Split Second

CHAPTER 54

At first, Tully had been relieved when he heard the body wasn’t in Newburgh Heights. The call came from the Virginia State Patrol. The state patrolman told Tully that a trucker had grabbed a take-out container from the counter of a small café. On the phone, he explained with a quaking voice how the truck driver hadn’t made it back to his truck before he discovered the container was leaking. What he thought was his leftover chicken-fried steak was suddenly dripping blood.

Tully remembered the truck stop, just north of Stafford, off Interstate 95 but it wasn’t until he pulled into the café’s parking lot that he realized this was probably Agent O’Dell’s route home from Quantico. His relief quickly dissipated. If this wasn’t Tess McGowan, chances were, O’Dell would still recognize the body.

Tully cursed when he saw the media vans and strobe lights already set up for the TV cameras. They had been lucky up to this point. Only local media had taken the time to be interested. Now he could see the national players were here. A group was crowded around a large, bearded man who Tully guessed was the truck driver.

Thank God, the State Patrol had had enough sense to confiscate the take-out container, and restrict the area behind the café. That’s where a battered gray, metal trash bin rested against a chain-link fence. The trash bin was one of the extra-large commercial ones. Tully estimated it to be at least six feet tall. How the hell did Stucky dump the body? Never mind that, how had he gone undetected, with the gas pumps and the café open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?

He flashed his badge at a couple of uniforms keeping the media behind the sawhorses and yellow crime scene tape. His long legs allowed him to step over the ribbon without much effort. The Stafford County detective Tully had previously met behind the pizza place was already on the scene, directing the commotion. Tully couldn’t remember his name, but as soon as the detective saw him, he waved him over.

“She’s still in the Dumpster,” he said, wasting no time. “Doc Holmes is on his way. We’re trying to figure out how the hell to get her out of there.”

“How did you find her?”

The detective took out a pack of gum. He unwrapped a piece and popped it into his mouth. The pack was in his pocket before he thought to offer Tully a piece. He started grabbing for it again, but Tully shook his head. He couldn’t imagine having an appetite for anything, even gum.

“Probably wouldn’t have found her,” the detective finally said, “if not for that snack pack he left behind.”

Tully grimaced. He wondered how many years it would take before he could refer to body parts in such a nonchalant way.

The detective didn’t notice and continued, “Least not until the trash truck dumped this sucker. But you know, these big ones hold a lot. We might never’ve found her. Not like anyone would complain about the smell. This stuff always smells. So it looks like this guy’s on a roll again.”

“It appears so.”

“I was working in Boston the last time.”

Tully would have guessed the accent had the detective not told him. He was keeping an eye on the reporters near the ribbon, constantly looking over Tully’s shoulder. Tully had the impression not much got past this guy. Without knowing anything more, he decided he liked him. But whether Tully liked him or not probably would matter little to the detective. And Tully liked that about him, too.

“Yeah, I remember the last time when they found that councilwoman’s body in the woods. Bite marks, skin ripped off, cuts in places you don’t need to see cuts.”

“Stucky’s one sick bastard, that’s for sure.” Tully remembered the photos of Stucky’s collection that O’Dell had laid out on the conference-room table. Side by side they looked like a savage pack of wolves had ripped up the bodies and left them for the vultures.

“Wasn’t he playing games with one of your agents back then? I remember reading something. That he was messin’ with her head, sending her notes and stuff?”

“Yes, yes he was.”

“Whatever happened to that agent?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s her red car pulling into the parking lot.”

“Fuck, no kidding? She’s still working on this case?”

“She doesn’t have much choice.”

“She’s got some balls.”

“I guess you could say that,” Tully said, now distracted. “More than likely, Agent O’Dell will be able to identify the victim for us.”

He watched O’Dell. Her badge was getting her across the barriers but not without a lot of glances and long looks. He had worked with other attractive women in law enforcement and in the Bureau, but none quite like O’Dell. There was no discomfort and certainly no preening. Instead, she seemed oblivious to the stares, almost as if she had no clue they were aimed at her.

