Assistant Director Cunningham wore shirtsleeves, but still carefully buttoned at the wrists and collar, whereas Tully’s sleeves were rolled up in uneven folds and shoved above his elbows. Cunningham’s tie was cinched tight at his neck, making Tully self-conscious about his own, now wrinkled and tossed aside somewhere on a file cabinet, leaving his collar unbuttoned and open.
“I was waiting for a phone call from the medical examiner,” Tully explained. “From Dr. Holmes.”
“And?”
The assistant director leaned against the door, and Tully wondered if he should clear off one of the chairs. Unlike his boss’s immaculately neat office, Tully’s looked like a storage closet, with piles of papers, scattered files and overflowing bookcases. He sorted through the stack of notes from his phone call, not wanting to depend on his memory, which at this time of night had shut down like a computer hard drive.
“The girl…the young woman had an incision in her left side that extended to the small of her back about four inches long. Dr. Holmes said it was very precise, almost as if he had performed surgery on her.”
“Sounds like our boy.”
“He removed her spleen.”
“A spleen isn’t very big, is it? It looked like there was much more in that pizza box.”
Tully reached for the copy of
“The spleen is about five inches in length, three inches in breadth and an inch or an inch and a half in thickness,” he read out loud, then closed the book and set it aside. “The book says the spleen weighs about seven ounces, but that depends on what stage of digestion it’s in. It can get much bigger. Our victim hadn’t eaten much that day, so her spleen was fairly small. Dr. Holmes said that some of the pancreas was also attached.”
“Were there fingerprints found anywhere at the scene?”
“Yes, we got two pretty good ones—a thumb and an index finger. But they’re not matching Stucky’s. It’s possible they may have been made accidentally by someone on the scene, but it sure seems as though they were left behind on purpose. The entire rim of the Dumpster was wiped down, and then there are these two fingerprints right smack in the middle.”
Cunningham frowned, his weathered brow creasing as if he remembered something. “Double-check Stucky’s early file. Make sure the prints haven’t been switched or altered or that there were any computer mistakes. If I remember correctly, Agent O’Dell was finally able to identify him because of a fingerprint Stucky left behind. He blatantly left it behind, too. But it took us a while to identify it at the time. Someone hacked into the county computer system and switched the prints on file.”
“I’ll double-check, sir, but we’re not dealing with a county sheriff department’s computer system here. We’re checking these against the ones AFIS has on Stucky, prints they’ve taken directly off Stucky. And with all due respect, I don’t think anyone can easily hack into the Bureau’s system.” AFIS (Automated Fingerprint Identification System) was the FBI’s master database. Though it networked with local, state and federal agencies, dozens of precautions were in place against computer hackers.
Cunningham sighed and scratched his jaw. “You’re probably right,” he conceded with a fatigue Tully hadn’t witnessed before.
“It may end up being a rookie cop’s,” he told his boss, as if hoping to relieve some of Cunningham’s exhaustion. “If it is, we’ll know in the next twenty-four hours. If they don’t make a match to any law enforcement officers, then I’ll have someone do a cold search.”
Tully kept his glasses in place, feeling more alert with them on and needing to appear in control. “Sir, I haven’t found anything that would suggest Stucky is trying to send some sort of message by which organ he extracts. I wonder if I’m missing something.”
“No, you’re not missing anything. Stucky does this for shock value and simply because he can,” Cunningham said as he came farther into Tully’s office, but remained standing.
“Did he study to be a surgeon at some point in his life?” Tully flipped through a file Agent O’Dell had put together on Stucky’s past. In many ways it read like a resume for a Fortune 500 executive.
“His father was a doctor.” Cunningham wiped a hand over his jaw. Tully recognized the gesture as something his boss did when exhausted and trying to retrieve information from his vast memory bank. He took the opportunity to study his boss’s face, which seemed thinner, the hollows in his cheeks and eyes darker in the fluorescent light. Even exhausted, his posture remained straight, no hunched shoulders as he now leaned against the bookcase. Everything about the man spoke of a quiet dignity.
Finally he continued, “If I remember correctly, Stucky and his partner started one of the first Internet, online stock-trading companies. Made millions and has it stashed in foreign banks.”
“If we could track some of those accounts, maybe we could track him.”
“The problem is we’ve never been able to find out how many different accounts he has or what names he uses. Stucky’s sharp, Agent Tully. He’s cunning, very intelligent and almost always in control. He’s not quite like any of the others. He doesn’t kill because he needs to, or because it’s a mission or some urgency. Or even because he hears some inner voices. He kills for one major reason—because he enjoys it. It’s a game for him to manipulate, to break down the human spirit, to shock people with what he’s capable of doing, and also to thumb his nose at those of us who are trying to catch him.”
“Certainly even Albert Stucky makes mistakes.”
“Let’s hope so. Have you found anything on where the victim may have been taken?”
Again, Tully dug out his notes from a variety of stacks, not wanting to depend on his fatigued memory. Immediately he found himself self-conscious and a bit embarrassed. His notes were scrawled on everything from a deli napkin to a brown paper towel from the men’s rest room.
“We know she was taken before she finished her route. There were some customers who called complaining they hadn’t received their pizzas. The manager is working on getting me a list of the addresses she was to deliver to.”
“Why is that taking so long?”
“They write down the addresses in one place as the orders are phoned in. The delivery person takes the only copy.”
“You’re kidding,” Cunningham sighed, and for the first time Tully thought he saw that it was an effort for him to confine his frustration. “Doesn’t seem very efficient.”
“It’s probably never been a problem until now. The lab is trying to raise the addresses from the indentations on the notepad page underneath. Of course, our best bet is if we find the victim’s car. Maybe the lists will have been left behind.”
“Any luck finding the car?”
“Not yet. I got the make, model and plate number from DMV. Detective Rosen put out an APB. Nothing’s shown up so far.”
“Have Reagan National and Dulles airport security check their long-term parking lots.”
“Good idea.” Tully jotted another note to himself, this time using the cash-register receipt from his lunch. Why the hell didn’t he have notepads like the rest of the world?
“He had to take her someplace,” Cunningham said, staring over Tully’s head, lost in thought. “Somewhere he could have plenty of uninterrupted time with her. I’m guessing he didn’t go far from where he apprehended her. If we could get that list, we might be able to narrow down some possible locations.”
“The thing is, sir, I’ve driven around within a ten-mile radius of where the body was found. The whole area is this picture-book community. We’re not going to find any abandoned warehouses or condemned buildings.”
“It’s also easy to miss the most obvious place, Agent Tully. You can bet Stucky will be gambling on us doing just that. What else do you have?” he asked more brusquely now as he stood away from the bookcase, suddenly in a rush.
“There was a cellular phone recovered from the Dumpster. It was reported stolen a few days ago from a local shopping mall. I’m hoping once I get the phone record, maybe it’ll lead us someplace, depending on what calls were placed.”
“Good. Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.” Cunningham started to leave. “Let me know what help you need. Unfortunately, I can’t promise a whole task force again, but maybe I can pull a few people from other cases. Now, you need to go home, Agent Tully. Spend some time with your daughter.”
