“Were the CSU techs able to pull any fingerprints off the receipt?”

“No, and I doubt they will. My gut tells me that’s gonna be a dead end. We found the receipt because he wanted us to find it. Just like the driver’s license.”

“Was there anything else in either bag?”

Tully shrugged. “You mean other than a head in one and a decapitated body in the other?”

“Anything under the fingernails?”

Tully fished another scrap of paper out of his pocket and searched through more chicken scratches. “They did preliminary scrapings. Chunks of dirt.”

“Chunks of dirt?”

“Janet said it looked like—” Tully flipped the paper over, then frowned like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “She said it looked like the woman had clawed at the mud.”

They both were silent. Neither stopped walking. They were almost at the barn when Tully finally continued, “ME’s trying to schedule in the autopsy.”

“So he brings us all the way here and we’re no closer to knowing who he is.”

“Part of the game. It’s like I told you last night. He’s obsessed with you.” He pointed at the barn. “But maybe we get lucky and find something he doesn’t want us to find.”

The outside of the barn was faded red and the front doors sagged on ancient hinges. “Doesn’t seem likely that he’d just leave a body in here.” But Tully had already started to open the rusted latch.

“Otis P. Dodd told Gwen that his friend Jack buried one of his victims in the barn. A tattooed biker.”

“He told him all this over a couple of drinks?”

“I know it sounds strange. Only problem, Otis was correct about the woman’s body stuffed in a culvert, right down to the orange socks. Who knows how he called that one. Could have been dumb luck. Maybe he heard about it inside the prison. But my guess is Otis P. Dodd likes to make up stories to get attention.”

“What about I-29 and Iowa?”

“Gwen told him it was in the Midwest.”

“A lucky guess?”

“You don’t really believe a killer named Jack told Otis about all the people he murdered and where he dumped bodies?”

Tully shrugged again and pulled open the barn doors.

Truth was, Maggie wasn’t quite sure what she believed. It wasn’t unheard of that a killer would share his exploits. Others had, but usually anonymously. In fact, this killer was sort of doing it with Maggie by leaving her the map and then the receipt as well as the socks. But again, that was anonymously. But sharing with someone who could identify him? Why would he do that?

They were in the doorway of the barn when Tully pointed at the Jeep coming in through the tree-lined driveway. “Looks like our K-9 team is here. Alonzo says this guy is one of the best dog trainers and trackers in the country. If there’s another body out here, he should be able to find it.”

Tully turned to head back and meet the man, but Maggie paused. When she glanced inside the barn, she noticed something and felt an instant dread. A chill slid down her back. She took a few steps into the barn and, with her foot, she swept aside a patch of the straw scattered over the floor.

That’s when she saw that the barn didn’t have a cement foundation or even wood floorboards. Beneath the straw was only dirt.

CHAPTER 28

Neither Maggie nor Tully had ever worked with a cadaver K-9 team. Maggie wasn’t sure what to expect, but she definitely hadn’t imagined a nationally known expert to look like the man who got out of the Jeep.

First of all, he looked too young. Thirty, at the most. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a white T-shirt that stretched over a lean and muscular torso with arms to match. His Levi’s telegraphed more of the same. Leather hiking boots and wraparound sunglasses finished off the outfit. Once outside the Jeep, he put on a light blue oxford shirt but kept the shirttails out and the buttons undone.

No, this was definitely not what she had expected.

He was rolling up the sleeves when he saw Maggie and Tully. He reached in the opened Jeep window and brought all of the windows down halfway. As they approached the vehicle Maggie could see the dog inside and it didn’t look anything like she had expected either—too small and too white.

“I’m R. J. Tully and this is Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

“Ryder Creed.”

He pulled off his sunglasses to meet their eyes as he offered his hand, first to Maggie, then to Tully. She noticed a silver chain bracelet with a small engraved plate but couldn’t make out the words. A diver’s watch on the other wrist, no wedding band. She caught herself and wondered why she had checked.

His eyes were deep blue, almost the same color as the sky, bright against tanned skin. A confident, self-assured smile started in his eyes and triggered the corner of his mouth, a subtle but genuine smile that belied his age. His short dark hair looked like he had towel-dried it that morning and not bothered to comb it. Nor had he bothered to shave. But on closer inspection, Maggie realized his bristled jaw had been trimmed, leaving sharp and precise lines that gave order to a face that perhaps fought a five o’clock shadow too early every day.

“This is Grace,” Creed told them, pointing inside the Jeep but making no effort to free the dog.

“You just have the one?” Tully asked and Maggie immediately heard his skepticism.

“She’s probably my best air-scent dog.”

“It’s just that there’s a lot of ground to cover.” Tully waved his hand to include the fields behind the trees.

“Working multiple dogs at the same time can present problems. Competition between the dogs. False alerts. Overlapping grids. Believe me, one dog will be more than efficient.” He said it matter of fact without sounding offended or defensive.

“She seems kinda small.” Tully still wasn’t convinced. He leaned down to take a better look through the window.

Creed already had the liftgate up and was sorting through his gear. Grace met him at the back but didn’t attempt to leave the vehicle, sitting, wagging, and watching her master instead of paying attention to Maggie or Tully. Maggie got a good look at the dog. She was a Jack Russell terrier, a surprising pick for a tracker.

“I don’t think size matters,” she said to Tully as she watched Creed. “Harvey’s twice Grace’s size—maybe three times—and I doubt he’d focus long enough to find his favorite Frisbee if I hid it.”

Creed didn’t look up as he transferred items from a duffel bag to a small backpack, but she saw his corner-of-the-mouth smile again and she liked that she was able to provoke it.

“What kind of dog is Harvey?” he asked.

“Labrador.”

“You’re right. Size or breed isn’t as important as drive.”

Tully was standing with his hands on his hips, watching the dog, watching Creed, and doing a poor job of hiding his disappointment. At one point when he caught Maggie’s eyes, he rolled his as if to say, “Not much of an expert.”

The two men were almost the same height, but that’s where the comparison stopped. Tully was wiry and lanky, dressed in trousers and a button-down shirt, wrinkled but neatly tucked in. Today he wore wire-rimmed glasses, a staple on the road, because he didn’t like packing all “the stuff” that went with his contacts. Tully was a conscientious do-gooder, a corny but romantic everyman whose coffee stains and absentmindedness could easily be forgiven because when he told you he had your back, you could count on it. He did.

Grace had nudged her way to the open liftgate, still sitting, but now able to lean out. She was sniffing in Maggie’s direction.

“Are we allowed to pet her?” Maggie asked.

“Sure. She’s just not allowed to leave the Jeep until I tell her it’s okay.”

Maggie reached her hand in slowly for the dog to sniff. Then she scratched Grace’s neck, keeping her hand where the dog could still see it. She felt Creed watching her from the corner of his eye. Of course, he had to be protective of his dog.