Maggie watched from across the metal table as Dr. Holmes sliced into the woman’s chest, making a precise Y incision that curved under the woman’s breasts. Though she had gowned up, her gloved hands ready, she restrained herself from taking part. Instead, she waited for his permission, participating only when asked, trying to confine her impatience when things took too long. She reminded herself that she should be grateful the medical examiner had agreed to do the autopsy on a Saturday night rather than waiting for Monday morning.

He had allowed her to do the busywork; helping insert the body block, scraping behind the woman’s nails, taking the external mea-surements and then the samples of hair, saliva and body fluids. Maggie couldn’t stop thinking that Hannah had put up the fight of her life. Bruises covered her body, the one to her hip and thigh suggesting she had fallen down some stairs in the process.

Now, as Maggie watched Dr. Holmes, she found herself going through the woman’s brutal murder, step by step, from the telltale signs her body telegraphed. Hannah had scratched and clawed as Jessica had, only Hannah managed to get pieces of Stucky under her nails. Why had her death not been simple and swift? Why wasn’t he able to tie her up, rape her and slit her throat as he had with Jessica and Rita? Had Stucky not been prepared for this challenge?

Maggie wanted to shove her sleeves up. The plastic apron was making her sweat. God, it was hot. Why wasn’t there better ventilation?

The county morgue was larger than she had expected, with dingy gray walls and the overpowering scent of Lysol. The counters were a dull yellow Formica rather than stainless steel. The overhead fluorescent lighting unit hung low over the table, almost brushing the tops of their heads when they stood up straight. Dr. Holmes was not much taller than Maggie, but she noticed he had grown accustomed to the light fixture, ducking automatically each time he came underneath it.

Her forensic and premed background had allowed her to perform many autopsies on her own and assist in plenty of others. Maybe it was her exhaustion or perhaps it was simply the stress of this case, but for some reason she was having difficulty disconnecting from the body on the metal table in front of her. Her face felt hot from the hovering light. The windowless room was threatening to suffocate her, though a hidden fan circulated the stale air in the room. She resisted the urge to swipe at the strands of hair that stuck to her damp forehead. The tension in her neck had spread to her shoulders, and was now knotting its way down to take control of her lower back.

Ever since she had recognized the woman, Maggie couldn’t help feeling responsible for her death. Had she simply not asked for help in choosing a bottle of wine, the woman would still be alive. Maggie knew the thoughts were counterproductive. They were exactly what Stucky wanted her to be thinking, to be feeling. But she couldn’t shut them off. She couldn’t stop the growing hysteria that gnawed at her insides, the exploding anger that whispered promises of revenge. She couldn’t control the brewing desire of wanting to put a bullet between Albert Stucky’s eyes. This anger, this need for revenge was beginning to scare her more than anything Albert Stucky could do to her.

“She hasn’t been dead for very long,” Dr. Holmes said, his voice bringing her mind back to where it needed to be. “Internal temperature indicates less than twenty-four hours.”

Maggie knew this already, but also realized he was saying this for the tape recorder on the stand next to them, and not for her benefit.

“There appears to be no signs of livor mortis, so she was definitely murdered somewhere else and moved within the span of two or three hours.” Again, he said this in a matter-of-fact tone for the recorder.

Maggie appreciated his casual manner, his conversational style. She had worked with other M.E.’s whose hushed reverence or clinically cold methods acted as a constant reminder of the brutality and violence that had brought them to their task. Maggie preferred to view an autopsy only as a fact-finding mission, the soul or spirit long gone by the time the body lay on the cold metal table. The best thing for the victim at this stage was a search for evidence that could help catch whoever had committed such an act. Although this time, she knew there would be little Hannah could tell them that would bring them any closer to finding Albert Stucky.

“I heard you ended up with the dog.”

It took Maggie a minute to realize Dr. Holmes was talking to her and not speaking for the recorder. When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked up and smiled.

“He seemed like a good dog. Tough son of a bitch to survive whoever stabbed him.”

“Yes, he is.”

How could she have forgotten about Harvey? Already she wasn’t a very good dog owner. Greg had been right about her. She had no room for anything or anyone else in her life.

“That reminds me. May I use your phone?”

“Over in the corner, on the wall.”

She had to stop and try to remember what her new phone number was. Before she dialed, she took off her latex gloves and wiped her forehead with the sleeve of the borrowed gown. Even the telephone receiver smelled of Lysol. She punched in the numbers and listened to it ring, feeling guilty that she had completely forgotten. She certainly wouldn’t blame Nick if he had been angry enough to leave. She checked her wristwatch. It was a quarter past ten.

“Hello?”

“Nick? It’s Maggie.”

“Hey, are you all right?”

