The others began arriving. Their chatter echoed from across the empty cafeteria. Maggie had a chance to study them and their interactions, if only for the minutes it took to cross the huge room.
Gwen was the focus. She was the center of the pack and the obvious leader, although she never tried or liked being in charge. She had an undeniable air of authority, along with an innate compassion, that drew people to her. Dr. Gwen Patterson was a private psychologist who had been a consultant for the FBI even before Maggie arrived.
Gwen’s life partner, R.J. Tully, had been Maggie’s FBI partner until a few years ago. He was a seasoned agent when the two of them had been forced together. Back then, Tully’s directive from their assistant director was to bring calm and rationality to a rogue Maggie O’Dell.
That seemed like ages ago. Since then, they had traveled hundreds of miles together, shared many meals while tracking some crazed killers. Even with his bum knee, that she felt partially responsible for, he was still the agent she’d want in the field with her to cover her back.
The newbie was their forensic investigator and the assistant lab director, Isabel “Izzy” Kuszak. She was also the youngest of Maggie’s team. Small framed with a youthful face, she could easily pass for a teenager and usually dressed like one. Today was no different. She wore baggy cargo pants and black lace-up combat boots with her white lab coat. A neon-pink T-shirt peeked from underneath. Her pixie-cut hair was shaved up the back with a long fringe of bangs in the front. Its silver-gray matched her gray-blue eyes.
Keith Ganza, the director of the FBI Lab had recommended Kuszak when he turned down the position Maggie had offered to him. He told her he was planning to retire soon. Maggie’s mind stopped listening for a few minutes, trying to process the word “retire.” One more person she trusted, gone.
She barely heard Ganza while he recited a litany of the new assistant director’s qualities, finally landing on, “You know me,” Ganza said, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. This kid’s wicked smart.” Then he added, not because he thought it would make a difference, but because he was Ganza, “She reminds me of you when you came in as a newbie.”
That seemed like a lifetime ago when everything was first-time interesting and exciting. Before the skepticism and all the other hard lessons. Sometimes bad guys got away. Sometimes they pretended to even be on your side. And always they left scars.
Ganza promised Kuszak would be an invaluable asset to the team if Maggie could overlook the young woman’s youth and inexperience. She wondered if he had said those same words about her years ago. Over a decade now.
Antonio Alonzo was young and brilliant as well. For as much as Kuszak looked like she threw together a strange wardrobe combination, Alonzo’s looked like he carefully curated it himself.
They were a motley crew of different ages, backgrounds, experiences, and expertise. But they were each a part of her team by invitation. Except for Julia Racine. She was here simply out of necessity. After all, this was the detective’s case. Otherwise, she’d never be on Maggie’s team. Racine didn’t play well with others. And for as long as Maggie had known the woman, she still didn’t trust her.
Maggie remained standing while the others took seats around the table, setting down what they brought with them: mugs, notepads, file folders, laptops and switching off cell phones.
All of them had given up their Saturday. Alonzo and Kuszak had come from different parts of Quantico’s campus. Gwen and Tully had driven from their Georgetown condo and Racine from her home.
Maggie asked Alonzo to share the information he’d already told her. She watched Racine while he went through the hits he’d gotten. She wasn’t sure what she expected, what she was looking for. Maybe she wanted Racine to gasp at the reality of how much she’d missed.
But Maggie reminded herself that Racine had only had this case for less than two weeks. Until the last murder, there was no reason to connect the dots. Actually, no dots to connect. Smart killers depended on that. They stayed ahead of the game, moved around, and targeted a vulnerable population that was difficult for law enforcement to track or even identify.
Listening to Alonzo, Maggie realized how daunting their task was.
When he was finished, she looked to Racine and asked, “Do we have an identity for either of the two D.C. victims?”
Racine shook her head and looked at Kuszak, anxious to give up this responsibility. Maggie tamped down her simmering irritation. Why was she surprised Racine chose the easy way out? And yet, D.C. had both bodies.
Izzy Kuszak didn’t even notice Racine’s deflection. Her eyes were on her yellow notepad, her pen scratching out messages to herself. It wasn’t until she noticed the silence around the table that she looked up.
“Our lab doesn’t have anything belonging to the victims,” Kuszak said. “Can’t help you there.”
Maggie felt the shift of impatience around the table. But Kuszak didn’t seem to notice.
“Has D.C. provided a copy of the autopsy?” Maggie asked Kuszak, but her eyes were on Racine.
“Not yet,” Kuszak told her.
Before Maggie could question Racine, she put up a hand, gesturing to give her a minute. “I brought copies for everyone.” She opened a file folder and rifled through loose-leaf papers inside. She pulled out sets of stapled copies and slid them across the table to each team member.
Maggie asked Alonzo, “How did you get your information to do the victim searches?”
“Oh, I have my ways.”
“Give me a break, O’Dell,” Racine cut her off. “This last one just happened yesterday morning.”
The young forensic investigator didn’t appear bothered by Racine’s flippant attitude. Instead, Kuszak examined the contents and jotted down notes.
“Both victims sustained head trauma,” Racine told them. “Stan—” she stopped herself when she realized not everyone around the table would know who Stan was. “The medical examiner,” she continued, “says the mark left looks like a ball-peen hammer. He doesn’t believe it was a fatal blow. That came from a weapon with a double-edged blade. Neither was recovered at the scene of the crime. Unless something was found in that Dumpster throwaway?”
She looked over at Kuszak.
“No hammer. No knife,” Kuszak said. “The plastic grocery bag does contain some interesting things. Latex gloves. A ticket stub and receipt. A pair of well-worn shoes, size eleven with blood stains. I’ve already pulled samples. It is blood. If I can get some DNA from the victim, I can tell you whether the blood is his.” She was looking to Racine now for confirmation.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Racine told her.
Shouldn’t be a problem, instead of yes. Maggie found Racine’s lackadaisical attitude beyond annoying. Asking for the FBI’s help didn’t mean checking out completely. And if she’d truly done just that, why even bother coming here today? Racine had made it sound like her boss didn’t have time for a couple of homeless people getting killed. The fact that the killer could be the same person should warrant attention. At least from Racine.
Maggie was so sick of politics. She considered how she might go around the detective, when Kuszak added, “If the blood matches the victim, then it makes sense the bag belonged to the killer. That’s our agreed supposition, right?”
“Yes,” Maggie told her. “And I’m hoping the shoes and their treads will tell us more about him.”
“We might not need that,” Kuszak said in a no-nonsense tone. “I actually have his fingerprints.”