Maggie had a good idea why her normally laid-back partner looked like he had been injected with caffeine. It wasn’t just that Emma had known the dead girl, but that she had also been at the rally Ginny had supposedly attended. Some rally held at the monument Saturday evening. This was probably why he had been on edge at the crime scene and at the autopsy. Was Tully wondering how close Emma had come to being the killer’s target?
“How’s that?” LaPlatz asked.
“Close. Is there any way I can see it in color?” Emma looked back at Tully again, as if waiting for an answer from him.
“Sure.” LaPlatz stood. “Let me scan it into the computer. I like to use the old-fashioned method first, but if you think we’re close, we can let the computer mess around with what we have.” She started for the door with Emma alongside of her, but turned just as Tully was getting to his feet to follow. “Why don’t you two wait here,” LaPlatz said casually, but her eyes looked from Tully to Maggie.
When Tully looked like he might still follow, Maggie put a gentle hand on his arm. He looked down at it, a sleepwalker suddenly waking.
“We’ll wait here,” he said, and watched the door close before sitting down again. Maggie stood in front of him, leaning against the table, studying him. He didn’t seem to mind. If he even noticed. He was off somewhere else, if not in the other room with Emma, then back conjuring up that horrible murder scene.
“She’s doing an excellent job.”
“What?” He looked up at her as if only now realizing she was still there.
“Emma might be providing the only clue we have as to who this killer is.”
“Yeah. I know.” He rubbed his jaw, pushed up his glasses for the tenth time.
“Are you okay?”
“Me?” This time there was surprise in his tone.
“I know you’re worried about her, Tully, but she seems to be okay.”
He hesitated and took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “I just worry about her.” Back went the glasses. The hands found the pamphlet again and the folds began in the other direction, putting new creases in a picture of a man’s face. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a clue how to do this parenting thing.”
“Emma’s a brave, smart girl, who came here today to help in a murder investigation. And she’s doing a great job while remaining calm and diligent. Judging from that alone, I’d say you’ve done a damn good job with her.”
He looked up at her, met her eyes and managed a weak smile. “Yeah? So you don’t think it’s totally obvious that I’m winging it?”
“If you are, it’ll be our secret. Okay? Hey, didn’t you tell me once that there are some things, some secrets, that only partners should share?”
Finally a real smile appeared. “I said that? I can’t believe I would ever encourage secrets or withholding information.”
“Maybe I’m becoming a bad influence on you.” She checked her watch and started to leave. “I need to go rescue Gwen from Security. I’ll see you in the conference room.”
“Hey, Maggie?”
“Yep?”
“Thanks.”
She stopped at the door and gave him a quick glance over her shoulder, just enough to check his eyes, and was immediately relieved to see that deer-in-the-headlights daze gone. “Any time, partner.”
CHAPTER 33
Gwen Patterson hurried up the steps of the Jefferson Building. As usual, she was late. Kyle Cunningham and BSU hadn’t called her in as a consultant on a case for more than a year. She knew this time it was probably only at Maggie’s request. In fact, it had been such a long time since her last visit to Quantico that she almost expected to be strip-searched at the guard hut. But apparently Maggie had seen to it that her credentials had been updated and kept on file. She stopped at the counter to sign in, but before she picked up the pen the young woman sitting at the computer stopped her.
“Dr. Patterson?”
“Yes.”
“Here you are.” The woman handed her a visitor’s badge. “I do still need for you to sign in with your check-in time.”
“Yes, of course.” Gwen signed the sheet as she noticed the badge. It had her name printed on it-Dr. and even Ph.D. at the end-instead of the standard Visitor. Okay, so Maggie was trying hard to make her feel at home. Gwen still wasn’t convinced, though, she’d be much help with the investigation.
That Cunningham had even agreed to Maggie’s request for Gwen to be a part of the case meant he was feeling desperate. He usually didn’t call in outsiders. In the early days, yes, but not now, not since the FBI had come under considerable scrutiny. Gwen knew Cunningham well enough to detect a hint of desperation in his voice yesterday when he called. He had asked if she would share her new research and expertise. Her response was that he had some amazing agents in his Behavioral Science Unit, including Maggie, who could tell him just as much, if not more, about the criminal workings of the adolescent male’s mind. She told him she wasn’t sure she could add much to the investigation.
“As an outsider, you might be able to point out things we’re missing,” he countered. “You’ve done that with some of our cases in the past. I’m hoping you’ll be able to work your magic on this one.”
Flattery. Gwen smiled as she clipped on her badge. The man could be charming as hell when he wanted to be. Then she read the words on the badge under her name and immediately frowned: Member, Special Task Force.
Task force. Gwen hated the term. It reeked with bureaucracy and brought to mind visions of red tape. Already the media had trounced every tidbit of information that had been released on this case, hounding poor Senator Brier from outside his apartment to the Capitol. When Gwen checked her office this morning for messages, her assistant, Amelia, had already received calls from the Washington Times and the Post wanting to know about Gwen’s involvement. How the hell did they find out these things so quickly? It had been less than twelve hours since Cunningham had even called her.
Supposedly, it was one of the reasons they were meeting at Quantico instead of in the District. The murder of a senator’s daughter-let alone having it occur on federal property-warranted a federal investigation. Yet, it surprised Gwen that Cunningham had been asked to head the task force. Now she wished she had been able to get ahold of Maggie last night. Her friend may have answered some of the questions Cunningham wouldn’t.
“Gwen, you’re here.”
She leaned around the counter to find Maggie coming down the hall. She looked good, dressed in burgundy trousers, matching jacket and a white turtleneck sweater. Only now did Gwen notice that her friend had finally put back on some of the weight she had lost last winter. She looked more her athletically trim but strong self rather than the emaciated waif Albert Stucky had driven her to become.
“Hi, kiddo,” Gwen said while she managed a one-armed hug, her briefcase and umbrella occupying her other arm.
She knew Maggie only tolerated the gesture, but this morning she felt the younger woman hugging her back. As Maggie pulled away, Gwen kept a hand on her shoulder, keeping Maggie from escaping too quickly. The hand moved to Maggie’s face, gently lifting her chin for a closer inspection. Maggie put up with this, too, even managing a smile while Gwen examined the red lines in Maggie’s eyes and the puffiness underneath that was concealed with makeup to fool those who were less adept at reading this intensely personal and private woman.