Cutting Edge (23 page)

How the hell did the killer get ahold of heparin? Unless the killer required it for some reason. Nora logged into the FBI database and looked through drug theft reports in the area. Hospitals kept track of their medicine, and certain drugs were flagged if inventory was off. But either heparin wasn’t flagged, or no one had stolen it recently.

Nora also knew some hospitals weren’t so good at record-keeping; if a small amount went missing they might not have noticed, or didn’t want to file the paperwork. But this suggested to Nora that the killer had access to medical supplies…

She picked up the phone while pulling the Langlier file from her desk. She was reading the notes when Quin finally picked up.

“Quin Teagan, at your service.”

“Quin, it’s Nora.”

“You’re back.”

“Yes, and I need information about Langlier. They stored cancer-fighting drugs at their warehouse, correct?”

“That’s their bread and butter,” Quin said.

“What other drugs?”

“I don’t know — it’s in my report. They gave me a list — I attached it.”

“I can’t find it—”

“I’m not home right now. If it’s important, I can be home in thirty.”

Nora heard a male voice in the background. “No, no — here! Found it.”

Quin read the list of losses. The drugs were listed in alphabetical order, and there were only five.

Heparin was third on the list.

“Thanks, Quin.”

“Oh, sure, I solved the whole case,” she said sarcastically.

“You might have, with your detailed reporting. I know now where the killer got the blood thinners used on Payne. Keith Coffey alerted me that the drug used wouldn’t be easy to get, and so I thought of Langlier—”

“But Langlier was nearly two years ago!”

“Speaking of Langlier, there was a triple possible suicide at Rose College today.”

“Suicide?”

“Possible. Or murder. The students who died were definitely involved with the arsons, but I think there’s one more student or former student involved, and I have a line on her. It’s one of the victim’s former roommates.”

“Good luck. This is fantastic.”

“Enjoy your date.”

Nora hung up and pulled all the background reports Duke had run for her. She yawned and her stomach grumbled. She packed everything into her briefcase and walked to Jason’s office. She glanced in. Jason was alone. “Where’d Duke go?” she asked.

“He had a call.”

“Tell him I said good-bye and I’ll see him tomorrow.”

Maggie opened the door to Donnie’s cage and let him walk around. She hated keeping him locked up like a prisoner, but she couldn’t risk him getting away. She didn’t know exactly how the police had tracked down the other ducks, but it had something to do with an implant, according to the news. She didn’t know where it was, had inspected Donnie carefully, and she didn’t want to hurt him. He was the innocent victim in all this. It wasn’t his fault those people had experimented on him. He’d done nothing wrong.

Tears welled in her eyes and she dry-heaved as she remembered what the cruel cops had done to all those ducks. They’d gotten off on it, the sadistic bastards. Snapping their delicate necks like tree branches. One after another after another…

But it was all done on the orders of that bitch, Nora English.

Maggie had gone a bit too far when she threw the soda can at Nora at Lake of the Pines, but Maggie had never been so close to her before. She’d wanted to cut her so bad it hurt, make the federal agent suffer for the pain she’d caused the movement. The pain Nora English had caused
her
personally. But Nora didn’t know her, couldn’t know her, though Maggie wished she did. Nora had ruined her life and didn’t even know it. She’d acted callously, without regard for anyone she damaged in the process. Without a care of who went to prison, whether they were guilty or innocent.

The cause was more important than any one person. Maggie had killed fighting for what was right, and she would die for it. Some ideals were bigger than individuals. Bigger than her life. What was guilt but a judgment by a corrupt judicial system? Had any of Maggie’s comrades been
guilty
under the natural order? No! They were guilty only because of man-made rules and laws, not because they had actually done anything wrong.

Donnie waddled over to the sink she’d filled with water. He drank, then jumped in. Maggie smiled. She wished she’d taken two ducks. She would have taken them all, but she hadn’t known the feds were going to torture and murder them. She’d kept Donnie because he was injured, that brute Scott had just stuffed the ducks into the cages as if they were children’s toys, not nature’s creatures. His wing was broken, and Maggie couldn’t free him without chance of survival.

And yet, he was the only one who had survived.

Maggie picked up her favorite knife and stared at the blade. Under the light, the blade looked angelic, sparkling, blinding. She turned it and it was dull again.

She took out her special stone and sharpened the knife slowly, with sure, firm purpose. Sharpening her blade calmed her like nothing else. The
scrape, scrape
of the stone on the hand-forged metal. She remembered making this exact knife with her stepdad. She remembered each knife they’d made together, the patience he taught her, the respect for the fire, for the steel, for the cutting edge.

She’d used this knife on Jonah Payne. He didn’t understand, but she didn’t expect him to. He’d died because she needed practice. She had to have it perfect.

Nora English would pay for her actions. For putting innocent people in prison, for slaughtering Donnie’s winged brothers and sisters, for working for the corrupt system and against nature. Nora English was very much part of the bigger problem.

When Maggie was done with her, Nora would beg to die. And Maggie would let her do just that … eventually.

Jonah Payne had not been her first kill, and Nora English wouldn’t be the next.

Someone else had to come first. Someone who had hurt her. Someone who’d turned people against her.

