MONDAY
December 2
Washington, D.C.

Maggie waited outside the police chief’s conference room. She leaned her head against the wall. Her neck still ached, even more than the shoulder she had in a sling. Tully sat quietly next to her, staring at the door as though willing it to open, ignoring the newspaper he had spread out on his lap. The front-page headline of the Washington Times spoke of yet another new and improved piece of airport security equipment. Somewhere below the fold was a sidebar story about a photojournalist’s suicide.

Tully caught her glancing at the newspaper. “Cleveland Plain Dealer kept Everett’s suicide below the fold, too,” he said, as if reading his partner’s mind. “Probably would have made top headlines if there had been photos to go along with the stories.”

“Yes.” Maggie nodded. “Too bad there were no available photos.”

He gave her one of his looks, the raised brow and the unconvincing frown. “But there were photos.”

“Unfortunately, they’re considered evidence. We certainly can’t release photos that are considered evidence, right? Aren’t you always trying to get me to play by the rules?”

At this, he smiled. “So this evidence is being stored in a proper place?”

She simply nodded again, sitting back and adjusting her sling. It was her own personal attempt at justice—that Ben Garrison’s horrifying images would not win him the notoriety he so longed for. A notoriety that he had become so obsessed with that he had even been willing to include himself as one of those horrifying images.

“Have you heard from Emma?” Maggie asked, a transparent attempt at getting Tully to put an end to the subject of evidence, of photos and film canisters that remained safely stashed in her file cabinet back at her Quantico office.

“She’s staying an extra week with her mom,” he answered, folding the newspaper and willingly abandoning the subject along with the newspaper next to a pile of outdated Newsweeks on the table beside him. “She invited Alice to stay with them. She wanted to invite Justin Pratt, too.”

“Really? What did Caroline have to say about that?”

“I don’t think Caroline would have cared. The house is huge, but I said no boys allowed.” He smiled as if he was glad he had some say. “Didn’t really matter, though. As soon as Justin heard about Eric, he wanted to be in Boston.”

“So there are actually some happy endings to this, after all?”

As the words left her mouth, Maggie saw her mother coming down the hall. She was dressed in a conservative brown suit, wore heels and makeup and was drawing a few looks from police officers in the hall and doorways. Her mother looked good, in control, not at all like some lost soul, and yet Maggie felt her muscles tense and her stomach knot.

“Hello, Mrs. O’Dell,” Tully said, standing. He offered her his chair and she sat next to Maggie with only a nod to her daughter and a quiet “thank you” to Tully.

“I think I’m gonna get some coffee,” Tully said. “Can I get a cup for either of you?”

“Yes, please,” Kathleen O’Dell said with a smile. “With cream.”

He was waiting. “Maggie? How ’bout a Diet Pepsi?”

She glanced up at him and shook her head, but caught his eyes to show him she appreciated the gesture. He simply nodded and started down the hall.

“I’m not sure why you’re here,” Maggie said, looking straight ahead, following her mother’s lead.

“I wanted to be here to put in a good word.” Then as if she remembered something, she set her purse on her lap, opened it and removed an envelope. She hesitated, tapping it against her hand. She set the purse back down. More tapping. Then she handed the envelope to Maggie with only a glance.

“What’s this?”

“For when you’re ready,” her mother said in a soft, gentle voice that made Maggie look over at her. “It’s his name, address and phone number.”

The knot in Maggie’s stomach twisted even tighter. She looked away and laid the envelope in her lap. She wanted to hand it back and forget about it. And yet at the same time, she couldn’t wait to open it. “What is his name?” she asked.

“Patrick.” Her mother managed a smile. “After Thomas’s brother. I think your father would have liked that.”

The door opened, startling both women. Chief Henderson held it open while Julia Racine stepped out, her face immediately showing surprise at seeing Maggie and her mother. Today the detective wore a well-pressed navy suit and heels, her blond hair tamed and styled. She was even wearing lipstick.

“Agent O’Dell? Mrs. O’Dell?” Racine made an effort to hide her astonishment and be polite. Maggie couldn’t help thinking the detective would have felt more comfortable asking what the hell the two of them were doing. But Racine was on her best behavior this morning. She had better be. Henderson wasn’t taking any of these discipline hearings lightly.

“We’ll hear from you first, Agent O’Dell,” Henderson said, still holding the door, waiting.

Maggie could feel Racine watching, wondering whose side she would take. She stopped in front of her, met Racine’s questioning eyes and said, “You mind keeping my mom distracted, just one more time?”

She waited for Racine’s smile, then she walked past Chief Henderson and into the conference room.