Split Second Read online

  “It didn’t look too unusual except for all the candy-bar wrappers.”

  “I might have an explanation for those. I discovered a small vial and a syringe in the bag. It was insulin. Now, it could be that one of the previous owners of the house has diabetes, but then we should have found more. Also, most diabetics I know are fairly conscientious about properly disposing of their syringes.”

  “So what exactly are you saying, Keith?”

  “Just telling you what I found. That’s what I meant about Maggie determining whether or not it was important.”

  “You said there were a couple of things?”

  “Oh, yeah…” Ganza hesitated again. “Maggie asked me to do a search of prints for a Walker Harding, but it’s been taking a while. The guy has no criminal record, never registered a handgun.”

  Tully was surprised Maggie hadn’t stopped Ganza after they had read the article and discovered that Harding was going blind. He couldn’t possibly be a suspect. “Save yourself the time,” he told Ganza. “Looks like we don’t need to check.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t able to find anything. The search just took a bit longer. The guy was a civil servant about ten years ago, so his prints are on file.”

  “Keith, I’m sorry you went through all that trouble.” Tully only half listened to Ganza as he watched the computer screen.

  “Hopefully, it was worth the trouble,” Ganza went on. “The prints I lifted from the whirlpool bath were an exact match.”

  Tully’s fingers stopped. His other hand gripped the phone’s receiver. “What the hell did you just say?”

  “The fingerprints I lifted off the bathtub at the house on Archer Drive…they matched this Walker Harding guy. It’s an exact match.”

  Tully hung up. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but Tully didn’t like the picture they were forming. On an obscure Web site designed to look like some clearinghouse run by the Confederacy, he found computer games for sale. All were wholesale priced, and the search could be completed by clicking on tiny Confederate-flag icons. The games were available through a company called WH Enterprises. Most of them guaranteed graphic violence and others promised to be of pornographic nature.

  The sample that could be viewed with a click of the mouse included a naked woman being gang-raped, with the player being able to gun down all the assailants, only to be rewarded by raping the woman himself. Despite the animation, the video clip was all too real. Tully found himself sick to his stomach. He wondered if any of Emma’s friends were into this sort of garbage.

  One of the Web site’s features was the “Lil’ General’s Top Ten List,” including a note from the CEO of WH Enterprises. Tully knew what he’d find before he scrolled down to see the message ending with, “Happy hunting, General Walker Harding.”

  Tully paced the conference room, walking from window to window. Walker Harding might have been going blind, but he sure as hell could see now. How else could he run a computer business like this one? How else could he be at each crime scene, helping his old pal, Albert Stucky?

  “Son of a bitch,” Tully said out loud. O’Dell had been right. The two men were working together. Maybe they were still competing in some new game of horror. There was no denying the evidence. Walker Harding’s fingerprints matched those found on the Dumpster with Jessica Beckwith’s body. They matched the umbrella in Kansas City, and they matched the prints left on the bath in Archer Drive.

  Earlier, the Maryland authorities had finally confirmed that there was a large two-story house and several wooden shacks on the property. All government buildings had been bulldozed before the sale. No electrical lines or telephone cables had been brought in from the outside. The new owner used a large generator left behind by the government. The place sounded like a recluse’s dream come true. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that WH Enterprises would belong to Walker Harding?

  Tully checked his wristwatch. He took several deep breaths, dug the exhaustion out from under his glasses and picked up the phone. The waiting was over, but he dreaded telling Agent O’Dell. Would this be the final thread to unravel her already frayed mental state?

  62

  TESS woke slowly, painfully. Her body ached. Something held her down. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t open her eyes again, the lids were too heavy. Her mouth felt dry, her throat was raw on the inside as well as the outside. She ran her tongue over her lips, alarmed when she tasted blood.

  She forced her eyes open and strained against the shackles that clamped her wrists and ankles to the small cot. She recognized the inside of the shack, could feel its dampness and smell its musty odor. She twisted, trying to free herself. She felt a scratchy blanket beneath her and realized she was naked. Panic rushed through her insides, shoving against the walls of her body. A scream stuck in her throat, but nothing came out except a gasp of air. That was enough, however, to send a scrape of pain down her throat as though she were swallowing razor blades.

  She settled down, trying to think before terror took control of her mind. She no longer had control over her body, but no one would control her mind. It was a painful lesson she had learned from her aunt and uncle. No matter what they did to her body, no matter how many times her aunt had banished her to the dark cellar or how many times her uncle had shoved himself inside her, she had retained control over her mind. It was the ultimate defense. It was her only defense.

  Yet, when she heard the locks to the door clicking open, Tess felt the terror clawing at the flimsy barricades to her mind.

  63

  MAGGIE swerved around slower-moving traffic, trying to keep her foot from pushing the accelerator to the floor. Her heart hadn’t stopped ramming against her chest since Tully’s phone call. All the anger she had accessed in Kernan’s office had been converted to sheer panic.

