Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (119 page)

“If he didn’t bring restraints maybe he didn’t bring the weapon either.” Maggie followed the steps. They turned to go down the hallway. She continued to the kitchen.

What were the chances that he used a knife from the victims’ own utility drawer? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. A wood block with knives sat on the counter by the sink. Several were missing from their slots.

It was difficult to concentrate with the buzz of flies. Despite putting distance between herself and the hanging victim the smell was strong in the kitchen, too. But it was different. Less metallic. More like sour milk.

Cunningham was already at the table when Maggie turned to take a closer look at what had the flies so interested.

“Did he interrupt lunch or dinner?” Cunningham asked.

“Only one plate.” Maggie noted.

“Melted ice cream?” Cunningham pushed his eyeglasses up and bent over it, waving off a couple of flies not pleased with his presence.

Maggie joined him but already the smell was making her nauseated again.

“Pie alamode,” she said just as she realized that there was something added on top.

This time there was no pushing back the bile. She covered her mouth with her hand and raced out the door, barely getting down the steps. The retching seemed to last forever until there was nothing left in her stomach. She felt a hand on the back of her neck, the soft swipe to remove a strand of hair from her cheek and then she saw Cunningham’s polished shoes peeking out from the protective covers. As much as her stomach hurt, the embarrassment hurt more.

All of that was shortlived. Still on her knees she had a perfect view of the storm cellar about fifty feet away. At this angle she could see the heavy wood door was tilted open several inches. Just enough for someone inside to be watching them.

Chapter 5

Maggie eased herself up, grateful that Cunningham didn’t offer to help. He was pretending this was no big deal and yet she could see concern in his furrowed brow.

She waited until her back was turned to the storm cellar. Waited for Cunningham’s eyes to meet hers. Then she said as quietly and slowly as she could, “We’re being watched.”

He didn’t flinch. Kept his eyes on hers. Slowly he shifted his weight, spreading his feet a little farther apart. All of this done casually as though they were simply chatting. He crossed his arms and she saw his fingers tuck in close to his shoulder holster.

Maggie’s mind was racing trying to remember if she had noticed another door to the trailer. There had to be one. The clothesline was in the backyard. She remembered a small utility room – sink, washer and dryer. No windows. Dark. She pictured Delaney coming out announcing that there had not been any forced entry.

“Ready to go back inside?” Cunningham asked.

His eyes darted around now but his head stayed tilted as if he were listening intently to her.

She nodded.

Even as they stepped up into the trailer she noticed that he followed her moving sideways and never turning his back until the last second.

“Where?” he asked as soon as the door was closed.

“The storm cellar.”

Maggie was already walking past Turner and Delaney to where she remembered the utility room.

“What’s going on?” Turner asked.

“Agent O’Dell thinks we might have company in the cellar.”

“Crap!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a killer came back to watch,” Cunningham said. “But would he choose a place where he could get trapped in?”

Maggie’s pulse was racing. With her stomach empty the smell didn’t affect her as much. The buzzing flies still set her on edge. It took her a second to realize Cunningham was asking her and waiting for a response.

“They don’t believe they’ll get caught. Edmund Kemper met with his psychiatrist while he had a body in the trunk of his car. Berkowitz started fires then stood and watched with other bystanders.” Her husband Greg hated that she could conjure up this kind of trivia with little effort. But here and now, it could justify their next move.

“Then we proceed like it’s him,” Cunningham told them.

“If we can approach from the backyard he won’t be able to see us.” Maggie headed for the utility room and the others followed.

“He’ll hear us,” Delaney said.

“Not if it’s only one of us. And not if there’s a distraction in the front yard,” she said. Glancing into the room she saw a plain wood-paneled door to the outside.

“Agent O’Dell.” Cunningham’s voice stopped her. “This is your first time in the field – sorry, but you’re not going to be the one opening that storm cellar.”

He didn’t wait for an argument. Instead, he waved for Delaney to move around Maggie to get to the back door.

