tully’s book that was reason enough for him to hold a grudge against the guy.

“So you think burglars are in the habit of bringing teenagers along?”

“Teenager? To me she looks like a pretty young woman.”

He smiled up at Tully, obviously unaware that Emma was his daughter. Tully flexed his hands, kept them from balling up into fists. It was the wrong thing for Morrelli to say. “You’ve already pissed me off, Morrelli. You’re lucky you’re not kissing concrete right now.”

“Did something happen to Maggie?” Morrelli’s eyes were suddenly serious. Maybe he finally sensed Tully’s anger was real.

“She’s fine, Morrelli. She’s out of town for the weekend. That’s all.”

Morrelli looked past Tully’s shoulder.

Tully glanced back and then spun around to find Emma with Harvey pulling her on his leash, coming up the sidewalk.

“Is everything okay, Dad?”

USAMRIID

Colonel Benjamin Platt rubbed both hands over his face, stopping to dig the heels into his eyes then raking his fingers over his short cropped hair. It didn’t do much good. He was exhausted. His vision was still a bit blurry from staring at the monitors and computer screens for the last several hours. He sat back in the rolling leather chair and twirled it around to look in through the glass wall.

Thankfully she had fallen asleep about an hour ago. What a nightmare this must be for her. To have a spaceman come into her home and take her mom away in a plastic bubble. Then to be brought here. The Slammer tended to freak out even the most stable people. It was bad enough to be locked in but worse being poked and prodded by doctors in space suits. There had been plenty of studies done on the psychological effect of human contact, human touch and, of course, the psychological effect of its absence. The Slammer proved most of those studies to the extreme.

Still, they couldn’t justify taking her to a civilian hospital where a child would be much more comfortable. They couldn’t risk exposing hospital personnel who simply would not be trained to deal with something like this. And, of course, they couldn’t risk the exposure to the media. Platt knew that was, in part, Janklow’s reasoning. His directive had been quite clear.

Platt gulped what was left in his coffee mug despite it being bitter and lukewarm. He couldn’t remember when he had eaten last. He rubbed at his eyes again. No matter how hard he tried he could not stop thinking about Ali. Mary Louise triggered something inside him and his exhaustion wasn’t allowing him to shut it down. The little girl’s big, blue, curious eyes and long tangle of curls reminded him so much of his daughter. What was worse than the memory was the physical ache. He still missed her and it surprised him how much. It had been almost five years. More years had passed since she was gone than the years that she had been in his life.

He was in Afghanistan when it happened. He had left only months before, leaving behind a loving wife, a beautiful daughter and starting a promising new career as an Army doctor. He knew how dangerous it would be but exciting, too, because he was one of the chosen few who would protect the troops against biological weapons. It was considered a heroic mission and after 9/11 it felt like a worthy obligation. It was a chance to put to use all his textbook knowledge, to try experiments in the field what had only been proven in the labs. To save lives.

He had been willing to take the risks for himself, totally unaware that the real danger was back at home. He would have given up all his so-called valuable knowledge, his golden opportunity to have just a few more minutes with his precious Ali, to be there with her. Even if it was just to hold her hand before she was gone forever. But someone else had made that decision for him, had decided what was more important, had denied him that small wish.

A knock at the door startled him. The door opened behind him and Platt spun around to find Sergeant Landis.

“Sir, I have that information you requested.”

“You found something?” He said “some
thing
” when he really hoped Landis had found some
one.

“There is no father listed on the birth certificate,” Landis cut to the chase.

“How about grandparents?”

“A grandmother. Lives in Richmond. The grandfather is recently deceased.”

He handed Platt a folded piece of paper. Knowing Landis, Platt expected to find more than enough information, probably more than he needed.

“One problem, sir,” Landis stood in front of him, unfolding a second piece of paper, “Commander Janklow left a message for you a few minutes ago. He said—” and Landis read from the paper “‘—under no uncertain terms is Colonel Platt to call any relatives of any of the contained victims before Monday morning. We need to know what it is we’re dealing with first.’”

Landis handed Platt the note but remained standing in front of him as if waiting to be dismissed or perhaps awaiting further instruction.

Platt took the paper and tapped its folded corner against the desk. He glanced back into the little girl’s room and his eyes swept back over the monitors and computer screens that continued to blink and click and gather data.

When Janklow assigned him this mission he told him it was in Platt’s hands, he expected them to be steady, unflinching hands that would do what was necessary, whatever he—meaning Platt—deemed necessary. But then Janklow insisted McCathy be included. Now this.

Janklow had assigned Platt the mission because he knew Platt was a play-by-the-numbers, follow-all-orders, dot-all-the-i’s kind of leader. And yet, Janklow didn’t trust him.

“Do you have kids, Sergeant Landis?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Kids. Do you and your wife have any?”

“Two boys, sir.” Landis was staring at him now, more curious than confused. Platt never asked personal questions.

“What time does your shift end, Sergeant?”

Landis didn’t need to look at his wristwatch. “About an hour ago, sir.”

“Go on home to your wife and your boys, Sergeant.”

“Sir?” Now he looked confused, almost uncertain as to whether he should leave his boss who was acting strangely. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“No, you’ve given me everything I need.” Platt waved the first piece of paper Landis had handed him to indicate this was all he needed. The thought of Mary Louise being alone until Monday tied a knot in Platt’s gut. She’d already been alone for how many days?

Sergeant Landis left, making room for Dr. Sophie Drummond’s arrival.

“Sir, sorry to interrupt.” She stayed in the doorway until he nodded. “Agent O’Dell has been asking to talk with you.”

“Restless and uncooperative so soon?”

“Very cooperative. Maybe a bit spooked.”

“Slammeritis?”

“Perhaps.”

“Any word from McCathy?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded again and she slipped back out the door.

Not hearing from McCathy set Platt on edge. If McCathy was working by process of elimination then he should have already ruled out the worst. Not knowing churned up acid to eat away at the knots in Platt’s stomach. He knew all too well what Agent O’Dell must be feeling.