Split Second (62 page)

Maggie waited for the detective to explain. Now he seemed to be distracted by Dr. Holmes, or rather the bloody glob in the take-out container that Dr. Holmes was examining.

“Detective Rosen,” Maggie waited for his attention. “Why do think this will lead us anywhere?”

“For one thing, it’s mud.” He stated the obvious as though he had uncovered a secret. When he realized she didn’t see the significance, he continued, “Well, it hasn’t rained for quite a while. It’s looked like it several times, but nothing. Not around here anyway. Always offshore.”

She drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for something more than this weather report. He noticed her impatience, quickly opened one of the bags and pinched some of the dirt between his fingers, bringing it out and showing her.

“It’s a thick, sticky clay. Even smells a bit moldy. Again, nothing like we have around here.”

She could put an end to all of this by simply admitting she had seen the stuff before, that they had actually analyzed and broken it down. Instead, she let him go on.

“A couple of the guys who’ve lived here all their lives said they haven’t seen anything like this stuff before. Take a close look. It’s unusual, with bits of reddish rock, and that yellow and silvery crap is pretty weird…maybe even man-made.”

Finally, she confessed, “We have found similar dirt at two other crime scenes, Detective Rosen, but—”

“Sam.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Sam.”

Maggie brushed annoying, damp strands off her forehead. Had Dr. Holmes been right about Detective…Sam? Was he really only here to flirt and try to impress her?

“Sam, we have analyzed this stuff. It may be from a closed-down industrial site. We do have several people trying to find a possible location.”

“Well, I think I can save you some time.”

She stared at him, growing more impatient with his cocky smile. He was wasting their time with this grandstanding.

“I think I know where this came from,” he said, pleased with himself despite Maggie’s look of skepticism. “I went fishing a couple of weekends ago. A little spot about fifty miles from here on the other side of the toll bridge. I was supposed to meet a buddy, but I still don’t know this area very well. I ended up getting lost in this isolated wooded area. When I got home I noticed this sticky mud covering my boots. Took me almost two hours to clean them. The mud looked just like this crap. Couldn’t figure out what the hell that silver dust was.”

Now he had Maggie’s full attention. She could feel her pulse begin to race. The area sounded exactly like someplace Stucky would hole up. Detective Rosen was right. This could be their big break.

“Well, I hope this pans out,” Dr. Holmes interrupted, only now looking up from the contents of the plastic container. “This guy is one sick bastard. I think this woman may have confessed to him, tried appealing to him, hoping he had one ounce of human dignity in him.”

“What are you talking about?” Maggie watched the medical examiner wipe his forehead, suddenly not caring that he smeared blood from his gloves to his face. The calm, experienced professional seemed visibly shaken by his discovery.

“What is it?” she tried again.

“Might not be a coincidence that he chose to extract her uterus.” He stepped back from the table and shook his head. “This woman was pregnant.”

D
etective Rosen had called and filled in the Newburgh Heights Police Department when they realized Hannah Messinger may have been taken from the downtown liquor store. O’Dell had anxiously accompanied Dr. Holmes, and Rosen had stayed behind at the truck stop, gathering evidence, so Tully decided to accompany Manx and his men. After talking to Detective Manx earlier in the week and not being impressed with his foot-dragging tactics on the Tess McGowan case, Tully knew he should be here if any evidence showed up.

As he waited for one of Manx’s officers to jimmy the lock on the back door, he found himself wondering if Detective Manx had been called away from some nightclub. He was dressed in chinos and a bright orange jacket with a blue tie. Okay, maybe the jacket could pass for brown. It was difficult to tell under the street lamps. But he was certain the tie had little dolphins on it. He took a sidelong look at Manx. He looked to be about his age. His buzz cut emphasized his square features, but Tully supposed women probably found Manx attractive in a brutish sort of way. Actually, he had no clue what women found attractive anymore.

From this position in the alley, Tully recognized the back of Mama Mia’s Pizza Place on the corner. A shiny new Dumpster replaced the one they had found Jessica Beckwith in. Perhaps it was the owner’s way of getting rid of any and all memories. What would they think when they found out that another woman had been taken and murdered only several stores away?

He pulled up the collar of his jacket against the sudden chill of the night. Or perhaps the chill came simply from the memory of that beautiful young woman tangled unceremoniously in a web of garbage. Thinking of young Jessica Beckwith reminded Tully of Emma. How could he ever make Emma understand he only wanted to protect her? That he wasn’t simply being mean. Not that she wanted any explanation. And of course, now she wasn’t even talking to him since he had prevented her from going to the prom with Josh Reynolds.

