THE call had come from the Virginia State Patrol. The patrolman told Tully that a trucker had grabbed a take-out container from the counter of a small café. He explained with a quaking voice how the driver hadn’t made it back to his truck before he discovered the container was leaking. What he thought was his leftover steak was suddenly dripping blood.

Tully remembered the truck stop, just north of Stafford, off Interstate 95, but it wasn’t until he pulled into the café’s parking lot that he realized this was probably Agent O’Dell’s route home.

The State Patrol had had enough sense to confiscate the take-out container, and restrict the area behind the café. That was where a battered metal bin rested against a chain-link fence. The bin was one of the extra-large commercial ones, at least six feet tall. How did Stucky dump the body? Never mind that, how had he gone undetected, with the gas pumps and the café open twenty-four hours a day?

He flashed his badge at a couple of uniforms keeping the media behind the crime scene tape. The Stafford County detective Tully had previously met behind the pizza place was already on the scene, directing the commotion. As soon as the detective saw him, he waved him over.

“She’s still in the Dumpster,” he said. “Doc Holmes is on his way. We’re trying to figure out how the hell to get her out of there.”

“How did you find her?”

“Probably wouldn’t have found her,” the detective said, “if not for that snack pack he left behind.”

Tully grimaced. He wondered how many years it would take before he could refer to body parts in such a nonchalant way.

“Least not until the trash truck dumped this sucker. But you know, these big ones hold a lot. We might never’ve found her. Not like anyone would complain about the smell. This stuff always smells.”

The detective was keeping an eye on the reporters near the ribbon, constantly looking over Tully’s shoulder.

“I remember the last time,” he continued, “when they found that councilwoman’s body in the woods. Bite marks, skin ripped off, cuts in places you don’t need to see cuts.”

“Stucky’s one sick bastard, that’s for sure.” Tully remembered the photos of Stucky’s collection that O’Dell had laid out on the table. Side by side they looked as if a pack of wolves had ripped up the bodies and left them for the vultures.

“Wasn’t he playing games with one of your agents back then? I remember reading something. That he was messin’ with her head, sending her notes and stuff?”

“Yes, yes, he was.”

“Whatever happened to that agent?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s her car pulling into the parking lot.”

“Fuck, no kidding? She’s still working on this case?”

“She doesn’t have much choice.”

Tully didn’t see it until O’Dell was closer to them. She carried a small black bag, not a purse but a case. They couldn’t touch the body until the medical examiner got to the scene. He hoped O’Dell didn’t have other plans.

“Detective—” Tully realized he didn’t know the man’s name “—this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

She offered him her hand, and immediately Tully could see the detective’s tough exterior softening.

“Sam Rosen,” he said, more than willing to fill in the blank.

“Detective Rosen.”

“Call me Sam.”

Tully resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sam here—” Tully tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum “—is with the Stafford County Sheriff’s Department. He was at the first crime scene with the pizza delivery…with Jessica Beckwith.”

“Is the victim still in the Dumpster?” O’Dell appeared unwilling, or unable, to hide her anticipation.

“We’re waiting for Doc Holmes,” Sam told her.

“Is there any way I can take a look without disturbing the scene?” She was already taking out a pair of latex gloves from her black case.

“Probably not a good idea,” Tully said, knowing that O’Dell wanted to see if she recognized the victim. He saw her eyeing the trash bin. The thing was almost a foot taller than her.

“How were your men able to look inside?”

“We pulled a cruiser alongside. Davis crawled up on the roof. He took a couple of Polaroids. Want me to get them for you?” Sam looked as if he’d do just about anything she asked.

“Actually, Sam, would you mind pulling the cruiser alongside it again?”

Without hesitation, Rosen shouted at one of the uniforms holding back the reporters. He left them to meet the officer halfway and started telling him what he wanted, hands gesturing as he talked.

“There’s a chance it might not be her,” Tully said while Rosen was giving directions. He knew she was expecting this to be the missing real-estate agent.

“I want to assist with the autopsy. Do you think we can convince Dr. Holmes to do it tonight?” It was the first time she had asked anything of him, and he could tell it was not an easy thing for her to do.

“We’ll insist he do it tonight,” he promised.

They stood quietly, side by side, watching the police cruiser drive up to the bin. He heard her take a deep breath as she set down her case and threw the pair of gloves she had extracted on top. Rosen met her at the bumper, offering her a hand, but she waved it off. She kicked out of her shoes and crawled up on the trunk with little effort.

She paused, then carefully stepped onto the roof and stood upright, able to stare down into the bin.

“Does anyone have a flashlight?”

One of the officers hurried to hand her a long-handled flashlight. O’Dell shone a stream of light into the bin, and Tully watched her face. She took her time, sweeping the inside, back and forth. He couldn’t tell whether she recognized the victim or not.

Finally she crawled down. She handed back the flashlight, tapped the cruiser’s window to thank the driver and then found her shoes.

“Well?” Tully asked, still watching her closely.

“It’s not Tess McGowan.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed.

“Not really.”

Now under a lamppost, he could see she looked agitated, her face tight with tension, the exhaustion clouding her eyes.

“It’s not Tess, but I do recognize her.”

Tully felt the knot winding around his stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what O’Dell was feeling.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Hannah. She’s a clerk at Shep’s Liquor Mart. She helped me pick a bottle of wine last night.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, and Tully saw the tremor in the fingers.

“We need to stop this goddamn son of a bitch,” she said, and Tully heard that the tremor had also invaded her voice.