Breaking Creed

47

“DEA’s descended on the Bagley place,” Sheriff Holt was telling O’Dell. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He had left over a dozen voice and text messages for her. By the time she returned his calls, he sounded exhausted and furious.

“I didn’t do anything. I only woke up a few hours ago,” she tried to explain.

“I apologize, Agent O’Dell. I don’t know what I was thinking. I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. Are you okay?”

“Sore and a bit achy. My head hurts.”

“So if you didn’t tell them, how’d the bastards even know?”

“Your forensic team? Maybe someone from the café?”

“Believe me when I say nobody in these parts calls the feds.”

Fortunately, in his anger he was treating her like one of his team. He had forgotten that O’Dell was a fed.

“They’ll be able to help with some lab tests that we wouldn’t be able to do.” She tried to keep positive.

“That’s great, but they’re not even letting us continue on the investigation.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were already there when we arrived this morning at eight. They ordered us off the property. We’re not allowed to return.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

“Let me see if I can find out what’s happening.”

“In the meantime, what the hell do we do?”

“Did they ask for the evidence the forensic team recovered?”

“Not yet, but I’m told they barged in on our coroner. Shoved some badges in his face, then loaded up and hauled out Mrs. Bagley’s body.”

O’Dell couldn’t say she was surprised. She’d had a gut feeling from the moment they pulled Trevor Bagley’s bloated corpse out of the river that this was a much bigger case. She just didn’t realize how big.

“What other evidence did your team find?” she asked.

“After they recovered the body, they spent a bit of time in one of the sheds behind the house. No more bodies, but it’ll make your skin crawl.”

She stayed quiet and waited. As angry as he was, she could tell this was something that was hard to digest.

“Looks like they kept some kids in there.”

Her stomach twisted in knots. “Did the feds ask for the evidence?”

“Didn’t ask and we didn’t tell. I don’t think they know how much we found. Maybe they don’t even know about the kids. Seems they’re more concerned about us busting up their drug case.”

“Did the forensic team find any drugs?”

“Not even a little.”

They discussed what to do with the evidence the team had collected, then promised they’d be in touch. It wouldn’t be the first time that O’Dell found herself on the side of the local law enforcement rather than her colleagues on the federal side. What was adding one more clash with her boss?

When O’Dell clicked off she scrolled down to the messages she had purposely ignored from her boss. Now she punched in the last one and listened to his voice message: “O’Dell, where the hell are you? I need you in my office first thing in the morning.”

She checked for the day and time stamp. Today at 10:00 AM. By the current time on her cell phone, she saw that she’d never be able to catch an evening flight back to D.C. It would take driving all night to get there by “first thing in the morning.”

She dialed his number, and when his secretary answered — the secretary whose main job seemed to be playing interference and denying access — she passed O’Dell through so quickly O’Dell thought it had to be a mistake. Turns out Assistant Director Kunze was that anxious to chew her out. She let him rant for several minutes. Past experience had taught her that he tended to reveal important information during his angry outbursts. This time was no different.

In those brief minutes she learned that she had encroached on a classified case that the DEA had been working on for months. She had to bite back the fact that she had pointedly asked him about this being a drug hit. Now she wondered what exactly Kunze knew and when he knew it.

“I want you back here in my office tomorrow to explain to the DEA what exactly you found.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to them right here?”

“Excuse me?”

“From what I understand, they’ve taken over the Bagley property. The county sheriff and his forensic team that were working the scene have been denied access and told to leave the property. They even raided the county coroner’s office and took Mrs. Bagley’s body.”

Silence. So Kunze didn’t know everything.

“Another floater was pulled from the Potomac this morning.”

That surprised her. But it probably explained part of Kunze’s fury.

“A second package,” she said.

“Stan Wenhoff thinks the victim died from poisonous spider bites — like dozens of bites all over his body.”

O’Dell couldn’t stop a shiver from sliding down her back. She could still feel the scorpions on her skin and in her hair.

“Driver’s license?”

“Don’t know yet. Mouth’s duct-taped shut. Stan won’t remove it until he does the autopsy tomorrow. I want you to be there. How soon can you get here?”

At that moment Creed came back to the apartment, entering through the door from the kennels below. He had left to work with the dogs. He saw that she was on the phone and offered a wave and a nod.

His T-shirt was drenched in sweat and stuck to him like a second skin. His jeans were mud-stained and his hiking boots must have been, as well, because he had left them behind somewhere and came in with bare feet. He carried what must have been another of Hannah’s casseroles. The aroma reached O’Dell clear across the loft — something wonderful with garlic.

She watched him carefully place the glass dish on his stovetop, then instinctively lick one of his thumbs that accidentally grazed the masterpiece. She found herself smiling, then surprisingly caught herself thinking, I could get used to this place… to this man.

“Agent O’Dell, did you hear what I said?”

Kunze startled her back to attention.

“Stan will start as soon as you can get back. Agent McCoy will be in my office tomorrow afternoon at three. You need to be back here in the morning. Is that clear, Agent O’Dell?”

He was actually waiting for an answer, as if it made a difference. Maybe he expected her to argue. Instead, she simply said, “I’ll be there.” And she ended the call.