walking those same sidewalks. Had the killer watched them while choosing his target? Hell, this girl didn’t look much older than Emma.
“Tully.” O’Dell came up beside him, startling him. “I’m heading over to the morgue. Stan’s going to do the autopsy today. You want to meet me there, or should I just fill you in tomorrow?”
He only heard about half of what she had said.
“Tully? Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine.” He rubbed his hand over his face to cover up the sense of panic he was feeling. “I’ll meet you over there.” When she didn’t move and continued to stare at him, he decided he needed to convince her. No better way to do that than to change the subject. “What’s with you and Racine? I get the feeling there’s some history there?”
She looked away, and immediately Tully knew he was right. But instead she said, “I just don’t like her.”
“How come?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“I know I probably don’t know you very well, but yeah, I’d say you’re the type of person who needs a reason to not like someone.”
“You’re right,” she said, then added, “You don’t know me very well.” She started to leave but said over her shoulder, “I’ll see you at the morgue, okay?” She didn’t look back, only waved a hand at him, a gesture that said it was a done deal and that any conversation about her and Racine was over. Yes, there was definitely something there.
Now, as he watched everyone pack up, including the officers with the body bag, he could allow the nausea to take over his stomach. He walked to the ledge and looked out over Potomac Park. This time a rumble of thunder cracked open the sky—as if it had been waiting out of respect—and the rain came pouring down.
Tully stood still, watching the tourists below, scattering for shelter or popping open umbrellas. The rain felt good, and he lifted his face to it, letting it cool the sweaty, clammy feeling that had taken over his body. Yet, all he could think about was—Jesus—how close had his daughter come to being this guy’s victim?
CHAPTER 24
Maggie kicked off her leather pumps and put plastic shoe covers over her stockinged feet. She’d chosen the pumps for breakfast with her mother at the Crystal City Hyatt, not ones she would have picked had she known she would be working. Stan watched but said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t want to push his luck. After all, she was wearing her goggles without being told. Usually they stayed on top of her head. But there was something different about Stan’s behavior toward her; he seemed quieter. He hadn’t yet muttered a single “humph” or heavy sigh. Not yet, anyway. Was he worried she’d freak out on him again?
She had to admit, she wasn’t exactly comfortable being back here this soon. With little effort she could still conjure up the image of Delaney’s gray death mask. But lately, she was able to do that anytime, anyplace—being back at the morgue probably wouldn’t make it any worse. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. She needed to stop thinking about Delaney. It wasn’t just Delaney, though. It was all the memories his death had unleashed. Memories of her father that, after all these years, still left her feeling empty and hollow and, worst of all, alone.
It made her realize that with her impending divorce from Greg, she was on the verge of losing any sense of family that she had tried to construct. Or had she honestly ever tried? Gwen was constantly telling her that she kept too many people who cared about her at arm’s length. Is that what happened with her and Greg? Had she kept her own husband at arm’s length, not allowing him access to the vulnerable places inside her? Maybe her mother was right. Maybe the demise of her marriage had been all her fault. She felt a shiver. What a thought! That her mother could actually be right about something.
She joined Stan. He had already begun his external examination of the girl’s body and was taking measurements. She helped him with the menial tasks of placing the body block and removing fluid samples. It felt good to concentrate on something concrete, something familiar and constructive. She had worked with Stan enough times to know which tasks he’d allowed her to do, and which she needed to stand back and simply watch.
Maggie carefully slipped the paper bags off each of the girl’s