Maggie winced and tightened her grip on the phone, preparing herself for the punch. He had spun it just the way she expected. Same ol’ Kunze. Spider, welcome to my web.
“So, in order to make certain you are fine, I’ve made an appointment for you,” he said. “To start the psychological evaluation we talked about. Your first session is tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. I’ll leave it to Dr. Kernan to decide how often and how long he thinks you’ll need.”
“Dr. Kernan? Dr. James Kernan?”
“That’s right. If you have any questions, call my office.”
More dead air. Only this time Kunze was gone.
He was good, Maggie had to admit. She didn’t see that coming. And James Kernan. Who knew the old geezer was still alive? This would be worse than she’d even imagined.
CHAPTER 20
She was back. He was surprised. Even more surprised by the flush of sexual excitement he felt. That hadn’t happened in a long time.
He had spent the morning watching the investigators parade in and out of the alley. A rare treat. Something he didn’t get to do very often. And the risk he’d taken to dump the body was reaping greater rewards than he’d expected.
He wished he could see what they were bringing out in the brown paper bags. How could there possibly be so much? But of course they would be collecting evidence for the fire. They were even checking the Dumpster, going through the garbage piece by piece. He wanted to venture closer. He wanted to see everything.
He had an insatiable curiosity. That was partly what had gotten him to start his little habit. More like a hobby, really. Though it wasn’t until recently that he’d begun keeping track of some details after discovering what a sense of accomplishment it gave him to go over the kills weeks later.
In his logbook, he tried to record as many interesting tidbits as he could. Changing things up was so much easier when you could look back on the details and think about them. Sometimes remembering was almost as exciting as doing.
Well, not really as satisfying. But it placated him during those days or weeks—sometimes months—when he knew he’d have a dry spell and wouldn’t be able to get on the road.
Just this morning, after they found the body in the alley, he had pulled out his logbook and flipped to a page from another kill about a month ago. He had read his notes, memorizing the passage as if it were a poem or a psalm: “Cold night. Steam rises when you pull the guts out of the body. The blood is so warm on my hands.”
Actually, it did sound poetic.
The log helped control his curiosity. Allowed him to have patience. Even now, remembering that image and recalling how the blood felt on his skin were enough to soothe him. Enough to stop him from letting his curiosity push him to do something reckless just to get more information. After all, he knew how close he could get to a scene, where he could stand, how many different places he could move around to without drawing attention. There was a point where blending in crossed over to suspicion, and he had always been very good at sensing where that line was.
He watched the alley until they took away the body. Interesting how it looked in that bag, like a long black cocoon. He liked the look of body bags. They were so much better than garbage bags—strong, more efficient. Definitely wouldn’t leak. Sure would keep his vehicle cleaner. He was wondering where he could buy one of those when he saw the woman cop back on the scene.
Earlier he’d seen her getting into an ambulance. It made him smile because he was close enough to get a glimpse of her face. She hadn’t been pleased with the tall guy in the trench coat helping her. And she wasn’t pleased about getting inside the ambulance either.
Confident and stubborn. Sort of like him. A rebel. A kindred spirit.
He definitely needed a closer look at her.
CHAPTER 21
Tully didn’t like what he saw. Maggie looked battered, her skin washed out, her eyes a bit glassy. He could tell Racine noticed, too. Maggie claimed she had “grabbed some breakfast with Platt.” He was the one who had dropped her back at the crime scene, but Tully could hardly believe that either. How could Benjamin Platt, army colonel, MD, Mr. Button-down, have decided Maggie was good to go?
But then Tully reminded himself that no one—not even the good doctor—could tell Maggie what to do. That she had listened to Tully earlier and gone to the hospital had been some kind of fluke, a blip on the O’Dell stubborn scale.
He had kept his eyes on her while she talked with Kunze. He watched as their boss took her on his usual roller-coaster ride before depositing her back on the ground, dizzy and spitting mad. Actually, spitting mad was preferable to the hollowed-out look that had preceded it.
“You knew he wouldn’t let you off the hook,” Tully said. “He made me do the same thing last year. Just as well to get it over with.”