Stranded (15 page)

“Be good,” Creed told Grace. He grabbed his ID from the console and opened the driver’s window.

“You need to turn around,” the deputy said, stopping in front of the Jeep’s grill and motioning with one hand while keeping the other on his gun belt.

It looked like he wasn’t going to bother coming to the window, so Creed held up his ID to the windshield.

“My name’s Ryder Creed. I’m with CrimeScent K-9.”

The deputy looked young and nervous. He also didn’t seem to expect anyone who wasn’t in official law enforcement gear. He pulled out his cell phone and was punching in a number, trying to do it while not taking his eyes or his attention away from Creed.

He heard the deputy say, “Some guy with a dog,” not even bothering with Creed’s name or his business’s name. It didn’t matter. In seconds his face turned a bright red and he slipped the phone back into his uniform’s shirt pocket without saying anything.

He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his brow before he yelled to Creed, “You’re good to go.” And he waved his thumb over his shoulder. Then he headed back to his SUV to move it so Creed could pass by.

Creed shook his head. “Amateurs, Grace,” he said to the dog, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror. She was wagging her tail again but still sitting, still obeying despite her excitement. “They’ve got us working with a bunch of amateurs, girl.”

CHAPTER 27

Maggie shook her head at Tully while he opened the last Hostess Honey Bun that he had taken from the hotel’s complimentary breakfast bar. She hoped it meant that his appetite had returned and he was feeling better.

By the time they arrived at the farm, Sheriff Uniss and his men had set up a perimeter with security posts at three places where they believed the property might be vulnerable to intruders. And by intruders they knew he meant media.

As far as the sheriff was concerned, this was a crime scene that still needed to be protected and processed. He knew Tully had called for a K-9 unit, but neither Maggie nor Tully had shared with him the killer’s map or their suspicions about this being his dumping ground. Assuming most of the excitement was over, the sheriff had left, grumbling that he had to go deal with the governor’s press secretary. For his sake, Maggie hoped they didn’t find anything … or anyone … else.

Earlier when Maggie relayed Gwen’s prison visit she tried to ignore the pained look on Tully’s face. She knew he’d be remembering the last time Gwen had interviewed a convicted prisoner. He had been there. She went through the information quickly and prompted him to share what he had. Agent Alonzo was becoming
their right-hand man despite being twelve hundred miles away. Now, as they walked along the grove of trees, out of earshot of the deputies, and toward the barn, Tully filled her in on what he knew.

“The receipt was for a Walmart outside of Council Bluffs, Iowa, just off Interstate 29.”

“Council Bluffs is next door to Omaha, right?” Maggie remembered from their own road trip yesterday morning. They had landed in Omaha and drove that same stretch of interstate highway.

Tully was trying to decipher the notes he’d taken while talking to Agent Alonzo. The crosshatch marks didn’t even resemble words but rather looked like someone had tried to test whether a pen still had ink.

“Alonzo said the Walmart does have security cameras in the parking lot. He’s checking but he said it’s doubtful they have anything. He said most of these places don’t store more than a week’s worth of footage. He’s got someone from the Omaha bureau checking on it. Sounds like a long shot that we’d even see this guy. He strikes me as someone who’d be conscious of where cameras would be and try to avoid them.”

“Were the CSU techs able to pull any fingerprints off the receipt?”

“No, and I doubt they will. My gut tells me that’s gonna be a dead end. We found the receipt because he wanted us to find it. Just like the driver’s license.”

“Was there anything else in either bag?”

Tully shrugged. “You mean other than a head in one and a decapitated body in the other?”

“Anything under the fingernails?”

Tully fished another scrap of paper out of his pocket and
searched through more chicken scratches. “They did preliminary scrapings. Chunks of dirt.”

“Chunks of dirt?”

“Janet said it looked like—” Tully flipped the paper over, then frowned like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “She said it looked like the woman had clawed at the mud.”

They both were silent. Neither stopped walking. They were almost at the barn when Tully finally continued, “ME’s trying to schedule in the autopsy.”

“So he brings us all the way here and we’re no closer to knowing who he is.”

“Part of the game. It’s like I told you last night. He’s obsessed with you.” He pointed at the barn. “But maybe we get lucky and find something he doesn’t want us to find.”

The outside of the barn was faded red and the front doors sagged on ancient hinges. “Doesn’t seem likely that he’d just leave a body in here.” But Tully had already started to open the rusted latch.

“Otis P. Dodd told Gwen that his friend Jack buried one of his victims in the barn. A tattooed biker.”

“He told him all this over a couple of drinks?”

“I know it sounds strange. Only problem, Otis was correct about the woman’s body stuffed in a culvert, right down to the orange socks. Who knows how he called that one. Could have been dumb luck. Maybe he heard about it inside the prison. But my guess is Otis P. Dodd likes to make up stories to get attention.”

“What about I-29 and Iowa?”

“Gwen told him it was in the Midwest.”

“A lucky guess?”

“You don’t really believe a killer named Jack told Otis about all the people he murdered and where he dumped bodies?”

Tully shrugged again and pulled open the barn doors.

Truth was, Maggie wasn’t quite sure what she believed. It wasn’t unheard of that a killer would share his exploits. Others had, but usually anonymously. In fact, this killer was sort of doing it with Maggie by leaving her the map and then the receipt as well as the socks. But again, that was anonymously. But sharing with someone who could identify him? Why would he do that?

