Stranded (11 page)

“Bonnie adores dogs,” she said to Creed.

“No school this week?” Creed asked casually.

“Spring break. We thought it would be a treat to join Rodney. Show Bonnie what it is he does all week when he’s away.”

The man was actually smiling now, watching the little girl.

“See Rodney, just because you’re scared of dogs—”

“I’m not scared.”

“He had a dog attack him when he was a little boy, so he doesn’t trust them.” Then to her husband, she said, “I can’t believe you took her to the bathroom without putting her shoes on.”

“She didn’t want them on, then she was crying that she was getting her socks dirty.”

The more the couple bickered, the more Creed relaxed.

They sounded like a normal family.

CHAPTER 18

He slipped two receipts into the back-cover pocket of his log book, then turned to a new page and jotted down:

Tuesday, March 19

10:47 p.m.

Pilot Plaza #354, Sioux City, IA

He had just filled his gas tank and had done a quick maintenance check. He was ready to head out on the road again. He was still flying high on adrenaline. Not only had he been able to hear what everyone thought about his handiwork back at the farm, but he had also been able to finally meet Maggie O’Dell face-to-face.

Magpie: even more exquisite up close

He’d even bought her a beer … well, a round of beers for all of them. But it gave him surprising pleasure to watch her drink it. He cataloged the details now on the flip page of his log book:

Sam Adams lager

He liked that she waved off a frosted mug, choosing to sip directly from the bottle. He took note of what and how she ordered her food, too, adding to his page:

Cheeseburger, medium-well

cheddar cheese, bacon, extra pickles

side of fries (lots of ketchup)

She thanked the waitress whenever she brought Maggie something, taking the time to notice that her name was Rita and using it, glancing up and making eye contact. No one else paid attention to the woman as she served them, reaching over and around again and again all evening long.

He saw that Maggie left her a nice tip, too, even though someone else had picked up the tab. He should have been quicker. He could have bought her meal, too, but someone beat him to it and he didn’t want to make a fuss.

Until today he had observed Agent Margaret O’Dell only from a distance, but he felt like he’d known her for years. From the first time he saw her he realized they were kindred spirits. And no, he wasn’t easily attracted to pretty women. It took more than a pretty face to grab his attention these days. Besides, he was a professional, just like Maggie.

Last month he had watched her at a crime scene, a warehouse in D.C. that had been gutted by fire. He had also watched the asshole who set it on fire. Same asshole who later torched Maggie’s house. If he had seen him doing it, the guy would be maggot food right now. He never really understood the fascination with fire.

The only reason he had been at that warehouse that night was because he was dumping a body in the alley. Sometimes he liked to
do that. Then stick around so he could be there when people discovered his handiwork. Once he even called 911 to report a body so he could observe the first responders. It wasn’t just to get off on it like some stupid sons of bitches. He actually learned a lot by watching the investigators, getting close enough to overhear their conversations and see what they collected.

There had been times like tonight when he frequented cop bars, just to listen to them. Buy them a few drinks and they started talking about all sorts of things. The time he spent hanging around cops and watching and listening had proven invaluable. It helped him change things up, perfect his methods, alternate patterns. He liked new challenges.

When he first saw Maggie—back at that D.C. crime scene—he could tell she liked challenges, too. Watching a CNN profile on her he’d learned that her mother sometimes called her “magpie” and that’s when he knew they were kindred spirits. His own mother had often spoken of the magpie bird and considered it a good omen. It was the only bird that refused to go aboard Noah’s Ark and instead perched on the roof. So spirited, just like him. Curious and constantly questioning, searching, learning, testing. What would it be like to take on a magpie?

That’s why he left the map for her. That’s why he included the socks—though he really hated repeating such an obvious pattern. He wanted her to find him so he could share his handiwork with her. Challenge her. See what she was made of. Poke and prod and prepare her for what he had planned. He hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

He saw Lily crossing the parking lot, her hair still a tangled mess, her handbag making her slouch as she walked. What a pathetic creature. She had knocked on almost all of the truckers’
cabs, even daring to knock on one that had a sign posted on the windshield: NO LOT LIZARDS! She was headed back to the main building of the truck plaza.

He started his engine. He’d offer her a ride. She’d recognize him from the farm and not give it a second thought. If she didn’t want a ride, he’d offer her twenty bucks to get in, though he didn’t want her touching him. Her sunken cheeks and rat-nest hair disgusted him. Already he was thinking it wouldn’t be much of a challenge to kill her. That’s why he didn’t bother with women like her. He didn’t imagine she was capable of putting up a good fight, let alone the psychological interplay he so enjoyed. She’d probably welcome death. He hated that kind of attitude. But he needed to look at this as a necessity.

He grabbed the ball cap he had taken from the bar and grill. He sniffed the inside, filling his lungs with the scent of Maggie’s hair. He slipped it on and immediately liked how close it made him feel to her.

Then he pulled up next to the lot lizard and rolled down his window.

