calculations they had another three hours on the road.
Wurth slid into the driver’s seat and handed her an ice-cold can of Diet Pepsi, his idea of a peace offering. She accepted.
“You’ll be thanking me that I got a whole six-pack on ice back there for you. By the time we get down to Pensacola most of the shelves will be picked clean. Gas stations will either have long linesor be sold out. And there is absolutely nothing worse than being stuck in a hurricane area just because you can’t get enough gasoline to drive away.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to drive away. I thought you were supposed to be the cavalry.”
Charlie Wurth laughed and shook his head.
“Where do you come up with these ideas, O’Dell?”
“You never did tell me why you’re being dispatched to the Florida Panhandle when your home is New Orleans. Isn’t New Orleans in this storm’s path, too?”
“New Orleans is where all the media is.” He pulled the SUV back into interstate traffic.
When Maggie realized that was the end of his explanation she prodded. “Yes, so that’swhere all the media is and …?”
“You know how this works better than I do. You’ve been a part of this federal bureaucracy longer than me. Media’s all set up in the Big Easy then that’s where the director is. Not the deputy director.”
Of course. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed.
“Which reminds me”—Wurth threw her a glance—“maybe now’s a good time for you to tell me how you managed to get yourself smack-dab in the line of fire yesterday.”
“Is that what you heard?”
“That’s what I was told.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Kunze would characterize the incident as her fault.
“What exactly did my boss tell you?”
“I won’t tell you his exact words because I don’t use that kind of language in front of a lady, but I believe the gist of what he said was that you screwed up. Didn’t see it coming.”
“I didn’t see it coming?”
Maggie couldn’t believe it. How dare Kunze blame her for a killer’s unpredictable behavior. And to suggest it publicly to someone outside the bureau. What would be next? Saying that it was her negligence that made him fire his own gun three times into the killer? The first shot had been enough to stop him. Maggie wondered if the head shot thatsplattered her with the killer’s brains had simply been overkill to do just that—splatter her.
“Did he even tell you what happened?”
“Maybe you should tell me what happened.”
“Or my version. Isn’t that what you’re really saying?”
“Hey, I’m on your side, O’Dell.” He held his hands up in surrender then dropped them back to the steering wheel. “If I believed anything Kunze said you wouldn’t be on this road trip with me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You know what, it doesn’t even matter what happened. You found the son of a bitch, right? And now he’s out of commission. From what I read in last week’s newspapers there were a few body parts involved in that case, too.”
She waited for him to make the same inference Tully had—that somehow she’d become an expert in murders that included body parts. Wurth glanced at her.
“As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “you did us all a favor.”
Maggie settled into the oversize captain seat, tucking a bare foot underneath her, looking out the window, but her mind returned to yesterday’s bizarre shooting. They had tracked down and found … no, that wasn’t right. She had tracked down and found the killer’s torture chamber—a deserted warehouse near the Potomac.
For Maggie it brought back memories of another killer she had caught many years ago. Sometimes she worried that all the killers she had come in contact with were morphing together. That AssistantDirector Kunze had shot and killed this one didn’t even bother her. She agreed with Wurth. It meant another monster wouldn’t be hurting another innocent victim. That
Wurth slid into the driver’s seat and handed her an ice-cold can of Diet Pepsi, his idea of a peace offering. She accepted.
“You’ll be thanking me that I got a whole six-pack on ice back there for you. By the time we get down to Pensacola most of the shelves will be picked clean. Gas stations will either have long linesor be sold out. And there is absolutely nothing worse than being stuck in a hurricane area just because you can’t get enough gasoline to drive away.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to drive away. I thought you were supposed to be the cavalry.”
Charlie Wurth laughed and shook his head.
“Where do you come up with these ideas, O’Dell?”
“You never did tell me why you’re being dispatched to the Florida Panhandle when your home is New Orleans. Isn’t New Orleans in this storm’s path, too?”
“New Orleans is where all the media is.” He pulled the SUV back into interstate traffic.
When Maggie realized that was the end of his explanation she prodded. “Yes, so that’swhere all the media is and …?”
“You know how this works better than I do. You’ve been a part of this federal bureaucracy longer than me. Media’s all set up in the Big Easy then that’s where the director is. Not the deputy director.”
Of course. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed.
“Which reminds me”—Wurth threw her a glance—“maybe now’s a good time for you to tell me how you managed to get yourself smack-dab in the line of fire yesterday.”
“Is that what you heard?”
“That’s what I was told.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Kunze would characterize the incident as her fault.
“What exactly did my boss tell you?”
“I won’t tell you his exact words because I don’t use that kind of language in front of a lady, but I believe the gist of what he said was that you screwed up. Didn’t see it coming.”
“I didn’t see it coming?”
Maggie couldn’t believe it. How dare Kunze blame her for a killer’s unpredictable behavior. And to suggest it publicly to someone outside the bureau. What would be next? Saying that it was her negligence that made him fire his own gun three times into the killer? The first shot had been enough to stop him. Maggie wondered if the head shot thatsplattered her with the killer’s brains had simply been overkill to do just that—splatter her.
“Did he even tell you what happened?”
“Maybe you should tell me what happened.”
“Or my version. Isn’t that what you’re really saying?”
“Hey, I’m on your side, O’Dell.” He held his hands up in surrender then dropped them back to the steering wheel. “If I believed anything Kunze said you wouldn’t be on this road trip with me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You know what, it doesn’t even matter what happened. You found the son of a bitch, right? And now he’s out of commission. From what I read in last week’s newspapers there were a few body parts involved in that case, too.”
She waited for him to make the same inference Tully had—that somehow she’d become an expert in murders that included body parts. Wurth glanced at her.
“As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “you did us all a favor.”
Maggie settled into the oversize captain seat, tucking a bare foot underneath her, looking out the window, but her mind returned to yesterday’s bizarre shooting. They had tracked down and found … no, that wasn’t right. She had tracked down and found the killer’s torture chamber—a deserted warehouse near the Potomac.
For Maggie it brought back memories of another killer she had caught many years ago. Sometimes she worried that all the killers she had come in contact with were morphing together. That AssistantDirector Kunze had shot and killed this one didn’t even bother her. She agreed with Wurth. It meant another monster wouldn’t be hurting another innocent victim. That
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