He popped the tabs while Maggie spread out napkins and unwrapped the sandwiches. There was a certain rhythm to their daily rituals, a sure sign they had been spending a lot of time together.

“Don’t forget to take your antibiotic,” she told him. “And drink water with it. Lots of water.” She uncapped and slid a bottle in front of him.

“I actually feel better today.”

“You still have to take it.”

“You’ve been talking to Gwen.” But he was already digging the plastic bag with the pills out of his trousers pocket. “I hate that she’s going back to talk to Dodd. I don’t care if she insists he’s harmless. I just don’t like her going back there.”

“Otis is the only one who can tell us who this killer is.”

“Do you think his name really is Jack?”

“Doubtful.” She took a bite. The lunch deputy had done good—turkey, provolone, and spicy mustard.

“Alonzo said that the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally was in August,” Tully said. “Sturgis, South Dakota, is about six to seven hours away from here. I-29 north then I-90 west. Alonzo also said attendance was around a half million. Can you believe that?”

Maggie shook her head. “August seems too long ago.” She pointed to his discarded wrappings. “Aren’t you going to eat your pickle?”

“Knock yourself out.” He slid the pickle atop the waxed paper to her.

“Just because he was one of the faithful doesn’t mean that’s when Jack got a hold of him.”

“How long ago do you think?”

“The wool blanket makes it tough to say.”

“He didn’t even bother to bury this one. Is he just getting sloppy?”

The CSU tech, Ryan, came out of the barn carrying the metal bucket. The picnic table was beside the house about a hundred feet away. When he noticed Maggie, he pointed to the bucket and gave an exaggerated nod, then continued to the mobile lab parked next to the barn.

“What was that about?” Tully asked.

“I told him our biker friend’s head might be in the bucket. Guess I was right.”

“Jack’s starting to be very predictable.”

Maggie’s cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number or the 785 area code.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

“Ms. O’Dell, my name is Lieutenant Detective Lopez. I’m with the Riley County Police Department in Manhattan, Kansas. Can you please tell me who you are and what the hell your phone number is doing in a plastic bag alongside a missing college student’s finger?”

CHAPTER 34

“Just when we thought this scavenger hunt couldn’t get any stranger,” Tully had told Maggie as they started yet another road trip.

“It might not have anything to do with our guy Jack.”

“Your guy Jack,” Tully corrected her.

Detective Lopez had shared very little, though he seemed to welcome Maggie’s offer of assistance. Actually, Maggie thought the man sounded relieved. What he had told them was that a nineteen-year-old college student named Ethan Ames was still missing. A search team had scoured the woods surrounding the rest area where he had vanished. His friend Noah Waters, who had been with him, was only babbling what amounted to nonsense. But because Detective Lopez believed the boy might be involved in his friend’s disappearance, the father refused to let him answer their questions without a lawyer.

Lopez explained that Maggie’s cell phone number had been scribbled on a piece of paper and enclosed in a plastic ziplock bag. Also in the bag was what they believed to be the right index finger of Ethan Ames. They had found it when processing the trunk of the teenager’s car. The car had been confiscated from the rest area.

The last thing the detective said to Maggie before ending their phone conversation was, “So is this some crazy satanic cult?”

Maggie and Tully had left the Iowa farmstead in the hands of a very young field agent from the Omaha FBI office and the CSU techs. The drive from Sioux City, Iowa, to Manhattan, Kansas, was five to six hours. Maggie took over driving the last half when she noticed Tully fading. They stopped only twice: once for gas and coffee and again for more coffee and to use the restroom. Each time they pulled off the interstate to a truck plaza, Maggie found herself watching and listening and searching.

It was late and the last 136 miles from Lincoln, Nebraska, was four-lane highway, then two-lane instead of interstate. Lots of small towns slowing them down and long, dark stretches of blacktop lit only by the moon and their headlights. There were few other vehicles on the road.

By the time they entered Manhattan, Kansas, and passed by the university’s campus, both of them were bleary-eyed and exhausted.

Detective Lopez had reserved two rooms for them at the Holiday Inn. They were to meet him in the morning. Because Ethan Ames was still missing, Creed had agreed to join them the next day. Grace was trained for live search and rescue as well. However, Creed insisted that Grace rest after her busy day. They had been on the road for eighteen hours before arriving in Iowa. He admitted that he needed the sleep, too. But he promised to make the drive early the next morning and meet them in Manhattan.

Maggie knew they had to be totally exhausted for Tully to get excited about their hotel. But these rooms were luxurious by their most recent standards. Best of all, they had adjoining rooms at the end of the hallway on the third floor.

Immediately they opened the connecting doors between their rooms. The configuration of the walls still left them a great deal of privacy. They couldn’t see into each other’s rooms or beyond the entryway but they could talk and go back and forth.

“They have room service until midnight.” Tully came into her room with the hotel’s menu along with his laptop computer.

“Tully, it’s almost midnight now.” She ignored him and started unpacking her nightshirt and toiletries.

“All we had were those sandwiches and that was almost ten hours ago. You gotta take a look. Their room service menu is from Houlihan’s. When we were checking in I noticed the restaurant is connected to the lobby.”

He left the menu on her bed while he set his computer on her desk and started punching keys. Maybe adjoining rooms weren’t such a good idea. They had another long day ahead of them and she was wiped out.

“Alonzo sent me a satellite photo of the rest area.”

Maggie glanced over as it came up and filled his computer screen. The last miles of driving she had noticed the increased elevation on their SUV’s GPS as well as a glimpse of the limestone bluffs. Much of the landscape was covered with evergreens and hardwoods in full bloom.

When she didn’t respond, Tully picked up the menu from the corner of the bed and said, “Real food. Not truck stop burgers or deli sandwiches. They have sliders and something called chicken avocado eggrolls.”

“Okay, now you have my attention,” she joked while her eyes stayed on the computer screen.

Tully obviously had gotten his second wind. Of course he had—she was the one who had driven the last three hours. But now that they were here Tully was ready to get to work.

“Lopez believes these two teenagers did something to each other,” Maggie said. “He thinks it may have started out as a game and gotten out of hand.”

“And one of them cuts the other’s finger off?”

“He told me Manhattan, Kansas, is a university town. Said he’s seen stranger things.”

“Well, we both know that’s true. Kids are capable of doing stupid and cruel things to each other. That’s one of the reasons I’d like to lock Emma up in her room until she’s thirty.”

Tully’s daughter was a college freshman. Since she was fourteen, he’d raised her alone, with very little help from Emma’s mother.

“He thinks because Noah won’t talk that he must be guilty of something.”