“We tried to get hold of the owner,” Manx interrupted Tully’s thoughts. “He’s out of town, won’t be able to get back until late tomorrow. His wife said Messinger was taking care of things.”

Tully reached for his eyeglasses and noticed the officer was making a mess of the door’s lock. Finally something clicked just as the door handle came loose and fell off.

Manx found a light switch and not only did the back storeroom brighten, but the entire shop lit up, aisle by aisle. It didn’t take much time to inspect the small shop and realize nothing seemed to be out of place. The cash register had been shut down and locked up. Even the Closed sign had been turned on. There was no indication of forced entrance.

“He may have grabbed her while she was walking to her car,” Manx said, scratching his head, reminding Tully of one of the Three Stooges.

An officer took off out the door to check the alley, while the other started rummaging through the storeroom.

“Rosen filled me in, told me about O’Dell.”

Tully stopped and glanced over at Manx from behind the counter. The detective’s bulldog features softened. He actually looked sympathetic, if that was possible. Tully decided the jacket was definitely orange. In the bright light of the store there was no doubt.

“Now maybe you’ll understand,” Tully said, “why she’s been overly anxious about your investigation of the McGowan woman’s disappearance.”

“Well, I figure there might be a reason to rethink the Endicott case, too.” Manx hesitated as though making a major concession. “I’ve got copies of the case file for you in my car.”

“Detective,” the officer from the storeroom called out. He appeared at the door, his face pale and his eyes wide. “There’s a wine cellar below the storeroom. I think you better take a look.”

Tully followed Manx. They started down the narrow steps, only a bare lightbulb above to guide the way. But Tully didn’t need to see anything to know they had found the murder site. No farther than the third or fourth step, he could smell the blood, and he knew his stomach was not ready for what was below.

D
etective Rosen had called and filled in the Newburgh Heights Police Department when they realized Hannah Messinger may have been taken from the downtown liquor store. O’Dell had anxiously accompanied Dr. Holmes, and Rosen had stayed behind at the truck stop, gathering evidence, so Tully decided to accompany Manx and his men. After talking to Detective Manx earlier in the week and not being impressed with his foot-dragging tactics on the Tess McGowan case, Tully knew he should be here if any evidence showed up.

As he waited for one of Manx’s officers to jimmy the lock on the back door, he found himself wondering if Detective Manx had been called away from some nightclub. He was dressed in chinos and a bright orange jacket with a blue tie. Okay, maybe the jacket could pass for brown. It was difficult to tell under the street lamps. But he was certain the tie had little dolphins on it. He took a sidelong look at Manx. He looked to be about his age. His buzz cut emphasized his square features, but Tully supposed women probably found Manx attractive in a brutish sort of way. Actually, he had no clue what women found attractive anymore.

From this position in the alley, Tully recognized the back of Mama Mia’s Pizza Place on the corner. A shiny new Dumpster replaced the one they had found Jessica Beckwith in. Perhaps it was the owner’s way of getting rid of any and all memories. What would they think when they found out that another woman had been taken and murdered only several stores away?

He pulled up the collar of his jacket against the sudden chill of the night. Or perhaps the chill came simply from the memory of that beautiful young woman tangled unceremoniously in a web of garbage. Thinking of young Jessica Beckwith reminded Tully of Emma. How could he ever make Emma understand he only wanted to protect her? That he wasn’t simply being mean. Not that she wanted any explanation. And of course, now she wasn’t even talking to him since he had prevented her from going to the prom with Josh Reynolds.

“We tried to get hold of the owner,” Manx interrupted Tully’s thoughts. “He’s out of town, won’t be able to get back until late tomorrow. His wife said Messinger was taking care of things.”

Tully reached for his eyeglasses and noticed the officer was making a mess of the door’s lock. Finally something clicked just as the door handle came loose and fell off.

Manx found a light switch and not only did the back storeroom brighten, but the entire shop lit up, aisle by aisle. It didn’t take much time to inspect the small shop and realize nothing seemed to be out of place. The cash register had been shut down and locked up. Even the Closed sign had been turned on. There was no indication of forced entrance.

“He may have grabbed her while she was walking to her car,” Manx said, scratching his head, reminding Tully of one of the Three Stooges.

