Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (120 page)

“CSU team and the medical examiner are on their way,” he said.

Cunningham stepped up beside her on the riverbank. In silence they studied the area, looking and listening. Both stood motionless. The slush-slap of water against the boat was the only sound. Twice Maggie saw something riding the current. Once it was a branch. The second time was debris.

“What are you thinking, Agent O’Dell?” Cunningham finally asked and she wondered if he was asking as a mentor testing his student or simply as her boss looking for an answer?

“I don’t think Katie’s father is the killer.”

“Why not?”

“A father who’d let his daughter witness that? Even if she just saw the aftermath. If he let her see that he probably wouldn’t have a problem killing her, too.”

“So that means if she’s still alive…”

“Her father is most likely dead.”

She felt his eyes on her now. Without looking she could see him push up the bridge of his eyeglasses and cross his arms. A gesture she was used to seeing.

“I think you’re right.” And he stared back out at the river.

They stood side by side, again, in silence. Several minutes passed and suddenly Cunningham’s arm shot out.

“There. On the other side of the river.” He was pointing to his right, head tilted, body bent at the waist, trying to get a better view.

Maggie saw it now, too. Something bobbing in the water. Something large but not moving with the current. Obviously tethered down.

“Let’s check it out.” Cunningham started to untie the boat.

He caught her off guard. Was that the way they did things in the field? Weren’t the CSU techs supposed to recover the bodies? What about evidence? And she found herself digging in her pockets for another pair of latex gloves.

Cunningham glanced up and saw her hesitancy.

“We’re just going to take a look.”

“But the boat –”

“It’s pretty clean. If it has been used we’re adding only our prints – easy enough to discount.”

She wasn’t so sure about that, but how could she argue with her boss who was already climbing down into the boat.

She looked over her shoulder. No one else had followed. From this angle the double-wide seemed far away and insignificant. The bed sheets continued to flap on the clothesline blocking her view of Delaney and the girl. A good thing. The girl was dehydrated and in shock. The last thing she needed was to watch them fish the bloated body of her father out of the river.

Cunningham rowed. It was obvious he’d done this before. He knew how to maneuver the oars to keep the small boat going in the right direction despite the current. Surprisingly it wasn’t any easier to see once they were in the water. What had looked to be a large mass suddenly disappeared as the fog moved in thick layers. Twice Cunningham stopped rowing and waited until one of them could spot it again.

“There.” Maggie pointed at what looked like a pile of debris bobbing and bumping against the opposite bank of the river.

Three feet away she could see the arms tangled in the branches. As Cunningham brought the rowboat parallel to the rubble Maggie saw the bloated face of a man before his head dipped under the surface again. The constant wash of water was probably the only thing that discouraged the insects.

“I don’t think his throat was slashed like the others,” she told Cunningham who was working to keep the boat beside the debris while she got a better look.

Frustrated, she grabbed at the vines and branches that made it impossible to see. The water was cold but the biggest tangle was just beneath the surface. Cunningham didn’t stop her. Instead he worked the oars encouraging her to tell him what else she could see.

“Do you think he drown?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

Maggie pulled and tugged at prickly twigs. The water was murky. She couldn’t see what was anchoring the body down. His arms were twisted inside the debris. At times his face bobbed up, eyes open almost as if staring at her, imploring her to help. She tried to focus instead on the tangled mess that kept him submerged, working her fingers until her hands were numb from the cold water.

“Is it possible he was hiding out here?” Cunningham asked.

“Why not hide in the cellar with his daughter?”

“Maybe he was trying to lead the killer away from her so that she could hide.”

“She said he fell in the water,” Maggie said, sitting to rest. “But she didn’t say anything about the killer. Do you think she saw him?”

Cunningham shrugged. “Might not make a difference. You know how reliable witnesses are. Compound that with the shock and her being just a little girl. But I know someone who can help her remember.”

Maggie turned back to the debris.

“Stop Agent O’Dell. Your hands – they’re bleeding.”

She hadn’t even noticed.