  She knew Walker Harding was involved. She still had a difficult time believing Stucky would allow anyone to help, even his ex-partner—unless the two men were competing at some bizarre game. And from Tully’s description of Harding’s new entrepreneurial venture, it seemed more than possible that he was capable of the same sort of twisted, perverted evil as Stucky was.

  She had a B.A. in criminal psychology, and a master’s in behavioral psychology. She knew all about the shadow side, and she knew it existed in everyone. There were plenty of experts who debated the fine line between good and evil and they all hoped to explain why some people chose evil, while others chose good. What was the determining factor? Did anyone really know?

  “Trust in yourself,” Kernan had told her. And that the decisions she made in a split second would somehow reveal her true self.

  What kind of psychobabble was that? What if her true self really was her shadow side? What if her true self was capable of Stucky’s blend of evil? She couldn’t help thinking that all it would take was a split second for her to aim and fire one bullet right between those black eyes. She no longer wanted to capture him. She wanted him to pay. She needed to see fear in those evil eyes. The same fear she felt every night when darkness came.

  She glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. The toll bridge was about fifty miles from Quantico. Tully was still making arrangements. It would take several hours before he had everything ready according to his careful, by-the-book standards. They’d be lucky to make it to Harding’s property by nightfall. Tully was expecting her in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Up ahead a sign indicated that her exit was just ten miles away.

  She pulled out her cell phone and slowed the car to the speed limit, allowing her to maneuver more easily with one hand on the wheel. She punched in the number and waited.

  “Dr. Gwen Patterson.”

  “Gwen, it’s Maggie.”

  “You sound like you’re on the road.”

  “Yes, I am. Just coming back from D.C. Look, Gwen, you know how you’re always saying I never ask anything of my friends? Well, I need a favor.”

  “Wait a minute. Who did you say this was?”

  �
��Very funny.” Maggie smiled. “I know it’s out of your way, but could you check on Harvey this evening—let him out, feed him…all those dog things that a real dog owner normally does?”

  “You’re off fighting serial killers, and you’re still worried about Harvey. Yes, I will. Actually, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time as far as spending an evening with a male companion goes.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  “Does this mean you’re simply working late or have you found him?”

  Maggie wondered how long it had been since her friends and coworkers could simply ask her about “him” and automatically mean Albert Stucky.

  “I don’t know yet, but it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. You may have been right about the candy wrappers.”

  “Wonderful. Only I don’t remember what it was I said.”

  “We dismissed Stucky’s old business partner as an accomplice because the guy was supposedly going blind due to some medical condition. Now the evidence suggests that the condition could be diabetes. Which means the blindness may not have been sudden or complete. In fact, he could be hoping to control it with insulin injections.”

  “Why would Stucky be working with an accomplice? Are you sure that makes sense, Maggie?”

  “No, I’m not sure it does. But we keep finding fingerprints at the scenes that don’t belong to Stucky. This morning we found out the prints are a perfect match with Stucky’s old business partner, Walker Harding. The two supposedly went their separate ways about four years ago, but they might be working together again. We also discovered a remote piece of land just across the river registered to Harding. This place sounds like the perfect hideout.”

  Maggie glanced down at the map again. The exit to Quantico was getting closer. Soon she’d need to make a decision. She knew a shortcut to the toll bridge. She could be there in less than an hour. Suddenly she realized that Gwen’s pause had lasted too long. Had she lost the call?

  “Gwen, are you still there?”

  “Did you say the partner’s name is Walker Harding?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Maggie, last week I started seeing a new patient who is blind. His name is Walker Harding.”

  64

  THE Maryland Parks Commission had faxed Tully an aerial view of Harding’s property. The first thing Tully noticed was that, from above, the area looked like an island except for a sliver that connected it to the mainland. The property jutted out into the water with the Potomac on two sides and a tributary on the third.

  “The SWAT team is assembled and ready to go,” Cunningham said as he entered the room. “Maryland State Patrol will meet you on the other side of the bridge. Are those any help?” He came around the table and looked at the map.

  “Can’t see any buildings. Too many trees.”

  Cunningham bent down to examine the map. “From what I understand, the facility housing the generator is in the upper northwest corner.” He ran his index finger over the spot. “The house would need to be close by. Any idea how long Harding has lived here?”

  “At least four years. Which means he’s settled and knows the area. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a bunker somewhere.”

  “That seems a bit paranoid, doesn’t it?”

  “The guy was a recluse long before he and Stucky started their business. Some of the video games he sells are his own creations. The guy may be a computer genius, but he’s weirder than hell. A lot of the games are white supremacist garbage. He even has one called ‘Waco’s Revenge.’ Probably sold truckloads of it in 1999, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s well prepared.”

  “What are you saying, Agent Tully? You mean we might have more problems on our hands than busting a couple of serial killers? You think Harding may have an arsenal in there, or, worse, have the property booby-trapped?”

  “I don’t have any proof, sir. I’m just saying if Harding is as extreme as his games would suggest, he could freak out with the FBI showing up on his doorstep.”