CHAPTER 19

Maggie had gotten used to the interstate hotels and motels. Most of them offered the basics, some added free Internet service. Maggie didn’t care as long as the room was clean. Tully’s eyes lit up—despite not being hungry enough to finish his burger—when he saw a sign in the lobby for a free continental breakfast that the Super 8 Hotel called the SuperStart.

Tully hadn’t been able to reserve two rooms close to each other. And from the looks of the back parking lot it was no wonder. It was already packed with trucks and buses, a variety of sizes from eighteen-wheelers to cargo vans and service panel trucks. Earlier at the bar and grill their friendly lesson from the truckers who had joined them included a list of what truckers hauled. Maggie saw that this hotel parking lot displayed just some of those goods, from timber to automobiles. And obviously many truckers didn’t sleep in their trucks back at the truck plaza.

Tully gave her the room on the third floor and took the one on the first. He hadn’t been feeling good, so she was surprised to have him knocking on her door less than twenty minutes after she had gotten to her room. She had already peeled off her muddy clothes and was wearing only a nightshirt and panties. She opened the
door a crack, hoping he’d just forgotten to tell her something—until she saw his face. He looked worried.

“Is Gwen okay?” she asked.

“I haven’t talked to her tonight, but I’m sure she’s fine. Were you already in bed?” His eyes fell to her bare legs as if he hadn’t considered that possibility.

“Not yet, but close. Hold on a minute.”

She closed the door and went to her overnight case where she had left it on the second double bed. She dug out a pair of jeans and pulled them on. Skipped socks and shoes. She started for the door again and stopped, contemplating a bra. The nightshirt was mid-thigh length and baggy, a Packers jersey. Nothing revealing or suggestive. Besides, it was Tully. She opened the door.

This time he came in without hesitating. He had his cell phone in one hand and a notepad in the other. A quick glance and she could see that it was a Super 8 notepad. He’d already been on the phone. The results weren’t just noteworthy, they had Tully wired.

“You found something out?”

“Janet, the CSU tech, is starting to process the contents of the garbage bag.”

He paced to the other side of the room, pulled the curtain enough to peek out. Maggie had already checked out the back parking lot below. Tully wasn’t interested in anything out the window. His nervous energy had him on edge and the room was too small. Maggie sat on the corner of the bed farthest away.

“He left the woman’s driver’s license inside the bag,” Tully said. “The body’s mutilated, not to mention decapitated, but the son of a bitch left the victim’s driver’s license for us.”

“That is weird. He already left us the orange socks and the receipt.”

“Oh, that’s not the weird part. Wendi Conroy disappeared last
month. Her car was found at a rest area off I-95. In Virginia.” He paused. “A rest area just south of Dale City.”

He turned from the window and met her eyes, waiting for her reaction. They both knew that rest area. It was less than five miles away from her house—or rather what was left of her house—in Newburgh Heights, Virginia.

“This is Albert Stucky all over again,” Tully said.

“It’s not like Stucky.” Maggie hated that the mention of his name could still make her skin crawl. She had crossed her arms and was rubbing them before she even realized it. “I don’t know a Wendi Conroy. And I didn’t know Gloria Dobson or Zach Lester.”

Albert Stucky had targeted women Maggie had come in contact with: a girl who had delivered a pizza, a waitress, her real estate agent. Of those he killed, he left a piece of them in takeout containers usually someplace obvious to be easily found and to shock the finder.

“This is not like Stucky,” Maggie repeated, almost as if she needed to convince herself. Then wanting Tully to lighten up, she added, “He hasn’t left us any takeout containers.”

“No, just garbage bags and a couple of mutilated bodies.”

He started pacing the narrow lane between the beds and the TV stand, from the window to the door.

“When he left you the map I thought it was just because he saw you on that CNN profile and he knew that you were working the arsons along with the Dobson case. It made as much sense as his bizarre scavenger hunt makes. But that’s not it.” He stopped mid-stride and looked at her. “He’s obsessed with you. Just like Stucky.”

“Stucky wanted to hurt me.”

“How do we know this guy doesn’t want to hurt you?”

“Because he’s had plenty of opportunities.” She thought about
that for a second or two. The whole time they’d been searching for this killer she’d never once felt threatened. “It seems like he’s more interested in showing us his handiwork than he is in hurting either of us. Maybe he wants to be caught.”

“He left you the map about the same time that he took Wendi Conroy from that rest area. A rest area that’s five miles away from your house. In Virginia. But instead of leaving her body somewhere close by, he brought her twelve hundred miles to Iowa to bury her so she’d be here for you to find. Oh, and on the way he stopped and bought a pair of orange socks to put on her and left the receipt for you to find, too. In a separate bag with the woman’s head. Does that sound like a guy who wants to be caught?”

Tully was right. Both of them had studied and experienced killers who had played “catch me if you can.”

“Now that you put it that way,” she said, “no, it doesn’t. It sounds like a killer who’s showing off.”

CHAPTER 20