An officer took off out the door to check the alley, while the other started rummaging through the storeroom.

“Rosen filled me in, told me about O’Dell.”

Tully stopped and glanced over at Manx from behind the counter. The detective’s bulldog features softened. He actually looked sympathetic, if that was possible. Tully decided the jacket was definitely orange. In the bright light of the store there was no doubt.

“Now maybe you’ll understand,” Tully said, “why she’s been overly anxious about your investigation of the McGowan woman’s disappearance.”

“Well, I figure there might be a reason to rethink the Endicott case, too.” Manx hesitated as though making a major concession. “I’ve got copies of the case file for you in my car.”

“Detective,” the officer from the storeroom called out. He appeared at the door, his face pale and his eyes wide. “There’s a wine cellar below the storeroom. I think you better take a look.”

Tully followed Manx. They started down the narrow steps, only a bare lightbulb above to guide the way. But Tully didn’t need to see anything to know they had found the murder site. No farther than the third or fourth step, he could smell the blood, and he knew his stomach was not ready for what was below.

H
e couldn’t believe that she had escaped. How had she been able to unlock the door so easily? He should have felt disappointment rather than exhilaration. But even his fatigue would not deprive him of the thrill and challenge of a good hunt.

The night goggles seemed to make little difference. Sure they helped him see, but there was nothing to see. Where could that little cunt have wandered off to? He shouldn’t have left her unattended for so long, but he had been distracted with the cute brunette. She had been so thoughtful, just as she had been with Agent Maggie. She had taken her time, helping him pick out a nice bottle of wine, not minding that it was closing time. In fact, she had already shut off the Open sign and was locking the front door, when he hurried in. Yes, she had been most helpful, insisting he try the crisp, white Italian for his special occasion, all the while not realizing that she herself would be the denouement of his special occasion.

But his little detour had taken its toll on him. He should have simply taken his prize and left her body in the cellar of the liquor store. At least then his muscles wouldn’t be aching. His eyes were having problems focusing. The red lines were appearing more frequently, or were the night goggles malfunctioning? He hated to think that his eyesight had gotten worse in less than a week. He hated the idea of depending on someone else. But he would do whatever was necessary to accomplish his goal, to finish this game.

He wandered through the dark woods, annoyed that his feet kept tripping over tree roots and slipping on the mud. He had fallen once, but not again. He bet she hadn’t wandered far from the shed. They never did. Sometimes they even came back, afraid of the dark or wanting to get out of the cold or the rain. Stupid bitches, so gullible, so naive. Usually they followed the same path, hoping the worn trail would lead them to freedom. Never thinking it might lead them, instead, to another trap.

He had to hand it to Tess McGowan. She had managed to hide herself quite nicely. But it wouldn’t last. He knew these woods like the back of his hand. There was no way for her to escape unless she was willing to swim. Funny, he thought as he adjusted the goggles to a different setting, none of them ever attempted that. But then, not many of them had had the opportunity. Tess was lucky he had been held up—even luckier that she had found a way to escape from the shack. He should have been angry with her, but her talents excited him. He did so love a challenge. It would make it all the sweeter to finally take her down, to possess her—mind, body and soul.

As he climbed the ridge he hoped he wouldn’t find her with a broken neck at the bottom of some ravine. That would be a total waste. He was hoping she would make up for his disappointment in Rachel. She hadn’t lived up to his expectations at all. She had been such a flirt as long as she thought he was a lowly utility worker she could tease and control. She seemed to have so much energy and vibrancy, yet she had whimpered like a helpless child when he was fucking her, the fight driven out of her so easily it was pathetic. To make matters worse, she lasted less than a half hour when he released her into the woods. What a shame.

He grabbed onto the vines and pulled himself up to the top of the ridge. Here he’d be able to look down and see for quite a distance. Nothing registered. There was no mass of heat that lit up his goggles. Where the hell had she gone?

He reached under the contraption to rub his eyes. Maybe he needed sleep more than he needed to punish Tess McGowan with a good fuck. With the familiar lethargy taking over his body, he didn’t need the added disappointment if he did find her and wasn’t able to…fuck her. He didn’t even want to think about that. No, he’d start again in the morning, when he had the energy and could enjoy a good hunt. Yes, he’d start bright and early. He looped the rope over his shoulder, picked up the crossbow and headed back. Maybe he’d open that nice bottle of Italian wine that Hannah had promised would delight him.