“There isn’t anything more we can do. We’ll let the CSU techs bring him in.”

He focused on turning the boat around against the current. Maggie rubbed her hands, trying to warm them and wiping the blood on her jeans. She’d pricked several fingers and scraped the back of one hand. It looked worse than it was. Not that big of a deal.

But something didn’t feel quite right. That’s when she realized that somewhere in the murky water she had lost her wedding ring.

Chapter 9

Maggie tucked her hands under her arms trying not to shiver. She stayed back at the crime scene while Cunningham and the sheriff took one of the CSU techs to the river’s edge and offer directions. The rest of the CSU team unpacked equipment onto the front lawn while they waited for the medical examiner to arrive.

Deputy Wilson had offered Maggie the backseat of the cruiser. She noticed he didn’t make the same offer to any of the men. Tempting as it was, she shook her head. She didn’t want any special favors.

Cunningham had insisted that Delaney crawl into the ambulance when Katie had refused to get in. Not just refused but started screaming, arms flailing, bare feet ready to kick if anyone dared to grab her.

“I can’t leave without my dad.”

Maggie wasn’t sure what Delaney told her, but somehow he had convinced her. The role he had taken on – negotiator, friend, father – was now the only bond the girl had. The ambulance had left just as the CSU mobile crime lab pulled into the long driveway.

Turner and Maggie waited for Cunningham. Their work here was finished as the next set of investigators took over. With his boss gone Wilson suddenly became talkative.

“Pretty gruesome inside, huh?” Wilson was watching the three CSU techs. “Sheriff didn’t want us contaminating the scene but I got a pretty good look.”

Maggie guessed the deputy was around her age, early thirties, but something about him seemed younger. Too much swagger. A bit too cocky. He was as tall as Turner but smaller built, narrower in the shoulders and waist but still lean and muscular. His gray uniform shirt fit tight across his chest. His shirtsleeves bulged at the biceps, almost as though he wore a size smaller to emphasize his physique.

He wore no jacket and didn’t seem affected by the cold damp weather. He kept the brim of his hat low over his eyes and stood with legs spread apart and his thumbs looped on his utility belt. He reminded Maggie of gunslinger in a classic Western.

“I’ve seen worse,” Turner finally answered shooting a look at Wilson. “That piece of pie though – that was the craziest freakin’ thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

“What are you talking about?” Wilson wanted to know.

Immediately Maggie saw Turner’s face register regret. There were details of a crime that you held close. Certain things that only a handful of investigators and the killer knew. Technically the deputy was part of the investigation but Maggie understood Turner’s regret. The deputy obviously had
not
gotten a good enough look.

“Son of a bitch left something on top of a plate.” Turner glanced at Maggie, checking to make sure she was okay since this was what sent her out the door to vomit up her breakfast. “Looked like pie alamode with something added.”

“What? Whadya mean, something added?”

Turner looked at the deputy and he raised an eyebrow waiting for the man to figure it out. But Maggie could see Wilson still mulling it around like it didn’t make sense.

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Tell me about it,” Turner said. “Ruined one of my favorite desserts.”

“Sheriff is convinced we got a serial killer on our hands,” Wilson told them. “You think that might be the case?”

This time Turner didn’t blink. Maggie was too cold to have this conversation. She glanced over her shoulder and was grateful to see Cunningham and the sheriff on their way back. Wilson noticed, too, and his entire demeanor changed like he’d flipped a switch. Hands went in his pockets and he leaned against the cruiser as if he was returning to the same stance he was in when his boss left.

“How bout I buy you folks a drink,” Sheriff Geller offered. “Before you head back home?”

“Any chance that drink comes with a cheeseburger and fries?” Turner asked.

After all they’d seen and been through Maggie was surprised that actually sounded good.

Chapter 10

Washington, D.C.