  “Wonderful.” Cunningham walked over to the bulletin board where Tully had tacked up printouts of Harding’s Web site next to photos of the crime scenes.

  “When is Agent O’Dell scheduled to be here?”

  Tully glanced at his watch. She was already a half hour late. “She should be here any minute now, sir,” Tully said, without indicating he thought that she might not show up. “I think we have everything we need. Is there anything I’m forgetting?”

  “I want to brief the SWAT team. We should let them in on your suspicions,” Cunningham said, looking at his own watch now. “What time did Agent O’Dell leave D.C.?”

  “I’m not sure. Will they need any extra preparations?” He avoided his boss’s eyes.

  “No extra preparations. But it is important they know what they’re in for.”

  When Tully looked up, Cunningham was staring at him with his brow furrowed.

  “You’re sure Agent O’Dell is on her way here?”

  “Of course, sir. Where else would she be headed?”

  “Sorry, I’m late.” O’Dell came in as if on cue.

  Tully restrained the deep sigh of relief he felt.

  “You’re just in time,” he told her.

  “I need a few minutes with the SWAT team, and then you’re on your way.” Cunningham headed out the room.

  As soon as it was safe, Tully asked, “So how close to the toll bridge did you get before you turned back?”

  O’Dell stared at him in surprise.

  “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  65

  “WE HAVE to stay back and let them attempt to serve the search warrant,” Tully instructed. He wasn’t sure O’Dell was even listening.

  They had left their vehicles far back on the other side of the electronic gate that blocked the road. Tully had seen cow paths that were more easily accessible. Now as he and O’Dell crouched in the brush and mud, he regretted wearing his good shoes. A crazy thing to be thinking about when they were this close to capturing Stucky and Harding.

  The Maryland State Patrol had supplied them with a half-dozen officers—officially for the sole purpose of serving the search warrant. If no one responded, the SWAT team would secure the area and accompany Tully and O’Dell in a search. Tully was quick to notice that all the members of the SWAT team wore sturdy boots. He was sweating under the weight of the bulletproof vest, but that didn’t protect him from the wind. Out here in the woods the wind swirled around the trees, crisp and cold. If the thunder was any indication, they would also be wet before the night was over.

  “There’s smoke coming out of the chimney,” O’Dell whispered. “Someone must be here.”

  Two of the state patrol officers approached the front door as several of the SWAT team moved in behind the bushes along the cobblestone path. Tully watched, hoping the patrolmen would not simply be easy targets. He pulled out his own revolver and started scanning the windows of the house, looking for gun barrels peeking through. He couldn’t help noticing that there were way too many windows for a man who was going blind.

  No one was answering the patrolman’s knock. He tried again while everyone else waited quietly. Tully wiped his forehead and realized that all the chirping birds and rustling forest creatures had also gone silent. Maybe they knew something their human counterparts did not.

  The two patrolmen looked over their shoulders and into the bushes. Not very discreet. One shrugged. The other put an ear to the door. Then he knocked one last time. For some reason he tried the knob, then again looked over to the bushes, pointing and indicating that the door was unlocked. Of course, Tully found himself thinking, why the hell would anyone lock the door out here?

  Agent Alvando, who was heading the SWAT team, hurried over.

  “We’re ready to go in. Give us a few minutes. I’ll come back out and give an all-clear sign.”

  “Come on, Agent Alvando,” O’Dell began to argue, and Tully wanted to pull her
back down into the brush. “We’re trained agents, too. It’s not like you’re here to protect us.”

  He wanted to disagree, but she was right. “We’ll go on in with you, Victor,” he reluctantly told Alvando.

  There was barely enough light to see inside the house. The entry included a hallway down the middle with a great room to the left and an open staircase over to the right. The landing was visible, separated only by a railing. The team split up with half of them going upstairs, and the other half covering the main floor. Tully followed O’Dell up the stairs. Before they got to the landing, they noticed the SWAT team members had stopped at the end of the hall. Tully could hear what sounded like a voice on the other side of the door where the three men hesitated. They motioned to each other, getting into position. Tully followed O’Dell’s lead and pressed himself against the wall. One of the men kicked the door open, and they stormed the room without a word to each other.

  O’Dell looked disappointed when they got to the door and discovered the voice came from one of the half-dozen computers lined up along the wall.

  “Click twice for confirmation,” the electronic voice said. “Speak into the microphone when ready.”

  “What the fuck is this?” one of the SWAT team asked.

  O’Dell was taking a closer look while the rest of them stayed next to the door watching their backs.

  “It’s a whole computer system set up to be voice activated.” She walked from one computer to the next, examining the screens without touching anything. “Looks like it reports the status of his video-game business.”

  “Why would anyone want a voice-activated system?” Agent Alvando was at the door.

  O’Dell looked back at Tully, and he knew what she was thinking. Why, indeed, unless that person was blind—not just partially, but totally blind.

  66

  TESS squeezed her eyes shut. She could do this. She could pretend she was somewhere else. She had done it many times before. There wasn’t much difference really. What did it matter whether a paying john fucked her or some madman?