“The clothesline is between here and the cellar,” she told Delaney.

He stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Bed sheets,” she said as though that should be enough. When she saw that he still didn’t understand, she added, “They were whipping around in the breeze. Should provide some cover.”

Delaney nodded.

“The bedroom at the end looks out that direction,” Turner said.

“Good idea,” Cunningham told him and Turner started down the hall to take up his post. “Give us a chance to get in position,” Cunningham reminded them.

Sheriff Geller’s cruiser was the closest. Cunningham started telling the sheriff and his deputy about what they’d found inside the trailer. She knew her boss’s reasoning for not immediately telling the two law enforcement officers about the cellar. He didn’t want their surprise blowing his plan. Instead he manipulated the conversation and the men so they followed him around to the trunk of the vehicle, lessening the risk if the killer was armed.

When he was certain they were out of earshot of the storm cellar Cunningham explained the situation.

“Son of a bitch,” Geller mumbled. “Didn’t even think…”

By now Delaney had made his way across the backyard. The storm cellar looked like a mound of dirt with a wooden door on this side of the mound. Someone inside would never be able to see Delaney sneaking around the back. Once he was able to position himself on the hinged side of the door, the intruder still wouldn’t be able to see him. Now in position, he stood silently in place waiting for Cunningham’s signal.

When Delaney heaved the door open there was a flash of movement. Too quick. Someone retreated down the hole.

Cunningham led the way, his weapon gripped firmly in both hands. Maggie followed, matching his movements, her heart pounding. They joined Delaney, keeping to the side but close enough now that Maggie could see the concrete steps that disappeared into darkness.

Sheriff Geller and his deputy had been instructed to stay back but both had their weapons drawn, too.

“FBI. We’ve got you surrounded,” Cunningham yelled. “You just as well come out. Or we’ll start throwing down tear-gas.”

They waited.

Maggie didn’t dare look away. Not even for a second. Sweat trickled down her back even though the breeze was chilly. The heat of the trailer had dampened her hair. Strands stuck to her forehead but she resisted the urge to wipe at them.

Suddenly there was movement.

Maggie could feel it as both men tensed beside her.

Then slowly out of the darkness a young girl peered up at them.

“Please don’t shoot me.”

Chapter 6

He watched from his hiding place. He’d found a new one. This one closer. With the aid of binoculars he could see the surprise in the investigators gestures. And he had to admit, he was as surprised to the see the girl as they were.

He pressed the binoculars against his eyes, squinted and adjusted the focus.

Still too far away.

He wanted to see their faces but to get any closer would be too risky. He could see the girl’s pale white skin and her long tangled blond hair. She looked like a ghost. Maybe she was. That would explain how he had missed her.

Where the hell had she been?

He had gone in and out lickety-split. He simply wanted to see what Loner had done. Thirty minutes out of his sight and the asshole had managed much more than Stucky had ever expected. And yet, he couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, he had seen something in Loner’s eyes during their brief encounter. Not only seen it but recognized it. That was the only reason he had allowed the asshole to live. Because he knew what the guy was capable of doing and he wanted to see it for himself.

Yet for as much as they had in common, Loner was an amateur. That’s why Stucky needed to leave a little something extra in that mess of his. But Stucky had been careful. Always careful. So how the hell did he miss seeing this girl?

Had she been inside the trailer? Hiding? Was that possible?

Could she have seen what happened? Watched it from some hiding place?

He caught himself licking his lips. Her skin looked white and creamy. Young ones were usually so soft, like slicing into butter. Such a shame he had missed her.

Earlier he’d been pleased with himself as he watched the woman investigator race out the door and end up on hands and knees puking out her insides. He loved the reactions to his work almost as much as he enjoyed doing it. Their curiosity was usually followed by a double-take like they couldn’t believe their eyes. Then the sheer horror crossed their faces. 

Priceless.

The discovery made it a shared experience. What artist didn’t enjoy sharing his masterpieces?