Dr. Patterson’s heels clicked all the way down the tiled floor of the hospital hallway. She had been heading out to the Kennedy Center when Kyle Cunningham called her. Her date was with a professor at John Hopkins – tall, dark and handsome with an M.D. and a Ph.D. behind his name. He had invited her to see the Washington National Opera’s performance of Carmen and drinks at the Columbia Room afterwards. She hadn’t had a swanky night out like this since…forever. And yet, the second she heard Cunningham’s voice she felt that damned flutter in her stomach. Her palms were sweaty and by the end of the conversation she had made a promise to him that completely derailed her entire evening.

Damn it!

She hated that he had that effect on her. He was a married man – off limits. But the chemistry between them was so tangible she swore others had noticed, no matter how careful Gwen had been.

They had worked together only a few times – three to be exact. Gwen was a psychiatrist and had her own successful practice in the District. Her clients – she referred to them as clients, rarely patients unless they required hospitalization – included senators and congressmen, even a five-star general, but she specialized in criminal behavior. Sometimes she wondered what the hell she was thinking, but the subject fascinated her.

She’d written a book, published dozens of articles and suddenly became the go-to-expert in the media. A year ago her guest appearance on a national talk show had attracted the attention of the Assistant Director of the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico. He wanted to hire her as a consultant on a murder case. Then came another case and another. It didn’t take long and Gwen was wishing Kyle Cunningham would think of her without there being a dead body involved.

She thought this might be the time when she answered her phone and he said, “Gwen, I need you.”

Yes, those very words and the tension in his voice had made her knees go weak though she tried to blame the cracked sidewalk and three-inch heels. He’d literally caught her on the street before she climbed into the waiting town car.

Even when he asked his favor and it was all about business she didn’t once consider saying, “no.”

What in the world was wrong with her?

Why hadn’t she told him that she had a hot date and tickets to the opera? That she was wearing a little black dress with a slit up her thigh – totally inappropriate attire for a hospital visit. Not to mention that the three-inch heels were already killing her feet.

He asked his favor and she before she knew it she heard herself instructing him which hospital to use and telling him, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Then she got in the town car, redirected the driver and made the phone call to cancel her swanky night out. That’s just what friends did for each other, she told herself, knowing full well she and Cunningham were not really friends. But that was how she explained it to Professor Hottie.

Now she stopped as the nurse’s station. The unit secretary looked up at her and Gwen didn’t flinch as the woman’s eyes traveled down checking out Gwen’s dress but without a flash of judgment. She had probably seen stranger things in the last several hours. She thought the woman looked familiar but didn’t take anything for granted and introduced herself.

“I’m Dr. Gwen Patterson. I’m meeting a young girl the FBI’s bringing in.”

“Already here.” She pointed down the hall. “They have her in room 233. Finally got her sedated.”

“I was hoping they’d wait for me to talk to her before they did that.”

“If they’d waited you would have needed a helmet.”

“That bad?”

“Mostly scared.  They said her daddy was one of the victims.” The secretary got up from behind the counter and grabbed something from a drawer. She handed it to Gwen and said, “No sense in ruining a perfectly awesome dress.”

Gwen unfolded the garment. The white lab coat would be too large but she smiled and said, “Thanks.” She slipped it on and started rolling up the too-long sleeves as she made her way to room 233.

Before she got to the door, a man came out of the room. His hair was tousled, his tie loosened and his suit wrinkled. He looked exhausted. She barely recognized him.

“Agent Delaney,” she called out to him.

Relief crossed his face as he ran his fingers through his hair with one hand and offered her his right.

“Thanks for coming Dr. Patterson.” Then he noticed her dress and heels. “Looks like we interrupted a special evening.”

She shrugged like it didn’t matter and told him, “I’ve seen Carmen a half dozen times. I already know how it ends.” It wasn’t Delaney’s fault, after all. She could have said, “no.”

He nodded and smiled then led her farther down the hallway so the girl couldn’t hear them talking outside her door.

“Her name’s Katie. They had to sedate her, so I’m not sure you’ll get anything more out of her. A.D. Cunningham was hoping she might tell you a last name or what other family she has. If what she’s told us is true, she lost an aunt, an uncle and her father.”