Alex Kava - A Perfect Evil

“Yes,” he whispered, containing his excitement so he didn’t spill any milk. And since tomorrow and Friday were teachers’ convention, that meant they had five days off. Wow, five whole days! Then he remembered the camping trip, and his excitement was short-lived. Would Father Keller call off the trip because of the snow? He hoped not.

“Timmy?” Wrapped in Grandma’s afghan, his mom padded into the kitchen. She looked funny with her hair all tangled and sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes. “Did they close school?”

“Yeah. Five days off.” He sat down and scooped up a spoonful of cereal before she noticed the Cap’n Crunch. “Do you think we’ll still go camping?” he asked over a mouthful, taking advantage of her being too tired to correct his manners.

She filled the coffee machine, shuffling back and forth. She almost tripped on the drawers he had left out and kicked them back in without yelling at him.

“I don’t know, Timmy. It’s only October. Tomorrow it could be forty degrees and the snow will all be gone. What are they saying about the weather on the radio?”

“So far it’s just been school closings. It’d be really cool to camp out in the snow.”

“It’d be really cold and stupid to camp out in the snow.”

“Ah, Mom, don’t you have any sense of adventure?”

“Not when it means you coming down with pneumonia. You get sick and hurt enough without any outside help.”

He wanted to remind her that he hadn’t been sick since last winter, but then she might bring up the soccer bruises again.

“Is it okay if I go sledding today with some of the guys?”

“You have to dress warm, and you can only use your sled. No inner tubes.”

The school closings were finally finished and the news came on. His mom turned up the volume just as the announcer said, “According to this morning’s Omaha Journal, another boy’s body was found along the Platte River last night. It has now been confirmed by the sheriff’s department that the boy is Matthew Tanner, who has been…”

His mom snapped the radio off, filling the room with silence, She stood with her back to him, pretending to be interested in something out the window. The coffee machine hummed, then started its ritual gurgling. Timmy’s spoon clicked against the bowl. The coffee smelled good, reminding him that it didn’t seem like morning until the kitchen was filled with that smell.

“Timmy.” His mom came around to the table and sat across from him. “The man on the radio is right. They did find Matthew last night.”

“I know,” he said and kept eating, though the cereal didn’t taste as good all of a sudden.

“You know? How do you know?”

“I figured that’s why Uncle Nick and Agent O’Dell left in such a hurry last night. And why you were up all night working.”

She reached across the table and brushed his hair off his forehead. “God, you’re growing up fast.”

She caressed his cheek. In public he’d have batted her hand away, but it was okay here. He actually kind of liked it.

“Where did you get Cap’n Crunch cereal?”

“You bought it. It was down with the other cereals.” He filled his bowl again though it wasn’t quite empty, just in case she took the box away.

“I must have grabbed it by mistake.”

The coffee was ready. She got up, leaving the afghan draped over the back of the chair and the box of cereal on the table.

“Mom, what does dead feel like?”

She spilled coffee all over the counter and snatched a towel to stop the puddle from running over the edge.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing it had been his question that had caused her clumsiness. Adults got so bent out of shape about stuff.

“I really don’t know, Timmy. That’s probably a good question for Father Keller.”

The breakfast Maggie had ordered from Wanda’s sat untouched on the small table. It had come bundled in an insulated pack, served on stoneware and encased in stainless-steel covers. Steam had risen from the plate when the desk clerk had proudly unveiled it as though he had prepared it himself.

She was becoming a regular of Wanda’s cuisine without ever stepping foot in the diner. And although the golden eggs, butter-slathered toast and glistening sausage links smelled and looked delicious, she had lost her appetite. She had left it somewhere on the bathroom floor while she fought to gain control over her panic. The only thing she touched was the frothy cappuccino. One sip, and she thanked Wanda for having the good sense to invest in a cappuccino maker.

Her laptop occupied the other side of the table, close to the wall where a recently installed phone jack allowed the hotel to advertise itself to business travelers. She paced while her computer slowly connected her to Quantico’s general database. She wasn’t able to access any classified information. The FBI remained skeptical about the confidentiality of modems, and rightly so. They were constantly a target for hackers.

She had already put in several calls to Dr. Avery. The old-fashioned desktop phone confined her to the bed, so she couldn’t do her usual pacing. She stretched out on the hard mattress. After her shower, she had put on jeans and her Packers jersey. The exhaustion was overwhelming. It had taken every last bit of her strength to pull herself together, and that frightened her. How could one simple note provoke such terror? She had received notes from killers before. They were harmless. It was only a part of the sick game. It came with the territory. If she were going to dig into a killer’s psyche, she had to be prepared for the killer to dig back.

Albert Stucky’s notes had not been harmless. God, she needed to get past Stucky. He was behind bars and would be there until they executed him. She was safe. At least this note hadn’t been accompanied by a severed finger or nipple. Besides, the note was now carefully packaged and on its way Express Mail to a lab at Quantico. Maybe the idiot had sent her his own arrest warrant by leaving his fingerprints or his saliva on the envelope’s seal.

By this evening, she would be on a plane home, and this bastard wouldn’t be able to play his sick, little game. She had done her job, more than what was asked. So why did it feel as if she was running away? Because that’s exactly what she was doing. She needed to leave Platte City, Nebraska, before this killer unraveled any more of her already frazzled psyche. She could feel the vulnerable fray already, starting when she had cowered on the cold bathroom floor.

Yes, she needed to leave, and she needed to do it quickly- today-while she still felt in control. She would tie up a few loose ends and then get the hell out. Get out while she was still in one piece. Get out before she started coming apart at the seams.

She decided to make a quick phone call while she waited for her computer to connect on the other line. She found the number in the thin directory and dialed. After several rings, a deep male voice answered, “St. Margaret’s rectory.”

“Father Francis, please.”

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

She couldn’t tell whether or not the voice belonged to Howard.

“This is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell. Is this Mr. Howard?”

There was a brief pause. Instead of answering her question, he said, “One moment, please.”

It took several moments. She turned to see the computer screen. Finally, the connection was completed. Quantico’s royal-blue logo blinked across the screen.

“Maggie O’Dell, what a pleasure to talk with you again.” Father Francis’ high-pitched voice was almost singsong.

“Father Francis, I wonder if I might ask you a few more questions.”

“Why, certainly.” There was a faint click-click.