'You're driving your personal vehicle down into a hurricane?'
'It's not about that.' He smiled and shook his head. 'We goin' down South, cherie. Into the middle of hurricane frenzy. A scrawny black man with a beautiful white woman--I'm packing all my necessary documents: registration, license, and proof of insurance, along with my badge.'
She laughed but Wurth wasn't laughing.
'You're serious.'
'As a heart attack.' He punched a couple of buttons on the dashboard and the sound of soft jazz filled the interior. 'We've got about five hours of interstate. How 'bout we hit Mickey D's drive-through for a couple of sausage biscuits?'
'In an Escalade with soft jazz? Sounds perfect.'
'Low, low maintenance,' he said. 'I'm liking this.'
She let him maneuver his way out of Hartfield-Jackson before she started prodding him.
'Have you learned anything since last night?'
'They have already unwrapped everything.' He glanced at her over his sunglasses. 'Sorry. I should have thought of it sooner. I'm not accustomed to dealing in body parts.'
'Don't worry about it. I'm sure they followed protocol.'
Maggie remembered what Tully had said about her becoming an expert. It wasn't the kind of thing she wished to add to her resume.
'Turns out there were five packages: one male torso, one foot, and three hands.'
'Left or right?'
'Excuse me?'
'The hands and the foot. Were they left or right?'
This time he flashed an embarrassed grin. 'Again, sorry O'Dell. I didn't think to ask.' He shook his head. 'I thought my job had some interesting variables, but you got me beat.'
'Three hands? It's more than one victim.'
'So did we stumble on his trophies or his disposables?'
Maggie shrugged and leaned back in the leather captain seat. The car's AC was noiseless, chilling the interior as smoothly as the jazz filled it.
'A cooler this size could act as sort of a floating coffin, taking it farther out to sea. If the lid isn't locked predators would take care of the remains, get rid of all the evidence. But the plastic wrapping suggests this guy didn't intend for the cooler to get away from him. I should be able to tell more once I see everything firsthand. Will I be able to visit the crime scene?'
'I was told that wouldn't be a problem.'
'And the cooler?'
'Waiting for you. The packages, however, are already with the ME. He'll take a look at them tomorrow morning. And yes, he's expecting your presence. You won't find much resistance. If anything, you might find a lack of interest. With this hurricane coming, the local law enforcement has more important things to worry about.'
'A storm is more important than a killer on the loose?'
Wurth glanced over at her as he turned into the parking lot of a McDonald's. 'You've never been in a hurricane before, huh?'
'That obvious?'
'Your killers carve up, what? Six bodies? A dozen over several months? Maybe several years? Isaac has already killed sixty-seven in forty-eight hours. This time, O'Dell, I think my killer trumps your killer.'
CHAPTER 9
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
Liz Bailey fumbled around the kitchen trying to fix breakfast, silently vowing that she would take time to buy the things she couldn't find. She hadn't lived in her father's house since high school. Her sister had lived here until she married Scott. That was two years ago--just enough time for her father to arrange things so that only he could find them.
She'd moved back in temporarily only because the housing she was promised with her transfer wouldn't be available for two months. Now searching for the toaster she wondered if she'd last that long.
She turned up the radio for the local weather report.
'Hurricane Isaac is expected to slam into the western side of Cuba today. Last night it bulldozed over Grand Cayman, flooding homes, ripping off roofs, and toppling trees. More than half the homes on Grand Cayman are said to be damaged. And yet, Isaac hasn't lost any of its steam. It's now a cat 4 and traveling about ten miles an hour with sustained winds of 150 miles an hour. And guess what folks, it's still expected to take that slight turn to the north/northeast, which means, you guessed it, we're smack-dab in the middle of its path. Landfall may be sometime Wednesday. Time to start boarding up, stocking up, and moving out, folks.'
'They're always wrong,' her dad said as he shuffled in, still in his pajamas though he had been up for an hour reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.
Finally, the toaster! Liz found it in the bottom cabinet under the sink. Of course, the last place she'd think to look. She pulled it out without any comment. Trish would have commented, scolded, and instructed where the toaster should be stored.
'Not this time, Dad. The CG and the NHC has the Florida Panhandle in the crosshairs.'
'Well, that's not where the media says it's gonna hit. They're all in New Orleans again, ready and waiting. This morning's Journal has the projected path drawn from Galveston to Tampa, and they all act like New Orleans is the only place they give a damn about.'
'You should get gas today. And batteries and bottled water. Won't Trish and Scott need to come stay with you? They can't stay on the bay.'
'I've got a whole container of batteries and plenty of bottled water in the garage. Enough food in the refrigerators to feed us for a week.'
'You'll need a generator just to keep your three refrigerators running.'
'I've got three generators.'
'Then you better get gas today, Dad. Will you do that? Will you promise me you'll get the gas cans filled today?'
'Sure, sure.'
'You won't put it off?'
'I'll go out before lunch. But you're not gonna be here anyway. Where will they send you?'
'Probably Jacksonville. Someplace out of the path but close enough we can fly in immediately after. Remember, I told you. We came in right behind Katrina, so close I could see the swell of the backstorm. I imagine we'll try to do the same this time.'
'Those boys sure have taken a liking to you.' He filled his coffee cup, standing beside her as she waited for the toaster to spit out her bagel.
'Yeah, we're all a bunch of buddies.' She wanted to add that it was easy to be buddies after a few beers, but she'd never let her dad know that it was anything different.
'They have a small article in the Journal about that cooler you brought up yesterday.'
'Really?'
'Front page. Bottom right-hand corner. I set it aside for you.'
'Tell me what they said.' She slathered cream cheese on her toasted bagel and took a bite. Her dad read every inch of the daily Pensacola News Journal and could usually repeat almost verbatim the articles he took an interest in.
'Suspicious fishing cooler retrieved by the Coast Guard,' he told her, while tipping little splashes of cream into his coffee like he was rationing it. 'It didn't mention anything about the contents or even suggest foul play or that it had body parts inside.'
Liz almost choked on her bagel.