They were in the doorway of the barn when Tully pointed at the Jeep coming in through the tree-lined driveway. “Looks like our K-9 team is here. Alonzo says this guy is one of the best dog trainers and trackers in the country. If there’s another body out here, he should be able to find it.”

Tully turned to head back and meet the man, but Maggie paused. When she glanced inside the barn, she noticed something and felt an instant dread. A chill slid down her back. She took a few steps into the barn and, with her foot, she swept aside a patch of the straw scattered over the floor.

That’s when she saw that the barn didn’t have a cement foundation or even wood floorboards. Beneath the straw was only dirt.

CHAPTER 28

Neither Maggie nor Tully had ever worked with a cadaver K-9 team. Maggie wasn’t sure what to expect, but she definitely hadn’t imagined a nationally known expert to look like the man who got out of the Jeep.

First of all, he looked too young. Thirty, at the most. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a white T-shirt that stretched over a lean and muscular torso with arms to match. His Levi’s telegraphed more of the same. Leather hiking boots and wraparound sunglasses finished off the outfit. Once outside the Jeep, he put on a light blue oxford shirt but kept the shirttails out and the buttons undone.

No, this was definitely not what she had expected.

He was rolling up the sleeves when he saw Maggie and Tully. He reached in the opened Jeep window and brought all of the windows down halfway. As they approached the vehicle Maggie could see the dog inside and it didn’t look anything like she had expected either—too small and too white.

“I’m R. J. Tully and this is Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

“Ryder Creed.”

He pulled off his sunglasses to meet their eyes as he offered his hand, first to Maggie, then to Tully. She noticed a silver chain
bracelet with a small engraved plate but couldn’t make out the words. A diver’s watch on the other wrist, no wedding band. She caught herself and wondered why she had checked.

His eyes were deep blue, almost the same color as the sky, bright against tanned skin. A confident, self-assured smile started in his eyes and triggered the corner of his mouth, a subtle but genuine smile that belied his age. His short dark hair looked like he had towel-dried it that morning and not bothered to comb it. Nor had he bothered to shave. But on closer inspection, Maggie realized his bristled jaw had been trimmed, leaving sharp and precise lines that gave order to a face that perhaps fought a five o’clock shadow too early every day.

“This is Grace,” Creed told them, pointing inside the Jeep but making no effort to free the dog.

“You just have the one?” Tully asked and Maggie immediately heard his skepticism.

“She’s probably my best air-scent dog.”

“It’s just that there’s a lot of ground to cover.” Tully waved his hand to include the fields behind the trees.

“Working multiple dogs at the same time can present problems. Competition between the dogs. False alerts. Overlapping grids. Believe me, one dog will be more than efficient.” He said it matter of fact without sounding offended or defensive.

“She seems kinda small.” Tully still wasn’t convinced. He leaned down to take a better look through the window.

Creed already had the liftgate up and was sorting through his gear. Grace met him at the back but didn’t attempt to leave the vehicle, sitting, wagging, and watching her master instead of paying attention to Maggie or Tully. Maggie got a good look at the dog. She was a Jack Russell terrier, a surprising pick for a tracker.

“I don’t think size matters,” she said to Tully as she watched
Creed. “Harvey’s twice Grace’s size—maybe three times—and I doubt he’d focus long enough to find his favorite Frisbee if I hid it.”

Creed didn’t look up as he transferred items from a duffel bag to a small backpack, but she saw his corner-of-the-mouth smile again and she liked that she was able to provoke it.

“What kind of dog is Harvey?” he asked.

“Labrador.”

“You’re right. Size or breed isn’t as important as drive.”

Tully was standing with his hands on his hips, watching the dog, watching Creed, and doing a poor job of hiding his disappointment. At one point when he caught Maggie’s eyes, he rolled his as if to say, “Not much of an expert.”

The two men were almost the same height, but that’s where the comparison stopped. Tully was wiry and lanky, dressed in trousers and a button-down shirt, wrinkled but neatly tucked in. Today he wore wire-rimmed glasses, a staple on the road, because he didn’t like packing all “the stuff” that went with his contacts. Tully was a conscientious do-gooder, a corny but romantic everyman whose coffee stains and absentmindedness could easily be forgiven because when he told you he had your back, you could count on it. He did.

Grace had nudged her way to the open liftgate, still sitting, but now able to lean out. She was sniffing in Maggie’s direction.

“Are we allowed to pet her?” Maggie asked.

“Sure. She’s just not allowed to leave the Jeep until I tell her it’s okay.”

Maggie reached her hand in slowly for the dog to sniff. Then she scratched Grace’s neck, keeping her hand where the dog could still see it. She felt Creed watching her from the corner of his eye. Of course, he had to be protective of his dog.

Finally finished, he slipped on the backpack. To Maggie he
said, “Would you mind taking Grace to stretch her legs while I check around?”

“Sure.”

And to Tully, “Can you fill me in while I take a look?”

Tully simply nodded.

Creed handed Maggie a small, soft, pink elephant. The dog toy was plastic, but squishy and squeaky, and as soon as it came out of Creed’s pocket Grace could barely contain herself. Her entire hindquarter wiggled, excited and impatient, but she still sat waiting for her master’s permission. She watched Creed but also watched as he handed off her toy to Maggie, eyes darting back and forth, wagging, listening, ears perched and haunches ready to run.