Ultimately, Walton MacNally was found not guilty. But the job that MacNally had won in the days before his wife’s death was long gone. A man whose face had graced the local papers was a pariah, despite the prosecution’s failed bid to build a convincing case against him.
MacNally and Henry packed their belongings into two large suitcases and headed south. Where it would lead MacNally did not know. But perhaps it was better that way. Because had Walton MacNally known the turn his life would eventually take, he might very well have committed suicide. At least it would have eliminated years of incomprehensible pain and suffering.
4
Present Day
July 26
11:01 PM
The Marina District
San Francisco, California
San Francisco Police Inspector Lance Burden greeted the first officer on-scene with a firm nod. “What’s the deal?”
The man tipped back his cap and shifted his weight. “Pretty disgusting, if you ask me, Inspector.”
Burden yawned wide and hard, then said, “I did ask you. Can you be a little more specific?”
“Victim is an old woman. I didn’t want to mess up the crime scene and shit, so I’m just eyeballing it, but she looks like she’s in her eighties.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Kind of looks like my grandmother.”
“She’s old. I got that. What else?”
“Her pants and underwear are pulled down to her knees. She’s…uh…she’s been penetrated.”
“Penetrated-how? You mean sexually?”
The officer rested both hands on his utility belt and hooked fingers around the gear. “Yeah. There’s something rammed up her, up her anus.” He looked away, shook his head, then continued. “Like I said. Disgusting. I mean, who’d want to rape and sodomize an old woman?”
Burden’s eyes widened. “Wait here.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not goin’ back in there,” the cop said with a sardonic chuckle.
Burden lifted his two-way and got an ETA on the criminalist: fifteen minutes, best case. His partner was en route, as well, but he decided not to wait. He pulled a pair of blue booties from his pocket-he’d learned first day on the job as a detective years ago to carry the things with him. And they’d come in handy on more than one occasion.
He walked into the townhouse. A sour-stale odor flared his nostrils. It was a scent he’d experienced a number of times over the years-the way homes of elderly individuals can sometimes smell, particularly when mixed with the putrid cologne of death.
The place was well kept, orderly, and clean. Oil paintings and dated knickknacks betrayed their age about as blatantly as the yellowing black-and-white photographs that sat on a bureau in the living room.
And then, in the bedroom…two bare feet visible from the doorway. Burden walked another couple of yards and had enough of a view to get a sense of what he was dealing with. He bit the inside of his lip.
“Inspector.”
Burden did not look away from the body. “What is it?”
“The criminalist made better time than he thought. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Yeah. Right. Send him in when he gets here.”
“See what I mean?” the officer asked. “What kind of monster would do that to a poor old woman?”
Burden sighed deeply. “I think I know just the kind of monster we’re looking for. And I know who to call to help find him.”
5
July 27
12:07 PM
George Washington University Hospital
900 23rd St., NW
Washington, D.C.
FBI Profiler Karen Vail walked the hospital hallway with her son, Jonathan, and DEA Special Agent Robby Hernandez. Vail and Robby were both off duty, a rare Saturday when they had time to decompress, grab lunch at Charlie Palmer’s, and then a late afternoon movie. They left their case folders on their desks, their problems neatly tucked away in a file drawer, and all concerns of serial murders and drug cartels out of reach of their collective consciousness.
Robby’s shoulder was still in a sling, recovering from a gunshot wound he had sustained two months ago. But the injury had an unforeseen, nonmedical side effect: Jonathan got a kick out of handily beating the one-armed Robby in every video game in the teen’s arsenal, so they played together at every opportunity. Robby represented the positive male presence Jonathan lacked, and Jonathan gave Robby the father-son relationship he had wanted but not yet experienced.
With various bruises and lacerations now healed and a knee that finally felt whole following recent surgery, Vail had found peace being at home after a tenuous two weeks in the Napa Valley. What started as a dream vacation had degraded into a recurring nightmare that, for a while, Vail had difficulty awakening from.
But Vail and Robby were not at the hospital for their ailments; they were visiting a friend and colleague, Mandisa Manette, who had been shot in front of the White House just before Vail and Robby left for Napa. It had taken three surgeries thus far, but she was making steady progress and had begun rehabilitation.
Jonathan insisted on waiting in the hall, choosing instead to trade text messages with his friends.
“We won’t be long,” Vail said.
Jonathan already had his phone out, eyes riveted to the screen. “Take your time.”
Robby reached out to pull open the Physical Therapy department door, but Vail slapped her hand against the wood panel. “You think she’ll be glad to see us?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
Vail bobbed her head. “Every time she and I get together it turns into a major ordeal.”
“I could say the same thing, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing you.”
Vail elbowed him in the side. Robby pulled open the door.
Gripping two wooden parallel bars was Detective Mandisa Manette. Her normal corn-rowed hair was pulled back into a bun, disheveled and in need of a shampoo. Rather than the lithe, athletic detective, Manette was having difficulty negotiating the normally automatic movement of walking. The therapist’s gaze snapped up-causing Manette to stop and twist her body.
“Jesus Christ. Kari, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too,” Vail said. She turned to Robby. “See what I mean?”
“Robby,” Manette said. “You still dating this crystal ball psychic magician?”
Robby grinned broadly, then stepped forward and gave Manette a hug. “How are you doing?”
“Better than you,” she said. “What’s up with the sling?”
“Same as you. GSW. No big deal, I’m back on the job already.”
“Sequestered in this hospital, I tend to be a little out of touch. Especially when people don’t visit you.”
“I was here last week,” Vail said.
“I don’t consider you ‘people,’” Manette said. “I mean real flesh-and-blood humans.”
“Sounds like you’re doing well,” Robby said. “Getting back to your old self.” He gestured toward her with a raise of his chin. “How’s your hip coming along?”
“I got me a brand new one, titanium or some shit like that. Bionic space-age technology. I’m going to be faster, stronger than before.”
“Yeah,” Vail said. “And she’ll be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
“I got a doc who’s got a bedside manner just like yours,” Manette said. “I slapped him upside the head. He’s much nicer to me now.” She shifted her weight and grabbed the parallel bars. “If he wasn’t such a hunk, I’da fired his ass the first day.”