CHAPTER 34
Kathleen O’Dell shoved the papers aside and grabbed for her mug of coffee. She took a sip, closed her eyes and took another. This was much better than that god-awful tea, although Reverend Everett would be scolding her if he knew how much caffeine she had poured into her system, and it wasn’t even noon. How could she be expected to give up alcohol
She shuffled through the pages again. Stephen had been very considerate in getting all the government forms she needed. If only it didn’t take so long to fill them out. Who would ever guess that it took so much work to transfer what little assets she had: a meager money market and savings account along with Thomas’s pension. She had even forgotten about Thomas’s pension, a small monthly amount, but enough that Reverend Everett seemed quite pleased when she had remembered it. That was when he’d told her once again she played an integral part in his mission. That God had sent her to him as a special favor. She’d never before been an integral anything to anyone, let alone to such an important man as Reverend Everett.
After spending the morning sorting through her assets, she realized that she also had never had much of anything. But then, she had never really expected much, either. Just what was necessary to get by-that was enough.
After Thomas’s death, Kathleen had sold their house and all their belongings so that she could move Maggie as far away as possible and as soon as possible. With Thomas’s life insurance, she thought they would be okay, and they had been comfortable in the small Richmond apartment. They never had much, but it wasn’t like Maggie went hungry or wore rags.
Kathleen looked around her current apartment, a sunny one-bedroom she had recently decorated herself with bright and cheerful colors that she no longer saw through blurry, hungover eyes. She hadn’t had a drink in ten months, two weeks and…She checked the desk calendar-four days. Though it still wasn’t easy. She reached for the coffee mug again and took a swallow.
Looking at the calendar reminded her how close Thanksgiving was. She checked her watch. She would need to call Maggie. It was important to Reverend Everett that she and Maggie have a family Thanksgiving together. Surely they could do it, just this once. How difficult could it be to get through one day together? It’s not like they hadn’t done it before. They had spent plenty of holidays together, though at the moment, Kathleen couldn’t remember any vividly enough to feel reassured. Holidays had usually been sort of a blur to her.
She checked the time again. If she called during the day, she’d get Maggie’s voice messaging service, and she wouldn’t get to talk to Maggie.
Kathleen thought about their breakfast yesterday. The girl had fidgeted as if she couldn’t wait to leave, and now Kathleen wondered if Maggie really had been called away. Or had she simply not wanted to spend another minute with her own mother? How did they ever get to this place? How did they ever get to be enemies? No, not enemies. But not friends, either. And why could they not even talk to each other?
She checked her watch again. Sat quietly. Tapped her fingers on the papers, then glanced at the phone on the counter. If she called while Maggie was at work, she’d only be able to leave a message. She sat for a while longer, staring at the phone. Okay, so this wasn’t going to be easy-she was still a coward. She got up and went to the counter. She’d leave a message, and she picked up the phone.
CHAPTER 35
Maggie stood up to stretch her legs and automatically began her ritual pacing. The real meeting hadn’t begun until the senator was safely in his limousine and on his way back to the District. Now the uncensored reports and photos were strewn across the conference room’s table alongside coffee mugs, cans of Pepsi, bottles of water and sandwiches Cunningham had ordered up from the cafeteria.
The old easel-backed chalkboard Cunningham liked to use was almost filled. On one side were the words:
duct tape
cyanide capsule
semen residue
handcuff marks: none found on the victim
ligature tracks: possible cord with glittery residue
possible DNA under nails
scene posed/staged
unidentified circular marks in dirt
On the other side under the heading Unsub was a shorter list, the beginning of a profile:
left-handed
organized, although a risk-taker
knows police procedure
prepared: brought weapon to scene
may interact well with society, but no regard for others
draws satisfaction from seeing his victim suffer
strong sense of grandiosity and entitlement
Cunningham had peeled off his jacket and gotten down to work as soon as Senator Brier had left the conference room, yet he still hadn’t explained why they had gathered out here at Quantico instead of at FBI headquarters. Nor had he bothered to explain why he had been chosen to head the task force rather than the Special Agent in Charge (SAC) of the District’s field office or why BSU had even been called in to take a look at the scene before they knew the victim was a daughter of a United States senator. He hadn’t bothered to explain any of it, and neither Maggie, nor the rest of them, seemed willing to call him on it.
There was plenty he wasn’t telling them. Yet, what he had told them, at least three times, was that all information was to remain shared with only the six members of the task force and with absolutely no exceptions. Redundant, really. They were all professionals. They knew the rules. Well, maybe all of them except Racine. Maggie wondered if perhaps Cunningham didn’t trust Racine, either. Could that be why he was holding back on an explanation? Of course, he had no choice about including Racine. The task force had to have someone from the District PD, and since Racine had already been assigned to the case, it made sense she would continue as liaison.
“According to Wenhoff, cause of death was asphyxiation due to manual strangulation,” Keith Ganza said with his usual monotone, continuing their list.
Cunningham found the word
“Manual strangulation? What about all the ligature marks?” Tully pointed them out in the autopsy photos of the young woman’s neck.
Keith reached for several of the photos, pulled one out and slid it back to Tully. “See that bruising and the vertical crescent marks? The bruising was made by the pressure of his thumbs. The vertical crescentic abrasions were made by his fingernails. The horizontal ones are all hers. The bruising and the abrasions are in the perfect position to break the hyoid bone. That’s the curved bone at the base of the tongue.” He indicated the area in one of the photos. “There were also fractures to the cartilage of the windpipe and the larynx. All are signs of excessive force and signs of manual strangulation.”
