Split Second (47 page)

M
aggie stepped back, giving Keith room. It was worse than she expected. The smears stretched, reached, clawed and swiped with the undeniable motion of someone desperate and terrified. The handprints were small, almost child-size. She remembered Jessica Beckwith’s delicate hands holding out the pizza box for her.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

She heard Tully’s voice again come out of the black. She knew he had believed they wouldn’t find a thing, that nothing had taken place here. There was no victory in proving him wrong. Instead, she found herself light-headed and nauseated. Suddenly it was too hot in the room. What the hell was the matter with her? She hadn’t been sick at crime scenes since the early days, those first years of initiation. Now for a second time in less than a week, her stomach attempted to revolt against her.

“Keith, what are the chances of this being a cleaning solution? The house is for sale. It still smells like someone has given it a recent scrubbing.”

“Oh, it’s been scrubbed all right. Someone was trying to get rid of this.”

“But luminol can be sensitive to bleach,” she continued. “Maybe a residential-cleaning company scrubbed down everything including the walls.” After a fitful, sleepless night of anticipating, of knowing what they’d discover, why did she not want to believe it? Why did she find herself wanting to believe the streaks and swipes in front of her were simply an overzealous maid?

“In the linen closet there’s a bunch of cleaning supplies. Mop, bucket, sponges and liquid cleaners. Smells like the same stuff that was used. None of it contains bleach,” Ganza countered. “I checked. Besides, no one cleans and leaves handprints like that.”

She forced herself to stare at the prints before they faded. The small fingers were elongated as they had grabbed and clawed and slid. She closed her eyes against the images her mind was trained to concoct. With little coaxing, she knew she could see it all in slow motion as if visualizing a scene from a movie, a horror movie.

“Ready, Maggie?” Keith’s voice made her jump. He was right beside her again as the room started to return to darkness. “Let’s get the floor from here to the bathroom.”

She felt her fingers shaking as she repositioned them on the spray bottles. Gratefully, neither Keith nor Tully could see them. She steadied herself and tried to remember exactly what direction and how far it was to the bathroom. Once she felt back in control, she began spritzing, keeping the mist away from her feet as she slowly walked sideways. Maggie hadn’t reached the bathroom door when the floor began lighting up like a runway, long skid marks following her.

“Oh my God!” She heard Tully mutter from his dark perch, and she wanted to tell him to shut up. His shock unnerved her and worse, reminded her of her own.

Ganza pointed the red dot to the floor, following the trail that had once been bloody feet dragged across the parquet floor. Maggie pushed back strands of hair and swiped at the perspiration on her forehead. Was Jessica unconscious by the time he got her to the bathroom? The girl would have lost a lot of blood putting up a fight like the one smeared on the wall. Maggie wondered if she was conscious when Stucky lifted her into the whirlpool bath. When he told her all the horrible things he would do to her. Was she dead or alive when he started cutting?

“Let’s take a break here,” Keith said. “Agent Tully, go ahead and switch the lights back on.”

Maggie blinked against the burst of light, relieved at the interruption of her mind’s descent into the depths of hell. If she tried, she would be able to hear Jessica’s screams, her pleas for help. Maggie’s memory bank seemed filled with audio clips of what sheer terror sounded like. It was something she’d never forget, no matter how many years went by.

“Agent O’Dell?”

Tully startled her, suddenly standing in front of her. She looked around to see Keith busy in the corner, and only now did she notice that he had taken the spray bottles from her hands and was filling them.

“Agent O’Dell, I owe you an apology,” Agent Tully was saying. At some point he had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves in haphazard and uneven folds. He unbuttoned his collar and twisted the knot of his tie loose. “I really thought there was nothing here. I feel like such an asshole.”

Maggie stared at him and tried to remember the last time anyone, especially in law enforcement, had apologized to her, let alone admitted to making a mistake. Was this guy for real? Instead of looking embarrassed, he genuinely looked sorry.

“I have to admit, Agent Tully, I was simply acting on gut instinct.”

“Maggie, we should remember to pull the drain from the whirlpool bath,” Ganza interrupted without looking up. “I’m betting that’s where he cut her open. We may find some leftovers.”

Agent Tully’s face grew paler, and she saw him wince.

“One thing we didn’t check last night, Agent Tully, was the garbage cans outside,” she told him, offering to save him. “Since the house is for sale and empty, the garbage collectors may have skipped it.”

He seemed grateful for the chance to escape. “I’ll go check.”