He sounded concerned, not a hint of anger. Maybe she shouldn’t expect his reactions and responses to be similar to Greg’s.

“I’m okay. It wasn’t Tess.”

“Good. I was kinda worried that Will would flip out if it was.”

“I’m at the county morgue, assisting with the autopsy.” She paused, waiting to hear some sign of anger. “Nick, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Maggie.”

“I might be a couple more hours.” Again, she paused. “I know I ruined our plans…your dinner.”

“Maggie, it’s not your fault. This is what you do. Harvey and I went ahead and ate. We saved you some. It’ll warm up fine in your microwave whenever you’re ready for it.”

He was being so understanding. Why was he being so understanding? She didn’t know how to respond to this.

“Maggie? Are you sure you’re okay?”

She’d left too much of a pause.

“Just very tired. And I am sorry I missed having dinner with you.”

“Me too. Do you want me to stay with Harvey until you get back?”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Nick. I don’t even know for sure how late I’ll be.”

“I carry around an old sleeping bag in my trunk. Would you mind if I crashed here for the night?”

For some reason the thought of Nick Morrelli sleeping in her huge and empty house brought an incredible feeling of comfort.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he added quickly, misreading her hesitation.

“No, it’s a good idea. Harvey would really like that.” She had done it again, disguising her true emotions—careful not to reveal a thing. It had become habit. “I’d really like it, too,” she said, surprising herself.

“Be careful driving home.”

“I will. Oh, and Nick.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to always reset the alarm system after you’ve taken Harvey out. And there’s a Glock 40 caliber in the bottom desk drawer. Remember to shut the blinds. If you need—”

“Maggie. I’ll be just fine. You concentrate on taking care of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

She hung up the phone and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and feeling the exhaustion and a chill seep into her bones. She needed to ignore the strong urge to leave now. To go home and curl up with Nick in front of a warm, crackling fire. She could still remember what it had felt like to fall asleep in his arms, though it had happened only once and that was over five months ago. He had comforted her and tried to shield her from her nightmares. And for a few hours, it had worked. But there was nothing Nick Morrelli could do to help her escape Stucky. These days Albert Stucky seemed to be in everything she touched and everyplace she went.

She looked back at the metal table with the woman’s gray body splayed open. Dr. Holmes was now removing organs, one by one, weighing and measuring them like a butcher preparing different cuts of meat. She tucked her hair behind her ears, pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and joined him.

“Not easy having a life of your own in this business, is it?” He didn’t look up as he continued to cut.

“It’s certainly not a life for a dog. I’m never home. Poor Harvey.”

“Well, he’s still better off with you. From what I understand, Sidney Endicott is an idiot. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had murdered his wife and stashed her body somewhere so we’ll never find it.”

“Is that the direction Manx is going?”

“I have no idea. Take a look at the muscle tissue here and here.” He pointed to the layers he had cut through.

Maggie only glanced at the area. She was wondering if the medical examiner realized that what he said regarding Mr. Endicott would be caught on tape. But what if he was right? Maybe Stucky hadn’t taken Rachel Endicott. Perhaps her husband did have something to do with her disappearance, although it seemed much too easy. Suddenly she realized Dr. Holmes was staring at her over the bifocals that had slipped down to the tip of his nose.

“I’m sorry, what was it you were looking at?”

He pointed again, and immediately she could see that there was hemorrhage in the muscle tissue. She leaned against the counter behind her and felt the anger swelling up inside her again.

“If there’s this much hemorrhage in the muscle tissue it has to mean—”

“Yes, I know,” she stopped him. “It means she was still alive when he started cutting her.”

He nodded and returned to his task, quickly and expertly tying string to each of the arteries as he cut, leaving generous lengths for the local mortician who would later use these same arteries when he or she injected the embalming fluids. Then with both hands, Dr. Holmes carefully scooped out the woman’s heart and set it on the scale. “Heart looks to be in good condition,” he said for the recorder. “Weight is 8.3 ounces.”

While he dunked the organ in a container of formaldehyde, Maggie forced herself to take a closer look at the incision Stucky had made. Now that she could look into the body cavity, she could follow the path. His precision continued to amaze her. He had extracted the woman’s uterus and ovaries as though it had been a surgical procedure. On the counter at the other end of the room lay his handiwork, still enclosed in the plastic take-out container that the truck driver had had the misfortune of picking up.

Dr. Holmes looked at what had drawn her attention. On his way back from the sink, he brought the container with him and set it on the table with their instruments. He flipped open the lid and began examining the contents.

The intercom on the wall buzzed, and Maggie jumped.

“It’s probably Detective Rosen. He said he’d stop by if they found anything.” He headed for the door, removing his gloves.

