Exposed (47 page)

“Sorry,” Platt said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I wasn’t here he wouldn’t have gotten the wrong impression.”

“He got the impression he wanted to get.”

Platt couldn’t read her. He wasn’t sure if she was upset, angry, sad? He had been concerned that Janklow had sent someone to retrieve her only to realize, and realize too late, that he had stumbled upon a lovers’ quarrel.

Paranoid. He was way too paranoid
.

“I have to get back to USAMRIID,” he told her. “But I need to give you a shot before I leave.”

She nodded and sat down by the kitchen counter, shoving the bouquet of flowers to the side. She looked tired, drained and not just from the confrontation outside.

“Did you have anything to eat this morning?”

“I usually eat after I run.”

She’d been out running. He stopped himself from scolding her. Instead, he took the liberty of opening her refrigerator. It was well stocked. He grabbed a carton of eggs, milk, a package of cheddar cheese and a green pepper.

“Skillet?” he asked.

She pointed to a drawer under the oven.

“I don’t have time to eat,” she said without moving from her place at the counter. “I have to get to work. I need to shower. I have an appointment I need to make.”

“I can’t give you the vaccine on an empty stomach. So go make your appointment. Get your shower. I’ll have omelets ready by the time you’re done.”

“I thought all Army doctors had wives to cook for them?”

“Army doctors aren’t home enough to keep wives.”

“Is that what happened?”

He stared at her, wondering how she did that. She had a way of throwing him completely off guard when he least expected it.

“How did you know I was divorced?”

“Old trick. You just told me. I also know you have a dog.”

“Excuse me?”

“Something white, but not a Lab because the hair on the sweatshirt you loaned me isn’t as coarse.”

“How do you know it’s not a cat?”

“You’re definitely not a cat guy.”

“Hmm…pretty good trick.” He pulled out a cutting board and knife and started chopping the pepper. “His name’s Digger. He’s a West Highland terrier. He’s good company. He was my daughter’s dog.”

“Your wife wouldn’t let your daughter have Digger at her house?”

“My daughter died five years ago.”

“Oh, God, Ben.”

He could feel her eyes on him now. He didn’t look up. He continued to work, breaking eggs, sloshing a dab of milk.

“It’s okay,” he said. He had the phrase down pat.

“That one I didn’t know.”

“She died of complications from the flu. I was in Afghanistan. It was right after the war began. My wife thought Ali would get better. Said she knew the Army wouldn’t let me come home just because Ali had the flu, so she didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell me until it was too late.”

He realized he had stopped working with his hands. They were gripping the edge of the counter as if he needed to hold on to something. He didn’t want to know if Maggie noticed. He reached for the mixture of eggs and milk and then tried to think of something, anything, to get back on track.

“Since we’re sharing,” he finally said. “How long have you been divorced?”

It was her turn to be surprised.

“No trick,” he smiled. “It’s in your file.”

“Ah, of course. It’s been about four years.”

She didn’t sound sure. Platt figured that was a good sign.

“Was that the ex-husband?”

“No.”

She didn’t offer more of an explanation. He didn’t push.

“It’s interesting,” she said without prompting, “how much you realize…how much
I
realized…”

He waited and listened. He already knew she didn’t share easily.

“You asked me,” she said, “if you could call someone for me. And I realized there was no one.”

“But someone did visit you.”

“A friend. A very special friend.”

He wanted to ask about the guy outside. Why he didn’t seem to know about her weekend in the Slammer. Why she hadn’t called him. Instead, he said, “Most people would consider themselves lucky to have at least one very special friend like that.”

“There’s someone at USAMRIID you suspect.” She said it without question, a statement of fact. “Is that why you thought it was too dangerous for me to stay?”

He looked up at her this time and held her eyes.

“My commanding officer wants to make all of this disappear.”

“Including the four victims.” There was a spark of panic in her eyes. “Can he do that?”

“No, he can’t. The victims’ family members were being contacted early this morning. I started dispensing the vaccine yesterday without his official consent. The outbreak in Chicago means there could be others. What happened in Elk Grove can’t disappear now.”

“Is it possible he’s covering for someone at the facility?”

“That I don’t know.”

“But you think it’s possible this killer may have access to USAMRIID?”

“We have quite a few big egos and most of them with access to Level 4 agents. Whether any of them are capable of sending Ebola through the mail, I just don’t know. But I’m going to try and find out.”