But the girl…It bothered him that he missed seeing her. What was more interesting was that Loner had missed her, too.

He couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all. He had followed that cocky son of a bitch for three days waiting for an opportunity to trip him up.
Just a little fun and games.
But as it turned out, this ghost of a girl was about to trip up both of them.

Chapter 7

The sky started to turn gray with heavy rain clouds rolling in and threatening to burst. With them came a damp, cold breeze.

Delaney went to wrap his suit jacket around the girl’s bare shoulders. She flinched and he stopped short. She kept blinking and wiping at her eyes. Even the gray sky seemed too bright. Delaney continued talking to her, gentle and slow and without taking another step. Instead he explained to her who they were, that they were there to help.

“No one will hurt you. I promise.”

Maggie watched, mesmerized by him, lulled by the tone of his voice and she could see the girl was, too. Delaney specialized in hostage negotiations. He knew how to convince criminals that he was on their side, that he was willing to listen and help, but Maggie realized this wasn’t just the hostage negotiator talking. This was a father talking to a child. A very cold, hungry and scared child who was also in shock from what she had seen.

Obviously the girl hadn’t witnessed the murders or she wouldn’t still be alive. But there was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that she had seen the dead bodies. One look at the girl’s bloody bare feet and she knew the footprints on the carpet were not the killer’s.

“My name’s Rich,” Delaney was telling the girl. “What can I call you?”

She batted at her hair but didn’t answer. She wore a white tank top and cropped denim pants. Maggie remembered that three days ago the weather had been unseasonably warm. Eighty-degrees and sunshine. The next day, fall returned.

Three days – that sounded about right considering the condition of the bodies. Good Lord, this girl may have been hiding in the dark, damp cellar for three days!

“Katie,” she finally said so quietly it was almost lost in the breeze and the whip-snap of the bed sheets on the clothesline.

“How old are you, Katie?”

But now she just stared like she didn’t hear him.

Maggie guessed the girl was eleven or twelve. Unfortunately, she understood all too well what it meant to be twelve, to be scared and to be alone. She noticed that Katie kept glancing back over her shoulder as if she were looking for someone.

The killer hadn’t seen her, but had Katie seen him?

“Your parents,” Delaney started to say and Maggie could see him struggling with the next question. “We’ll find who did this. Maybe you can help us.”

Cunningham and Turner had backed off. They’d left Delaney and Maggie, giving the girl space. Now Maggie could see Cunningham on his cell phone. But Katie wasn’t interested in the law enforcement men she was glancing back in the other direction. Back toward the river. She didn’t look like she was listening to Delaney anymore either.

“My daddy,” she whispered and then she pointed. “He fell in the river.”

“Your dad?” Delaney shot a look at Maggie.  “He’s not in the trailer?”

She shook her head, a quick back and forth like she was shaking the image out of her mind. “Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth.”

Maggie started walking toward the riverbank. Delaney stayed with the girl and called out to Cunningham. Her fingers slipped inside her jacket, settled on her grip of her Smith & Wesson.

Did Katie’s father fall into the water or had he jumped in after killing Uncle Lou and Aunt Beth?

Chapter 8

Dense fog had settled in like smoke hovering above the surface of the water. Maggie guessed they had two hours at most before they lost daylight. Thankfully it wasn’t raining yet, but the breeze had turned brisk especially here on the river’s bank. She wished she had more than the thin windbreaker. Everywhere on her body that had moments ago been hot and sweaty was now cold and damp.

She thought the rowboat looked new. So did the fishing gear inside. It was tied to a post, gently rocking with the river’s current.

“That’s a beauty,” Cunningham said, coming up behind her. “It’s a kit boat. Red and white cedar. Still freshly polished. Probably just put it in the water.”

“Kit boat?”

“Build it yourself. You order it. Comes in pieces.”

Maggie was more interested in the surface of the water. With the fog it was difficult to see more than ten feet. If Katie’s father was out here, his body might be miles downstream.