Stranded

Geese honked overhead. A grove thick with river maples, elms, and cottonwoods surrounded the farm on three sides, cradling it from any view of the road as well as muffling all outside noises. In fact, if she and Tully hadn’t taken the interstate to get here, Maggie would never have guessed that an ongoing flow of traffic passed so close to the property.

She found an overgrown footpath behind the barn that took her into the woods. Buds had only started to appear, an eruption of bright green spots on otherwise bare and stark black branches. Last fall’s pine needles and old leaves, now soggy and clumped together, covered the ground. Maggie took careful steps to keep from slipping and sliding.

The path quickly narrowed and started a gradual incline. Twigs whipped into her face even as she grabbed at the branches in front of her. Thorny vines snagged her pant legs. Sunlight filtered down in streaks. Birds provided flashes of color and song—bright yellow finches, red-winged blackbirds, a cardinal. That they were singing—continuing their spring mating calls—calmed Maggie. The last time she and Tully made their way through a thick forest like this they had been following birds that had been circling, leading them to Zach Lester’s body.

Maggie climbed to a clearing at the top of the incline. Below her a shallow stream zigzagged through the brush. On the other side, the woods continued. But from above Maggie could see in the distance the ribbon of interstate traffic. And she could now hear its faint but steady hum. What attracted her attention was the rest area nestled down in the woods.

She reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out the folded map she had been carrying around with her. This was a copy. The original remained in a protective evidence bag back at Quantico’s crime lab.

She had memorized the geometric shapes, the parallel and intersecting lines. She held up the eight-by-eleven sheet in front of her to one side. Then she glanced back and forth from the map to the scenery below, eyes darting, searching, and not quite believing. She felt a chill as the realization came over her. The roads around the rest area looked like the kidney-shaped sketch on the map. The inked geometric patterns matched those below: building, picnic shelters, even the parking slots had been precisely drawn.

This was it. The scavenger hunt was over. This was exactly where the killer had led them.

“Maggie.”

She startled despite R. J. Tully’s attempt to whisper. He was breathing hard and she knew it was from anxiety, not exertion. He was in good physical shape. She waited for him to climb the last steps and stand beside her.

She held up the map and pointed down below.

“This is it,” she told him.

Tully gave it only a glance. He wiped a hand over his face and Maggie could see his jaw clenched tight when he said, “The hunt might be over but the nightmare’s just begi

He met her eyes and added, “I think there’s a body inside.”

CHAPTER 3

Maggie could see only a section of the garbage bag that bulged out from under the chunks of dirt. The black plastic still had a glossy newness despite the mud and the smell. On their hike back, Tully had explained how he had hunted down the foul smell, which convinced him the bulging plastic bag might contain a body, although most of the bag remained underneath the pile of dirt.

The first thing Maggie noticed was that this burial plot—if it was, indeed, that—wasn’t close to the crater that had produced the skull and femurs. The mound of earth was set at the edge of the woods, at least a hundred feet away from the farmhouse.

“We tore up this area yesterday morning,” the construction foreman said. “We thought it was just garbage. That’s what it smelled like. We didn’t think much about it. A lot of country folks bury their trash instead of burning it. They sort of make their own personal landfills. We just left it alone.”

“You didn’t think it was odd that there wasn’t any other garbage?” Tully asked.

The foreman, who had introduced himself only as Buzz, shrugged. He kept his hard hat low over his brow, and his mirrored sunglasses made it difficult to see whether he was concerned or simply impatient with the delays.

The sheriff and his deputies, along with the construction crew, now surrounded the pile of dirt that stood about seven feet tall and spread over about fifteen feet. The equipment had left tracks and gashes in the ground, including a three-foot-deep trench with claw marks. Yet, Tully seemed adamant that it was a crime scene and he even attempted to back off the men.

He asked them to stay at least ten feet away, which Maggie thought was senseless. Any evidence had already been run over, dug up, or washed away. At this point, a few more footprints wouldn’t make a difference. Besides, none of the men looked anxious to poke or prod at the garbage bag. They appeared more wary of it than curious.

Tully took a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, removed his sports jacket, and handed it to Maggie.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“I’m just going to check it out.”

“Shouldn’t we wait?” Sheriff Uniss wanted to know.

Tully glanced back at him. “Wait for who? The FBI?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw the sheriff’s face grow crimson.

“It might just be a bag of garbage,” Tully said, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “You want to call a mobile crime lab out here and have them open it only to find someone’s rotting leftovers?”

No one answered. The younger deputy shifted his weight and Maggie could see the discomfort on his face. She recognized that look. First murder case. First dead body. It was hard not to be excited while trying to hide the shock and a bit of nausea. He swiped at his chin and his eyes darted around.

Maggie was surprised at Tully. It wasn’t like him to jump in. Of the two of them, he was the cautious one. He waited for the appropriate authorities. He played by the rules. It was Maggie who often leaped headfirst.

But she shared his impatience. That a rest area backed up to this property could be a mere coincidence, except that it matched the hand-drawn map, almost line for squiggly line. Factor in that this farm had been vacant for almost ten years. They had been searching for this highway killer’s dumping grounds for more than three weeks now. Maggie could feel Tully’s restlessness. The land was technically federal property. They had jurisdiction.

She didn’t say a word when Tully glanced back at her. He was looking for her to stop him. But she wanted to see what was inside the plastic bag, too. She nodded her agreement.

Tully stepped carefully, gauging the best method of approach. The only two options were wading through the muddy trench and reaching up to the bag or going around the side and climbing the pile of dirt to get to the bag. Tully chose to climb.

The chunks of dirt held his weight but it looked like one wrong move and he’d start a mudslide. He’d made it within arm’s length of the garbage bag when he slipped, almost losing his balance. He replanted his feet and his right shoe sank down. Maggie heard him groan but he stayed put. He was close enough to bend down and touch the bulging plastic.

He pushed up his rolled shirtsleeves. Then he reached out with a gloved hand and gently swiped off a chunk of dirt. He waited as if he expected the plastic to burst open. Maggie glanced around at the men from the construction crew and the deputies. All of them appeared to be holding their breath. No one dared fidget or shift.

Tully took another swipe and then another. A large chunk of dirt came loose and skidded down the pile, revealing more of the black bag. That’s when a piece of the plastic flapped open. It had already been torn but the dirt had kept it sealed.