Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [226]
She glanced from Detective Ford to Nick, looking for some indication of whether or not they were taking her seriously. If this was Ford’s way of patting her on the head and reassuring her how mistaken she was, she didn’t need to waste her breath responding.
“You think I’m being paranoid?” She couldn’t help it. The beginning anger slipped out. Nick noticed immediately and looked concerned. Ford looked genuinely confused.
“No, that’s not at all what I meant…. Well, that’s not exactly true. I guess I was thinking that last night.”
“Albert Stucky has the financial wherewithal and the intelligence to go anywhere he wants, anytime he chooses. Don’t think for a second Kansas City is safe, simply because he hasn’t struck in the Midwest before.” There it was. She hadn’t meant to let the anger out. She hated how Stucky had such power over her emotions, triggering them with the mere mention of his name. Again she avoided Nick’s eyes, and again she could feel them.
Ford stared at her, but there was no accusation on his face. Instead, he looked as though he was only waiting for her to finish her tirade.
“Can I talk now?”
“Be my guest.” Maggie crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself and yet doing her best to look defiant. It was a newly acquired talent.
“That was my way of thinking last night. Like, why in the world would this Stucky guy just happen to pick Kansas City instead of the East Coast? I know enough about serial killers to know they keep to familiar territory. But before I met Nick this morning, I sat in on the autopsy of your friend, Rita.”
Detective Ford glanced at Nick, and it was obvious this was what the two of them had already discussed. He looked back at Maggie, waited until he had her full attention then said, “Seems our victim is missing her right kidney.”
CHAPTER 25
Tully checked his watch. It wasn’t like Assistant Director Cunningham to be late for a meeting. He sat back and waited. Maybe his watch was running fast again. According to Emma, it was ancient and uncool.
Tully stared at the huge map spread on the wall behind his boss’s desk. It was Cunningham’s personal log for his twenty years as head of the Investigative Support Unit. Each pushpin indicated a spot where a serial killer had struck. Each pushpin color designated a particular serial killer. Tully wondered how soon the assistant director would run out of colors. Already there were repeats: purple, light purple and translucent purple.
Tully knew his boss had worked on some of the most shocking cases, including John Wayne Gacy and the Green River Killer. By comparison, Tully was a rookie, with only six years’ experience in profiling and most of that on paper, not in the field. He wondered how anyone lived day in, day out for decades examining such brutality without becoming jaded or cynical.
He glanced around the office again. Everything on the desk—a leather appointment book, two Bic pens with the caps intact (a talent Tully had not yet perfected), a plain memo pad with no doodles in the corners and a brass nameplate—all of it was organized in straight lines, perpendicular to one another, almost as if Cunningham used a T square every morning. It occurred to Tully that the tidy but stark office contained not one single personal item. There were no sweatshirts wadded in the corner, no miniature basketballs, not a single photo. In fact, Tully knew very little of who his boss was outside the office.
He had noticed a wedding band, yet Assistant Director Cunningham seemed to live at Quantico. There was never any rearranging of appointments for Little League games or school plays or visits to kids in college. Before this morning, he had never even been late for an appointment. No, Tully knew absolutely nothing about the quiet, soft-spoken man who had become one of the most respected men in the FBI. But at what cost? Tully wondered.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Cunningham said as he breezed in, shedding his suit jacket and swinging it carefully over the back of his chair before sitting down. “What have you