As he left, Maggie realized he could possibly find something equally shocking in the garbage. Perhaps she wasn’t saving him at all. She pulled out a fresh pair of latex gloves from her forensic kit and tossed out the ones she had contaminated with luminol. Keith unpacked a wrench, screwdriver and several evidence bags.

“You’re being awfully nice to the new guy,” he said.

She glanced at him. Though he kept his eyes on the items he was unearthing from his bag, she could see the corner of his mouth caught in a smile.

“I can be nice. It’s not like it’s an impossibility.”

“Didn’t say that it was.” He dug out Q-Tips, several brushes, forceps and small brown bottles, lining everything up as if taking inventory. “Don’t worry, Maggie, I won’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” This time he gave her his eyes, light blue behind hooded, heavy lids that Maggie knew in the last thirty years had seen more horror and evil than any one person should ever be allowed to see. Yet now they were smiling at her.

“Keith, what do you know about Agent Tully?”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

“Of course there are nothing but good things. He looks like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Fox Mulder.”

“Fox Mulder?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“You know, from the TV show The
X-Files
?”

“Oh, I know who he is. I’m just surprised you know who he is.”

She found herself blushing as though he’d discovered some secret.

“I’ve caught a couple of episodes. What things have you heard? About Tully?” She quickly returned to the subject.

“He’s here from Cleveland at Cunningham’s request, so the guy has to be good, right? Someone said he’s able to look at crime scene photos alone and come up with a profile that nine times out of ten is on target.”

“Crime scene photos. That explains why he’s so squeamish with the real thing.”

“I don’t think he’s been with the Bureau long—five, six years. Probably slipped in right at the age limit.”

“What did he do before? Please don’t tell me he’s a lawyer.”

“Something wrong with lawyers?” Agent Tully interrupted from the doorway.

Maggie checked his eyes to see if he was angry with them. Keith went back to his task, leaving Maggie feeling as though she was the one who needed to explain.

“I was just curious,” she said without apology.

“You could just ask me.”

Yes, he was angry, but she saw him pretending not to be. Did he always make certain his emotions were so carefully kept in check?

“Okay. So what did you do before you joined the Bureau?”

He held up a black garbage bag in one hand.

“I was an insurance fraud investigator.” In his other latex-gloved hand he held up a wad of what looked like candy bar wrappers. “And I’d say our boy has a serious sweet tooth.”

M
aggie stepped back, giving Keith room. It was worse than she expected. The smears stretched, reached, clawed and swiped with the undeniable motion of someone desperate and terrified. The handprints were small, almost child-size. She remembered Jessica Beckwith’s delicate hands holding out the pizza box for her.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

She heard Tully’s voice again come out of the black. She knew he had believed they wouldn’t find a thing, that nothing had taken place here. There was no victory in proving him wrong. Instead, she found herself light-headed and nauseated. Suddenly it was too hot in the room. What the hell was the matter with her? She hadn’t been sick at crime scenes since the early days, those first years of initiation. Now for a second time in less than a week, her stomach attempted to revolt against her.

“Keith, what are the chances of this being a cleaning solution? The house is for sale. It still smells like someone has given it a recent scrubbing.”

“Oh, it’s been scrubbed all right. Someone was trying to get rid of this.”

“But luminol can be sensitive to bleach,” she continued. “Maybe a residential-cleaning company scrubbed down everything including the walls.” After a fitful, sleepless night of anticipating, of knowing what they’d discover, why did she not want to believe it? Why did she find herself wanting to believe the streaks and swipes in front of her were simply an overzealous maid?

“In the linen closet there’s a bunch of cleaning supplies. Mop, bucket, sponges and liquid cleaners. Smells like the same stuff that was used. None of it contains bleach,” Ganza countered. “I checked. Besides, no one cleans and leaves handprints like that.”

She forced herself to stare at the prints before they faded. The small fingers were elongated as they had grabbed and clawed and slid. She closed her eyes against the images her mind was trained to concoct. With little coaxing, she knew she could see it all in slow motion as if visualizing a scene from a movie, a horror movie.

“Ready, Maggie?” Keith’s voice made her jump. He was right beside her again as the room started to return to darkness. “Let’s get the floor from here to the bathroom.”

She felt her fingers shaking as she repositioned them on the spray bottles. Gratefully, neither Keith nor Tully could see them. She steadied herself and tried to remember exactly what direction and how far it was to the bathroom. Once she felt back in control, she began spritzing, keeping the mist away from her feet as she slowly walked sideways. Maggie hadn’t reached the bathroom door when the floor began lighting up like a runway, long skid marks following her.

