Had the foot belonged to Vince Coffland, Maggie was ready with an explanation. She’d heard of storm victims—victims exposed out in the open—sometimes ending up with an odd assortment of items like pieces of insulation, asbestos, vinyl siding, and glass embedded in their skin.
She’d asked Dr. Tomich if she could borrow one of the pieces of metal. Now she fingered it, still encased inside its plastic bag. She set it on the desktop in front of her. It was definitely metal, bent and distorted. But where did it come from?
Perhaps the metal was something that had gotten ripped apart during the hurricane-force winds. If the foot didn’t belong to Coffland, was it possible it belonged to another person who had gone missing during Hurricane Gaston?
She added to her list:
Check other victims missing after HG
Maggie had handed over to Sheriff Clayton the label—or what she suspected was a label—that she found inside the cooler. However, she had memorized the faded printing and written it down exactly as it had appeared. She pulled out her copy and laid it on the desk beside the metal fragment.
AMET
DESTIN: 082409
#8509000029
She believed the second line was “destination” and a date, 082409, which translated to August 24, 2009. She had no idea what AMET was. Probably an acronym but for what? The last line might be a serial number. It didn’t, however, match the defibrillator.
Maggie glanced at the television and the map that Jim Cantore was showing of the Florida Panhandle. Then she did a double take. Off to the right side of Pensacola was Destin, Florida. Was it possible the second line of the label wasn’t meant to be an abbreviation for destination, but rather Destin, Florida?
She twisted the hotel phone so she could see the instructions on its face as well as the hotel’s phone number. Sure enough, 850 was the area code. The third line wasn’t a serial number but a phone number.
What would it hurt to try? She tapped the number into her smartphone, pressed Call, and waited. It was ringing on the other end. Her mind kicked over to interrogation mode. She slowed her breathing, wiped her sweaty palm, and transferred the phone to her other hand. Three rings. Was the person on the other end expecting one of the packages from the cooler?
A woman’s voice answered. “Advanced Medical Educational Technology, how may I direct your call?”
Maggie’s eyes darted to the piece of paper. AMET.
“Yes, I’d like to speak with someone about a delivery.”
“You have a delivery for us? Is it for one of our conferences?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“That would be Lawrence Piper. He’s off-site today. Can I have him return your call?”
Maggie gave the woman her name and phone number. Before she could hang up, her phone was already beeping with an incoming call.
“This is Maggie O’Dell.”
“Hey, it’s Tully. I think I finally found your rope.”
“What is it?”
“High-tenacity rope, UV resistant, anti–chemical erosion, modified resin coating.”
“Wait a minute. You’re able to tell all that from my photos?”
“The weave is unique. I scanned in a couple of your close-ups and got a hit.”
Maggie had hoped the rope would lead them to the killer.
“So you found the manufacturer?”
“Ningbosa Material Company. They specialize in bulletproof plate, cut-resistant fabric, all kinds of good stuff.”
“Are they somewhere close by?”
“Zhejiang, China.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not sure I pronounced that correctly. My Chinese needs work.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything’s made in China these days, right?”
“There’s more. This color combination is a special order.”
“Excellent. So who’s the customer?”
“The United States Navy.”
Before Maggie could respond her phone was beeping again. Could it be Lawrence Piper already returning her call? “I’ve got another call coming in,” she told Tully. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks.” She clicked over. “Maggie O’Dell.”
“Now that’s music to my ears.”
“Colonel Benjamin Platt.” She tried to keep the smile from her voice. She hadn’t talked to him for several days and whether she wanted to admit it to him or to herself, she missed him. “How goes your secret mission?”
“I’m being sent home. Can I buy you dinner tomorrow night?”
“I’m not home and I won’t be for several days.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. Disappointed and tired.
“Long story. I ended up on a road trip to Pensacola, Florida, with Charlie Wurth. Now I’m stuck here because of the hurricane.”
“You’re kidding? Where are you right now?”
“The Hilton on the beach. I’m looking out at the emerald-green waters of the Gulf as we speak. It’s absolutely beautiful. Hard to imagine a hurricane is on its way.”
“Go out on your balcony.”
“Excuse me?”