Tully knew Maggie was right. This was personal. How else could they explain Caroline getting a package with a plastic Ziploc bag inside? A package with Tully’s return address. She had faxed him the label and at first glance the block-style lettering looked identical to the note found in the doughnut box. It had to be the same guy.

Now Tully realized that he himself may have been one of the targets. The box of doughnuts. He had been late getting to work Friday morning, otherwise he might have been the first one to dig in, to find the note, to respond to the threat at the Kellerman house. To be where Cunningham was right now.

After Tully got off the phone with Maggie he called Emma. A knee-jerk reaction. She was home alone to day. No school. Fall break. He wanted to call and tell her not to leave the house. Don’t answer the door. No, that wasn’t right. Don’t open any packages. Especially ones with money inside.

Her voice-messaging service kept picking up. She was on the phone probably talking to friends. Damn! And he’d been too cheap to add call-waiting to their cell-phone plan.

He’d have to stop by the house. What time did the mail usually come? There was a sense of urgency pumping through his veins. A sense of dread. Who else did the killer intend to hurt? He grabbed his jacket and car keys. As he rushed to the elevators he punched in Gwen’s number. Four rings and her voice-messaging service picked up. Didn’t anyone answer their phones anymore?

“Gwen, it’s Tully. Don’t open any packages you get in the mail. I’ll explain later. Just don’t open any.”

In the parking lot he called Maggie back.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

“If I’m the target, how does Chicago fit in?” He tried to hide the panic in his voice.

“Does the name Markus Schroder mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing. At least not off the top of my head.” He was sweating, though the day was chilly. He wrestled out of his jacket, balled it up and tossed it into the backseat.

“You may be one on his list of targets. Like a hit list. People who’ve done him wrong over the years. That doesn’t mean you’d know everyone on the list.”

“Good point.” He was already gunning the engine, zigzagging out of the parking lot. He needed to calm down. “But why Caroline? She’s my ex-wife. Why does he think he’d hurt me by hurting her?”

“Maybe he thinks you still care about her,” Maggie suggested. “Listen, Tully…” She waited as if to get his attention. “Have you ever worked with anyone at USAMRIID? Ever had a confrontation or a run-in with one of their scientists?”

Tully remembered his earlier suspicions. That the Ebola may have come from one of the Army’s labs. Now Maggie must be thinking the same thing.

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. He couldn’t think straight. He just wanted to make sure Gwen and Emma were okay. “Let me think about that.”

Tully knew Maggie was right. This was personal. How else could they explain Caroline getting a package with a plastic Ziploc bag inside? A package with Tully’s return address. She had faxed him the label and at first glance the block-style lettering looked identical to the note found in the doughnut box. It had to be the same guy.

Now Tully realized that he himself may have been one of the targets. The box of doughnuts. He had been late getting to work Friday morning, otherwise he might have been the first one to dig in, to find the note, to respond to the threat at the Kellerman house. To be where Cunningham was right now.

After Tully got off the phone with Maggie he called Emma. A knee-jerk reaction. She was home alone to day. No school. Fall break. He wanted to call and tell her not to leave the house. Don’t answer the door. No, that wasn’t right. Don’t open any packages. Especially ones with money inside.

Her voice-messaging service kept picking up. She was on the phone probably talking to friends. Damn! And he’d been too cheap to add call-waiting to their cell-phone plan.

He’d have to stop by the house. What time did the mail usually come? There was a sense of urgency pumping through his veins. A sense of dread. Who else did the killer intend to hurt? He grabbed his jacket and car keys. As he rushed to the elevators he punched in Gwen’s number. Four rings and her voice-messaging service picked up. Didn’t anyone answer their phones anymore?

“Gwen, it’s Tully. Don’t open any packages you get in the mail. I’ll explain later. Just don’t open any.”

In the parking lot he called Maggie back.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

“If I’m the target, how does Chicago fit in?” He tried to hide the panic in his voice.

“Does the name Markus Schroder mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing. At least not off the top of my head.” He was sweating, though the day was chilly. He wrestled out of his jacket, balled it up and tossed it into the backseat.

“You may be one on his list of targets. Like a hit list. People who’ve done him wrong over the years. That doesn’t mean you’d know everyone on the list.”

“Good point.” He was already gunning the engine, zigzagging out of the parking lot. He needed to calm down. “But why Caroline? She’s my ex-wife. Why does he think he’d hurt me by hurting her?”

