Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [218]
Milhaven had driven them, but Maggie wished she could walk rather than be squashed once again into the Grand Am’s back seat between her two bodyguards. The night was clear but crisp enough to provoke a shiver. Before they got to the parking lot, they noticed a gathering in the alley. One uniformed cop stood in front of a metal Dumpster and attempted to keep a small crowd of well-dressed onlookers at a distance.
Without a word, the detectives and FBI agents made their way to the scene.
“What’s the problem here, Cooper?” Ford knew the frustrated officer.
“Let’s move out of the way,” Milhaven said to the onlookers as he and Delaney pushed them back into the parking lot that ran parallel to the alley.
The officer glanced at Maggie and Turner.
“It’s okay,” Ford reassured him. “They’re FBI. Here for the conference. So what’s going on?”
Officer Cooper pointed to the Dumpster behind him with a tilt of his head.
“Dishwasher at the Bistro took out the trash about a half hour ago. Noticed a hand sticking up out of the pile. Freaked. Called it in, but not before he announced it to the whole goddamn world.”
Maggie felt the familiar knot in her stomach. Turner was already at the Dumpster, his six-foot-three frame allowing him to look over the edge without assistance. Maggie dragged an empty milk crate and joined him. Now she wished she hadn’t drunk so much. She paused and waited for the brief spell of light-headedness to pass.
The first thing Maggie noticed was a red umbrella, its handle looped over the edge of the Dumpster as if the owner hadn’t meant for it to be mistaken for trash. Or had it purposely been left as evidence?
“Officer Cooper.” She waited for his attention. “You might mention to the detectives when they arrive that there’s an umbrella here. It probably should be bagged and taken in for fingerprints.”
“Will do.”
Without disturbing anything, Maggie could see the woman was naked and lying on her back. The patch of red pubic hair was a stark contrast to the white skin. Immediately, Maggie knew the scene had been tampered with. Officer Cooper said the dishwasher had noticed only a hand sticking up out of the pile, yet the woman’s entire torso was exposed. What looked like vegetable peels had been tossed onto her face. Her head was turned to the side, her brilliant red hair littered with pieces of leftovers.
Maggie could see the woman’s mouth, partially opened as though something may have been shoved inside. Then she noticed a dot, a beauty mark above the upper lip. The knot in her stomach tightened. She leaned forward, stretched on tiptoe, sending the crate wobbling while she reached in.
“O’Dell, what the hell are you doing?” Turner scolded her as he watched.
Gently, she swiped at a potato peel and a clump of angel-hair pasta that was stuck to the side of the woman’s face.
“It’s Rita,” she said, wishing she had been wrong.
“Rita? Rita who?”
Maggie waited, glanced at Turner and watched the recognition register on his face.
“Shit! You’re right.”
“You guys know her?” Ford asked as he looked over the top.
“She’s a waitress from the bar and grill down the street,” Maggie explained as her eyes continued to examine what she could of Rita’s body.
Her throat had been slashed, so deep it had nearly decapitated her. The rest of her body had few bruises and no punctures except for her wrists, which showed ligature marks. Whatever the method of capture, the struggle had been minimal, suggesting that hopefully death had come quickly. Maggie found herself relieved and at the same time disparaged to be relieved by such a thing.
Then she saw the bloody incision in Rita’s side underneath a