“Oh my God!” She heard Tully mutter from his dark perch, and she wanted to tell him to shut up. His shock unnerved her and worse, reminded her of her own.

Ganza pointed the red dot to the floor, following the trail that had once been bloody feet dragged across the parquet floor. Maggie pushed back strands of hair and swiped at the perspiration on her forehead. Was Jessica unconscious by the time he got her to the bathroom? The girl would have lost a lot of blood putting up a fight like the one smeared on the wall. Maggie wondered if she was conscious when Stucky lifted her into the whirlpool bath. When he told her all the horrible things he would do to her. Was she dead or alive when he started cutting?

“Let’s take a break here,” Keith said. “Agent Tully, go ahead and switch the lights back on.”

Maggie blinked against the burst of light, relieved at the interruption of her mind’s descent into the depths of hell. If she tried, she would be able to hear Jessica’s screams, her pleas for help. Maggie’s memory bank seemed filled with audio clips of what sheer terror sounded like. It was something she’d never forget, no matter how many years went by.

“Agent O’Dell?”

Tully startled her, suddenly standing in front of her. She looked around to see Keith busy in the corner, and only now did she notice that he had taken the spray bottles from her hands and was filling them.

“Agent O’Dell, I owe you an apology,” Agent Tully was saying. At some point he had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves in haphazard and uneven folds. He unbuttoned his collar and twisted the knot of his tie loose. “I really thought there was nothing here. I feel like such an asshole.”

Maggie stared at him and tried to remember the last time anyone, especially in law enforcement, had apologized to her, let alone admitted to making a mistake. Was this guy for real? Instead of looking embarrassed, he genuinely looked sorry.

“I have to admit, Agent Tully, I was simply acting on gut instinct.”

“Maggie, we should remember to pull the drain from the whirlpool bath,” Ganza interrupted without looking up. “I’m betting that’s where he cut her open. We may find some leftovers.”

Agent Tully’s face grew paler, and she saw him wince.

“One thing we didn’t check last night, Agent Tully, was the garbage cans outside,” she told him, offering to save him. “Since the house is for sale and empty, the garbage collectors may have skipped it.”

He seemed grateful for the chance to escape. “I’ll go check.”

As he left, Maggie realized he could possibly find something equally shocking in the garbage. Perhaps she wasn’t saving him at all. She pulled out a fresh pair of latex gloves from her forensic kit and tossed out the ones she had contaminated with luminol. Keith unpacked a wrench, screwdriver and several evidence bags.

“You’re being awfully nice to the new guy,” he said.

She glanced at him. Though he kept his eyes on the items he was unearthing from his bag, she could see the corner of his mouth caught in a smile.

“I can be nice. It’s not like it’s an impossibility.”

“Didn’t say that it was.” He dug out Q-Tips, several brushes, forceps and small brown bottles, lining everything up as if taking inventory. “Don’t worry, Maggie, I won’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” This time he gave her his eyes, light blue behind hooded, heavy lids that Maggie knew in the last thirty years had seen more horror and evil than any one person should ever be allowed to see. Yet now they were smiling at her.

“Keith, what do you know about Agent Tully?”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

“Of course there are nothing but good things. He looks like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Fox Mulder.”

“Fox Mulder?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“You know, from the TV show The
X-Files
?”

“Oh, I know who he is. I’m just surprised you know who he is.”

She found herself blushing as though he’d discovered some secret.

“I’ve caught a couple of episodes. What things have you heard? About Tully?” She quickly returned to the subject.

“He’s here from Cleveland at Cunningham’s request, so the guy has to be good, right? Someone said he’s able to look at crime scene photos alone and come up with a profile that nine times out of ten is on target.”

“Crime scene photos. That explains why he’s so squeamish with the real thing.”

“I don’t think he’s been with the Bureau long—five, six years. Probably slipped in right at the age limit.”

“What did he do before? Please don’t tell me he’s a lawyer.”

“Something wrong with lawyers?” Agent Tully interrupted from the doorway.

Maggie checked his eyes to see if he was angry with them. Keith went back to his task, leaving Maggie feeling as though she was the one who needed to explain.

“I was just curious,” she said without apology.

“You could just ask me.”

Yes, he was angry, but she saw him pretending not to be. Did he always make certain his emotions were so carefully kept in check?

“Okay. So what did you do before you joined the Bureau?”

He held up a black garbage bag in one hand.

“I was an insurance fraud investigator.” In his other latex-gloved hand he held up a wad of what looked like candy bar wrappers. “And I’d say our boy has a serious sweet tooth.”