“Maybe he thinks you still care about her,” Maggie suggested. “Listen, Tully…” She waited as if to get his attention. “Have you ever worked with anyone at USAMRIID? Ever had a confrontation or a run-in with one of their scientists?”

Tully remembered his earlier suspicions. That the Ebola may have come from one of the Army’s labs. Now Maggie must be thinking the same thing.

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. He couldn’t think straight. He just wanted to make sure Gwen and Emma were okay. “Let me think about that.”

Maggie left at the same time Platt did. Both of them on a mission to find the killer.

After breakfast he’d given her the shot, his fingers gentle, his eyes comforting. With him so close and without the glass between them Maggie found herself thinking about his conditions of release from the Slammer. No swapping body fluids, not even a kiss. She was surprised to find her mind wondering what might happen without those restrictions.

Now on her way to Quantico, Maggie pulled into a gas-and-shop parking lot. She flipped through the personal phone directory she kept in her briefcase. She punched in the number, expecting to leave a voice message and surprised when he picked up.

“Yeah?”

“Professor Sloane? It’s Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

“Agent O’Dell? What can I do for you?”

“I understand you talked to Agent Tully and Keith Ganza on Saturday about the note we found.”

There was a pause, then a gruff, “Yes, that’s right.”

“I found some things on my own that I’d like to run by you and see if they make a difference in your assessment.”

“What things?”

He sounded defensive. From what Maggie remembered of her brief encounters with the professor, being defensive was nothing unusual.

“You had mentioned that there were some similarities to the anthrax case. I think I may have made some connections to a couple of other cases.”

“Good for you.” There was the George Sloane she knew. “I can’t be racing up to Quantico every time you people have something you want to run by me.”

“Of course, I understand. It’s just that you mentioned the anthrax case. I believe I’ve made a connection to the Tylenol murders in 1982, the Beltway Snipers in 2002 and the Unabomber.”

“All of that? Well, you hardly need me, Agent O’Dell. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Except I’m not sure of the significance of any of it other than to show off.”

“To show off?” He sounded angry now rather than defensive. “You think he’s gone through all this trouble just to show off what he knows about a few famous criminals? And tell me, Agent O’Dell, when you find this
show-off
, will he be wearing a double-breasted suit and living with his two elderly sisters?”

Sloane was referring to the Mad Bomber in New York during the 1950s and Dr. James Brussel’s on-target profile.

“You either need my help, Agent O’Dell, or you already have it all figured out.” He was back to his mocking self. “You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

She was growing impatient with him. He was playing with her. The cake reference was from the Unabomber’s manifesto. She was on the verge of saying to hell with talking to him but she knew Cunningham had respect for the man’s work. The note and the mailing envelopes were all the evidence they had right now.

“Look, Professor Sloane, I’m just hoping you might be able to help us connect more dots here. Perhaps I could stop in at the university later. I understand it’s fall break this week.”

“Christ,” she heard him mumble. She wondered if he was surprised she had already checked out his schedule. “If it’s that important. I suppose I can make time. Meet me in forty minutes. My office is in the basement of the Old Medical School Building.”

He hung up before she could tell him whether or not that worked. She checked her wristwatch. It would take her at least forty minutes to get to the university.

She leaned back in her car seat. She had a backache. Probably from her morning run. Not true about her headache. It had started before the run. When she’d called Gwen earlier, her friend had told her she shouldn’t go back to work so soon.

“Kiddo, stay home and relax for a couple of days. Or at least work from home.”

Maggie had tried to explain that the best thing for her right now was routine. She didn’t need more time alone to think. She’d had plenty of that in the Slammer.

She punched in another phone number. It went over immediately to voice mail.

“Hey, Tully, it’s Maggie. Sloane agreed to meet at his office in forty minutes. It’s almost noon. I’m heading over to UVA now. I’ll see you over there.”

She sat back up. They didn’t have much to go on. She kept trying to think what Cunningham would advise.
Sometimes the ordinary becomes the invisible.
What wasn’t she seeing here?

That’s when she felt something drip down her chin. On the steering wheel was a drop of blood.

She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Just the sight of blood dripping from her nose stirred up a panic. She grabbed for a tissue.
This wasn’t happening.
And just as quickly she tried to calm herself.
It didn’t mean anything. It was just a nosebleed.

She held the tissue to her nose and leaned her head back against the car’s headrest. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

Oh, God, a nosebleed.