“Wait, are you sure?” She couldn’t believe he’d open the door without checking first. “It’s pretty late, isn’t it?”

“Yep, it sure is,” he said, stopping and looking at her over his shoulder. “But in case you didn’t notice earlier, I think Rosen has developed a crush on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I didn’t think you noticed.” He smiled but didn’t wait to explain, instead turning the dead bolt without hesitation or caution.

Maggie’s fingers dug into her gown, groping to get at her holster and her gun, but Dr. Holmes was already opening the door.

“Evening, Sam.”

“Hey, Doc.” Detective Rosen’s eyes found Maggie without even noticing the corpse. He held up a couple of evidence bags with what looked like dirt in them. “Agent O’Dell, I think we found something kinda interesting.”

After Dr. Holmes’s comment, she wondered if Sam had really discovered something at the scene or if he would try to pass off dirt as evidence in order to justify his stop. She was being ridiculous. Maybe Greg had been right about that, too. She didn’t trust anyone.

He handed her one of the Ziploc bags over the table. This time he glanced down at the body. It didn’t seem to bother him. She guessed that Detective Rosen had seen his share of autopsies, which meant he hadn’t always belonged to the Stafford County Sheriff’s Department.

She took and inspected the bag of dirt and immediately recognized it. She held the bag up to the light. Yes, there were bits of silver and yellow that sparkled under the bright fluorescent.

“Where did you find this?”

“On the side of the trash bin closest to the chain-link fence. There’s actually some metal rails, sorta like steps. We found muddy prints from shoes or boots. That’s probably how he was able to climb up and toss in her body. It faces away from the parking lot. No one would see him there.”

Rosen seemed excited with the discovery, and she wondered why. “Did you show this to Agent Tully?”

“Nope, not yet. But I figure this has gotta be a big break. It should lead us to where this guy has been hiding out.”

Maggie waited for the detective to explain. Now he seemed to be distracted by Dr. Holmes, or rather the bloody glob in the take-out container that Dr. Holmes was examining.

“Detective Rosen,” Maggie waited for his attention. “Why do think this will lead us anywhere?”

“For one thing, it’s mud.” He stated the obvious as though he had uncovered a secret. When he realized she didn’t see the significance, he continued, “Well, it hasn’t rained for quite a while. It’s looked like it several times, but nothing. Not around here anyway. Always offshore.”

She drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for something more than this weather report. He noticed her impatience, quickly opened one of the bags and pinched some of the dirt between his fingers, bringing it out and showing her.

“It’s a thick, sticky clay. Even smells a bit moldy. Again, nothing like we have around here.”

She could put an end to all of this by simply admitting she had seen the stuff before, that they had actually analyzed and broken it down. Instead, she let him go on.

“A couple of the guys who’ve lived here all their lives said they haven’t seen anything like this stuff before. Take a close look. It’s unusual, with bits of reddish rock, and that yellow and silvery crap is pretty weird…maybe even man-made.”

Finally, she confessed, “We have found similar dirt at two other crime scenes, Detective Rosen, but—”

“Sam.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Sam.”

Maggie brushed annoying, damp strands off her forehead. Had Dr. Holmes been right about Detective…Sam? Was he really only here to flirt and try to impress her?

“Sam, we have analyzed this stuff. It may be from a closed-down industrial site. We do have several people trying to find a possible location.”

“Well, I think I can save you some time.”

She stared at him, growing more impatient with his cocky smile. He was wasting their time with this grandstanding.

“I think I know where this came from,” he said, pleased with himself despite Maggie’s look of skepticism. “I went fishing a couple of weekends ago. A little spot about fifty miles from here on the other side of the toll bridge. I was supposed to meet a buddy, but I still don’t know this area very well. I ended up getting lost in this isolated wooded area. When I got home I noticed this sticky mud covering my boots. Took me almost two hours to clean them. The mud looked just like this crap. Couldn’t figure out what the hell that silver dust was.”

Now he had Maggie’s full attention. She could feel her pulse begin to race. The area sounded exactly like someplace Stucky would hole up. Detective Rosen was right. This could be their big break.

“Well, I hope this pans out,” Dr. Holmes interrupted, only now looking up from the contents of the plastic container. “This guy is one sick bastard. I think this woman may have confessed to him, tried appealing to him, hoping he had one ounce of human dignity in him.”

“What are you talking about?” Maggie watched the medical examiner wipe his forehead, suddenly not caring that he smeared blood from his gloves to his face. The calm, experienced professional seemed visibly shaken by his discovery.

“What is it?” she tried again.

“Might not be a coincidence that he chose to extract her uterus.” He stepped back from the table and shook his head. “This woman was pregnant.”