TULLY followed Cunningham’s directions and turned at the intersection. Immediately, he saw spotlights in the back alley of a strip mall. Police cruisers blocked the street, and Tully pulled up beside one, flashed his badge and drove through the maze.

Tully had seen plenty of crime scenes, severed limbs, bloodied walls, mutilated bodies and disgusting killer signatures that ranged from a single rose to a decapitated corpse. But all those scenes had been only in pictures sent to him at the FBI Cleveland Field Office. He had become one of the Midwest’s experts in developing criminal profiles from the bits and pieces sent him. It was his accuracy that had prompted Cunningham to offer Tully a position in the Investigative Support Unit, to hunt for one of the FBI’s most infamous fugitives.

Tully knew he owed his good fortune to the agent he had replaced, who had been assigned to teaching at law enforcement conferences. He had never met Margaret O’Dell, but knew her by reputation. She was one of the youngest and one of the best profilers in the country. Rumors suggested that she had lost her edge, that she had become paranoid and obsessed with recapturing Stucky.

Tully pulled the car as close to the barricades as he could. Cunningham jumped out before Tully had it in Park.

“Where is she?” Cunningham wasted no time asking a detective who looked to be in charge.

“She’s still in the Dumpster. We haven’t moved a thing, except the pizza box.”

“Where is the pizza box?”

“Officer McClusky gave it to the doc. The kid who found it sorta dropped it, and the stuff got all jostled.”

Suddenly the smell of stale pizza and the sounds of police radios made Tully’s head hurt. He ignored the nausea as he followed his boss to the Dumpster where three uniformed officers stood guard. Even the officers stood a good ten feet away to avoid the stench.

The first thing Tully noticed was the young woman’s long blond hair. Immediately, he thought of Emma. His boss’s face remained emotionless.

Tully could tell the woman had been young, not much older than Emma. Discarded lettuce and spoiled tomatoes clung to her naked breasts. The rest of her was buried in garbage, but Tully saw glimpses of thigh, and then realized she wore only a blue baseball cap. He could also see that her throat had been slashed from ear to ear, and there was an open wound in her side. But that was all. There were no severed limbs, no bloody mutilation. He wasn’t sure what he had expected.

“She looks like she’s in one piece,” Cunningham said. He addressed the detective again. “What was in the box?”

“Not sure. Looked like a bloody glob to me. Doc can probably tell you. He’s over in the van.”

He pointed to a dusty van with the Stafford County emblem on the side. The doors were open and a distinguished gray-haired man sat in the back with a clipboard.

“Doc, these gentlemen from the FBI need to see that special delivery.”

Cunningham stepped up into the van, and Tully followed, though it seemed crowded with the three of them. Already he could smell the contents of the box, which sat in the middle of the floor. He sat on one of the benches before his stomach started to churn.

“Hello, Frank.” Cunningham knew the medical examiner, too. “Agent Tully, Dr. Frank Holmes, Deputy Chief Medical Examiner for Stafford County.”

“I don’t know if this is your man, Kyle, but when Detective Rosen called me, he seemed to think you might be interested.”

“Rosen worked in Boston when Stucky kidnapped Councilwoman Brenda Carson.”

“I remember that. What was that two, three years ago?”

“Not quite two.”

“Thankfully, I was on vacation. Fishing up in Canada.” The doctor cocked his head as though trying to remember some sporting event. “But if I remember right, Carson’s body was buried in a shallow grave in some woods. Certainly not in some Dumpster.”

“This guy’s complicated, Frank. The ones he collects are the ones we rarely find. These women are his rejects. They’re simply for sport.”

Tully stared at the box on the floor. Despite the scent of pizza and pepperoni, he recognized the acrid scent as blood. So much for eating pizza ever again.

“Nothing happens in this quiet little suburb,” Dr. Holmes said. “Then two homicides.”

“Two? I’m not aware of another homicide, Frank,” Cunningham said.

“Well, I’m not sure the other one is a homicide, yet. We never did find a body.” Dr. Holmes finally put the clipboard aside. “We had an agent on the scene. Maybe one of yours?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yesterday afternoon. Not far from here in Newburgh Heights. Said she was a forensic psychologist. Just moved in. Very impressive young woman.”

Tully watched Cunningham’s face and saw the transformation from calm to agitated.

“Yes, I did hear about that. I apologize if she got in the way.”

“Oh, no apology necessary, Kyle. She proved very helpful. I think the arrogant bastard who was supposed to be investigating may have even learned a thing or two.”

Tully caught the assistant director with a smile at the corner of his lips, before he realized he was being watched. He turned to Tully and explained, “Agent O’Dell, your predecessor, just bought a new home in this area.”

“Margaret O’Dell?” Tully held his boss’s eyes until he saw that Cunningham had made the same connection. Suddenly, Tully knew it didn’t matter what they found in the pizza box. Whatever had been discarded, neither of them needed to see the bloody mess to confirm that this was most likely the work of Albert Stucky. And Tully knew it was no coincidence that he had chosen to start again, close to Margaret O’Dell’s new home.