Washington, D.C.
Maggie had spent most of her Sunday chasing down leads and digging for details. Alonzo had been in his data center office at Quantico since early morning and Kuszak at her lab. Both worked without Maggie’s prompting. All of them were running on adrenaline to find something about this killer.
Maggie returned to the hospital, hoping to catch Detective Sheldon. The doctors would update Racine’s law enforcement partner. They’d made it clear that Maggie was too far on the fringes of friends or families to be included. If she wanted to find out what condition Racine and Nessie were in, she’d need to get the information from the detective who was now in charge of the case.
She bought a can of Diet Pepsi for herself and a tall, designer coffee from a kiosk in the lobby. With lid and stopper secured in place, she made her way to the ICU lounge.
Sheldon was nowhere to be seen, but she recognized a woman sitting in the far corner, tapping on her phone.
“Rachel?”
The woman looked up, eyes swollen, skin pale. She barely resembled the photo that accompanied her weekly newspaper column.
“We’ve never met,” Maggie explained, her hands full so she couldn’t even offer one. “I was working on this case with Julia. I’m Maggie O’Dell.”
“Oh, of course. She’s mentioned you.”
“Would you like a coffee?”
“Starbucks! You’re a lifesaver.”
Maggie ignored the irony. She was the one who’d almost caused Racine to lose her life.
“You mind if I sit with you for a while?”
“No, please do. They’re changing out some things in her room. I figured it was a good time to get out of there for a few minutes.”
“How is she doing?”
“Heavily medicated right now. The knife punctured her spleen. The doctor said surgery went well.”
“She’s a fighter.”
“She is. And she’ll be mad as hell when the doctor tells her she needs to rest and heal for three to four months.”
“I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Julia warned me it comes with the territory. But there’s really no way to prepare yourself for it.” Rachel shook her head. Took a sip of the coffee. “Sometimes I think she believes she’s made of steel.”
Maggie wanted to say, we all do in the beginning. She’d lost track of the scars on her own body until Ryder Creed came along and wanted to know the story behind each. She didn’t mind under his gentle, exploring touch. He had enough of his own scars that it made for an interesting trade of war stories. But for people who didn’t put their bodies at such risk, people like Rachel and her daughter, this would be a nightmare they hoped to never experience.
She wanted to tell Rachel that it was her fault Racine was even on the street last night. Confession might be good for the soul, but it sucked at solving anything. And it would bring no comfort to Rachel.
“The woman she was trying to save. Will she be okay?” Rachel asked. “I heard she got hit in the head.”
“I’m not sure. I know she’s still unconscious.” Maggie had been trying to check in for updates on Nessie, but again, doctors weren’t releasing much information. “What I can tell you is Julia saved her life. We’ll get this guy. I promise you.”
Rachel gave her a half smile. “Now you sound like Julia.”
Maggie’s phone started vibrating in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, took one look and said, “I have to take this.”
“Go ahead.”
“If there’s anything I can do for you or Julia, please just call me.” She dug out a business card from behind her badge wallet. Across the back, she’d scrawled her personal cell phone number.
Rachel nodded. “Thanks. And thanks for the coffee.”
Back in the hallway, Maggie finally answered Alonzo.
“Please tell me you found something,” she said in place of a greeting.
“Actually, Kuszak did. Remember the throwaway bag?”
“Yes. A pair of large shoes that led to nowhere. Latex gloves with fingerprints that identified no one. And some trash receipts. Was there something we missed?”
“The trash receipts. Kuszak got to thinking that wad looked a lot like when she cleans out her car. You know, you toss things you no longer need. There was a printed copy of an Amtrak eTicket. What you’d use for boarding.”
“Didn’t you already check out the name on the ticket?” Maggie started to pace the hallway.
“I did. And I got nowhere. But...Kuszak recognized that it was a ticket for the Auto Train.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Neither did I, but Kuszak did. She has family members who’ve taken it in the last six months.”
“So it’s not Amtrak.”
“Oh yes, it’s Amtrak, but it’s a special train where you can take your vehicle along with you. You check it in, sort of like you would luggage. They place a magnetic number on your car so you can easily identify it at your destination site. But they also put the vehicle’s VIN number into their computer system with that corresponding number.”
“And the VIN number connected you to the name of the vehicle’s owner?”
“Bingo! Black 2018 Mercedes-Benz C300 four-door sedan registered to Peter Gregory of Miami, Florida.”
“Miami? He lives in Miami?”
“It’s an office address. An investment group that owns, operates and manages vacation homes. Sort of like Airbnb. These are all elite luxury places. He’s listed as one of five owner executives.”
“Does the train go all the way to Miami?”
“It does. More interesting though, it also goes to Jacksonville. And New York City.”
“Really?” She stopped in her tracks. The other murders. Is this how he traveled? “So what do you know about Gregory?”
“Not a lot so far. He seems like an ordinary guy. Thirty years old. Pays his taxes on time. No priors with the law. Not even a traffic ticket. I’m still searching. I’m betting he’s never been fingerprinted.”
Maggie let out a frustrated sigh and moved further down the hallway to stay out of the way of hospital workers.
“But here’s the thing,” Alonzo said. “Most criminals have a weak spot, right? I think this Mercedes might be his. I happened to access Amtrak’s computer system.”
He paused, as if waiting for a reprimand. Maggie knew Alonzo was a wizard when it came to “accessing” cyberspaces that perhaps he had no business accessing. She had played against the rules too often to lecture anyone else.
Satisfied by her silence, he continued, “He obviously used aliases when he booked his Amtrak tickets. I couldn’t find Peter Gregory or the name on the eTicket we found. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it doesn’t look like vehicle registrations are checked to match the ticket holder’s name. Probably would take too long. Entering the VIN number looks to be strictly for backup. Who knows? I thought by tracking the Mercedes VIN number I could see what other trips it’s taken.”
“And you found Jacksonville and New York City.”
“Yes, and the timelines easily match to the homicides.”
“That only places him in those cities. Without fingerprints or some evidence—”
“Hold on, I know all that. While I was tracking the VIN number, I accidentally discovered something else. It’s on its way to Jacksonville. Right now.”
“The Mercedes?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to be kidding?”
“Left this morning at seven. Amtrak doesn’t allow you to send a car on its own.”
She stopped at the end of the hallway, where a window looked out over the parking lot.
“He’s running,” she said it in almost a whisper. “After last night, he’s getting the hell out of D.C. How can I get on that train?”
“It only makes one stop, but it’s not for boarding or departing. So even if we could get you on, you might spook him, because there’s no way to get on that train at that point without raising a whole lot of red flags and special treatment.”
He let her digest all that, then he added, “Actually, I think I have a better idea. I already put in for the warrant. You’ll still need to pack a bag and catch a flight.”