Alex Kava - A Necessary Evil

"That doesn't sound like Gwen." But Maggie already wondered if this had anything to do with Gwen's recent demeanor. No, how could she predict something like this? That was crazy. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know her, so it's difficult for me to tell, but I'd say she's pretty upset. She was the one who found her."

"Gwen found Dena? She found her… her head?"

"In the woman's brownstone. Actually in the garbage can."

"Jesus, Racine! Why didn't you tell me that in the beginning?"

"She said Dena didn't show up for work, didn't answer any of her calls. Dr. Patterson said she went to check on her."

Maggie couldn't imagine what Gwen must be going through.

'This one is weird, O'Dell," Racine said in almost a whisper. "He's never just left them in their homes. Something doesn't feel right about it."

"Look, Racine, I have an interview I need to get to. Can I call you back later?" She checked her watch.

"Sure. I'll fill you in then."

"And Racine?" '

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind checking on Gwen for me? Please see if she's okay,"

"No problem. I planned to stop by her office, anyway. I'll talk to you later."

Maggie stared out the windshield, waiting for the tension to subside. Poor Gwen. But why hadn't she called? No matter how upset she was, she should have called. It wasn't like Gwen not to call.

Pakula was waiting for her, trying to pretend he didn't mind. She locked the car door behind her. When his eyes met hers with that silent question that cops asked each other without really asking, she knew he would understand. She simply said, "A case in the District. A friend of mine just found her assistant's decapitated head."

"Holy crap!" He winced, but didn't look shocked as most people might. "You need some time? We can do this later."

"No, we're here. Let's do it now."

Her phone started ringing again and she grabbed it, quickly opening it without looking at the caller ID, expecting it to be Racine, hoping it was Gwen. It was neither.

"Agent Maggie O'Dell?" asked a male voice she didn't recognize.

"Yes?" Maggie shrugged at Pakula. He waited with his hand on the school's front door.

"This is Father Michael Keller."

At first she thought it had to be a joke. She brought the phone down to glance at the caller ID. But nothing had registered. Instead it read Not Available.

"Excuse me, who did you say this is?"

"I know you remember me _ Father Michael Keller. I want to make a deal with you."

Her stomach did a flip. For months after the Platte City murders she had unsuccessfully tried to track down Keller in South America. And here he was calling her as though they were old friends.

"What makes you think I would ever want to make a deal with you?"

"Because I can help you catch this priest killer."

"Really?" So their media coverage had reached all the way to Chile, if that was where he was still hiding. "What can you possibly have that would help?"

"I'll share that with you when I'm certain we have a deal. I'll even bring what I have to you."

She couldn't believe it. Keller was offering to come back to the States. After all these years. Why would he do that?

"And why exactly are you able to help?" she asked him, keeping her voice even and calm as if she could care less that a child killer was offering to make a deal with her.

There was a long silence, and for a moment she thought she might have lost him or that he had hung up.

"Because I'm on the list."

"What list are you referring to?" So there was a list. She shouldn't have been surprised that he would have made the list. But how had the killer found him when she hadn't been able to? So it was fear that had pushed him into contacting her. She restrained her urge to smile. Of course, Keller was scared. If the killer had been able to find him, there would be nothing to stop him from being eliminated.

At the mention of a list Pakula furrowed his brow, recognizing that this was about the case and stepping forward to jump in to her rescue.

"You know what list. Unless you're further behind on solving this case than I thought."

She could detect some anger in his voice.

"I honestly don't think you have anything that could help us. Sorry, I'm not willing to make a deal." She tried not to enjoy envisioning him squirming on the other end of the phone.

"So you're not interested in who else might be on the list?"

"Excuse me?"

"I have a copy of it, of the whole list."

"How do I know you didn't just make it up?"

"How else would I know about Daniel Ellison? You forgot to mention him to the media."

Her knees threatened to buckle, even before he added, "He was on the list and he's also dead, isn't he?" He waited, as if knowing the effect it would have when it all sank in. "I'll bring everything I have to you… only you."

"What is it that you want in return for your help, Father Keller?"

"Protection. And an antidote. I think he may have already poisoned me."

Blackwater Bay Campground

South of Bagdad, Florida

Deputy Sheriff Wendall Galt pulled his cruiser off to the side of the road. A dozen Boy Scouts stood crowded on a mound of grass in the ditch. The barbed-wire fence kept them confined to the ditch. On the other side of the fence the trees and scrub weeds were thick. Two men waved him over. They were obviously the troop leaders although one looked like a slightly overgrown boy at best.

"I thought it was a pile of rags at first," the small guy said, coming up to Wendall so close he almost bumped into him. "We've been keeping title boys right here. No need for them to see something like that. My God! It was horrible. Just horrible."

Wendall didn't say anything. Instead, he pushed up his sunglasses. He took a step back from the guy and looked over at the boys, slapping at their legs and arms, bored, but none of them wanting to leave. Despite their Scout leaders' insistence to protect them, they were anxious to see a dead body. Although Wendall doubted that's what had been found. Not that it wasn't possible. But guys like this _ and Wendall looked the guy over, noticing his designer khaki shorts and polo shirt with the teeny polo player embroidered on the pocket and leather loafers when some good hiking boots would be smarter __ guys like this would fill their pants if they stumbled on a half-eaten deer carcass.

"I can't believe they sent only one of you," the guy rattled on.

"Ethan, enough already," the other one said, but it didn't matter.

"No, I can't believe it. There should be officers to seal off the area. And a crime scene mobile lab. The coroner. For Christ's sake, there's a dead guy in the swamp. He didn't crawl off on his own to die there."

"You never know in these parts," Wendall said, exaggerating his drawl for effect and enjoying the guy's response, a slightly dropped jaw. People watched too damn much TV. "What makes you so sure it was a body?"

The guy slapped a hand to his forehead to avoid the setting sun in his eyes. "Are you kidding? I think I'd know a dead body when I see one."

Wendall wanted to say, "Right, sure you do," but he was already in trouble with Sheriff Poole for what was called a "disrespectful attitude." In short, he seemed to piss off people too easily.

"Let me take a look for myself," he said instead. "Where is it?" Almost on cue they all pointed toward the trees on the other side of the barbed-wire fence.

Wendall shook his head. Hell, there wasn't even a path. A little bit of scrub weed trampled down a bit. He took his time, pretending to examine the area before he attempted to climb over the fence. Two boys volunteered to lead the way and he was just about to tell them he didn't need them when the small guy with the big mouth yelled at the boys to stay put. Wendall told the boys to come on with him, and the look on the guy's face made the impulsive decision worth it. Turned out, it paid off. The two boys, Corey and Kevin, were the ones who had actually stumbled on the pile.