Tully didn’t see it until O’Dell was closer to them. She carried a small black bag, not a purse but a case. They couldn’t touch the body until the medical examiner got to the scene. He hoped O’Dell didn’t have other plans.

Her eyes met his as her only greeting. He could see the exhaustion, the nervous anticipation.

“Detective—” Tully again realized he didn’t know the man’s name “—this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

She offered him her hand, and immediately Tully could see the detective’s tough exterior softening.

“Sam Rosen,” he said, more than willing to fill in the blank for Tully.

“Detective Rosen.” O’Dell gave him her polite and professional greeting.

“Call me Sam.”

Tully resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sam here—” Tully tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum “—is with the Stafford County Sheriff’s Department. He was at the first crime scene with the pizza delivery…with Jessica Beckwith.”

“Is the victim still in the Dumpster?” O’Dell appeared anxious and unwilling, or unable, to hide her anticipation.

“We’re waiting for Doc Holmes,” Sam told her.

“Is there any way I can take a look without disturbing the scene?” She was already taking out a pair of latex gloves from her black case.

“Probably not a good idea,” Tully said, knowing that O’Dell wanted to see if she recognized the victim. He saw her eyeing the trash bin. The thing was almost a foot taller than her. She brushed past them for a closer look.

“How were your men able to look inside?”

“We pulled a cruiser alongside. Davis crawled up on the roof. He took a couple of Polaroids. Want me to get them for you?” Sam looked as if he’d do just about anything she asked. Tully couldn’t help being amazed. And even more amazing was how oblivious O’Dell seemed to it all.

“Actually, Sam, would you mind pulling the cruiser alongside it again?”

Or maybe she wasn’t entirely oblivious. Without hesitation, Detective Rosen shouted at one of the uniforms holding back the reporters. He left them to meet the officer halfway and started telling him what he wanted, with hands gesturing as quickly as he talked.

“There’s a chance it might not be her,” Tully said while Detective Rosen was still busy giving directions. He knew she was expecting this to be the missing real estate agent.

“I want to assist with the autopsy. Do you think we can convince Dr. Holmes to do it tonight?” She avoided looking at him and kept her eyes on Rosen.

It was the first time she had asked anything of him, and he could tell it was not an easy thing for her to do.

“We’ll insist he do it tonight,” he promised.

She nodded, still keeping her eyes from him. They stood quietly, side by side, watching the police cruiser drive up as close as possible to the metal trash bin. He heard her take a deep breath as she set down the black case and threw the pair of gloves she had extracted on top. Detective Rosen met her at the bumper, offering her a hand, but she waved it off. She kicked out of her shoes and crawled up on the trunk with bare feet and little effort.

She paused, almost as if preparing herself mentally. Then she carefully stepped up on top of the roof and stood upright, able to stare down into the trash bin.

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” she called out.

One of the officers from the group who had gathered around to watch hurried to the cruiser to hand her a long-handled flashlight. O’Dell shone a stream of light into the bin, and Tully watched her face. She took her time, sweeping the inside, back and forth. He knew she was trying to examine as much of the scene as she could with her eyes since she couldn’t use her hands. Her face remained composed, indifferent, and he couldn’t tell whether she recognized the victim as the McGowan woman or not.

Finally she crawled down. She handed back the flashlight, tapped the cruiser’s window to thank the driver and then found her shoes.

“Well?” Tully asked, still watching her closely.

“It’s not Tess McGowan.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed.

“Not really a relief at all.”

Now under a lamppost, he could see she looked agitated, her face tight with tension, the exhaustion clouding her eyes.

“It’s not Tess, but I do recognize her.”

Tully felt the knot winding around his stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what O’Dell was feeling.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Hannah. She’s a clerk at Shep’s Liquor Mart. She helped me pick out a bottle of wine last night.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, and Tully saw the slight tremor in the fingers.

“We need to stop this goddamn son of a bitch,” she said, and Tully heard that the tremor had also invaded her normally calm voice.