Maggie didn’t like it when people didn’t do what they were supposed to. When they didn’t do what she wanted them to do.

She’d learned a lot since the first time she’d killed. That time … that was messy. She missed Clay sometimes, but he’d deserved it. He was going to leave her.

They lay on the blanket under the big oak tree, Maggie and Clay. It was the last weekend in April, and spring was supposed to be the time of rebirth and beauty, everything green and flowers blossoming. But today, though the sun shone hot over the treetops in the small Central Coast town of Paso Robles, her blood turned cold and she shivered
.

She knew before he spoke that Clay was going to make a huge mistake. She couldn’t let him, instead postponing his confession with a kiss
.

“Shh,” she said, tucking his pretty hair behind his ears. His parents didn’t like that his hair touched his collar, but she did. She liked everything about Clay Baker: his hair, his smell, his smile, his commitment to the cause, and most of all his commitment to her. He
was
hers, now and forever. They’d been together all of high school, she’d had sex with only Clay, and she loved him. He owned her heart, and she his
.

He kissed her back, but it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t the same as last month, before he got that damn letter
.

He was already three thousand miles away
.

“Maggie, we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to,” she pouted
.

“Graduation is only four weeks away. I don’t want this hanging over us for all that time.”

“No.”

“Maggie, just listen. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. A full scholarship to SUNY! It’s what I’ve always wanted. You need to be happy for me.”

“I’m sad for us. You can’t go.”

He touched her hair and sighed. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“And not go to college?”

“I’m only going to community college.” Her grades had been borderline. Maggie was lucky to even graduate. Her entire life her teachers had told her and her parents that she was an underachiever, that her test scores showed she was very intelligent, too intelligent to be getting C’s and D’s
.

“You just need to find yourself and your place,” Clay said
.

“My place is with you. I’m going to Syracuse.”

She didn’t like the look on Clay’s face. It was as if he’d already known what she was going to say and had prepared a response
.

“Maggie, you can’t come with me. You would be a distraction from my studies. This is important to me. Try to understand that. Everything I’ve wanted to do in environmental science, I can with a degree from SUNY. I’ll be back in four years, and if we still feel the same way—”

Her stomach turned sour. “If?”

“Four years — Maggie, people change in four years.”

“You’re dumping me.”

“We have email and I’ll call every week.”

He was telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. The only thing she wanted to hear was that Clay Baker was not dumping her
.

He took her hand, kissed her neck. “We have all summer. Let’s not worry about later, okay?”

He hadn’t told her he loved her in weeks. He hadn’t made love to her in weeks
.

He didn’t know that she knew Cindy Tomlinson was going to SUNY, too. Or that she’d been watching how he looked at Cindy since those college letters arrived last month. They had bonded over a damn college! It wasn’t fair. Maggie was as smart — no, smarter! — than both of them. And Clay was going three thousand miles away with Cindy Tomlinson
.

Maggie let Clay kiss her, touch her breasts, push up her skirt. They had made love under this tree the first time
.

And now, the last time
.

He held her for a minute, then went to dispose of the condom. She told him she’d be right back, and walked naked down to the creek where they’d stored the cooler after their picnic
.

Clay’s mother had made the lemonade. Mrs. Baker didn’t like Maggie, but she’d been nice today. Nice in one of those “I know something you don’t” ways, so mightier-than-thou. The bitch had sabotaged Maggie’s relationship with Clay. She had convinced Clay to dump her. His future, his life, his dreams. What about
her?
Margaret Love O’Dell, with hopes and dreams of her own. And they centered around Clay Baker
.

At least for one more day
.

She’d seen the water hemlock growing when she first put the cooler in the water. She’d seen it before, as this was their spot. Clay didn’t know what it was, or if he did he never commented on it
.

She took a cloth napkin from their lunch basket and used it as a glove of sorts, wrapping her hand in it while she crushed the water hemlock leaves, breaking the membranes and releasing the poison. She didn’t want any to be absorbed through her skin. It would take a lot of leaves because the poison didn’t mix well with cold water. She stuffed the leaves into an empty water bottle, then poured lemonade into it and shook it well. She let it sit for a minute, watching the leaves. She pretended she could actually see the poison leaching from the leaves into the pale yellow liquid. It was turning a darker color. That she wasn’t imagining. It was working
.

“Maggie! We only got thirty minutes before curfew,” Clay called from beyond the grove of trees
.

His
mother’s
curfew. Six p.m. on Sundays. So they could have a
family
dinner. One they never invited Maggie to. She’d bet they’d invite Cindy Tomlinson
.

She strained the lemonade into another water bottle. It didn’t quite look right. Would he notice? Maybe. She put everything back in the cooler, then re-packed the basket and cooler and brought everything over to the oak tree. The wet hemlock leaves were stuck in the bottle — she’d have to dispose of it later
.

Clay lay on his back, watching her
.

She put everything down and pretended to drink the lemonade. “Still cold, but a little tart. Want some?”

“My mother never puts in enough sugar.”

He took the water bottle and chugged half the poisoned lemonade, then grimaced. “Yeah, I think it was in the sun too long.”

He screwed on the cap and tossed it on the blanket. He patted the spot next to him, and she sat down
.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” he told her. “Just here and now. Today, everything’s fine, right?”

Maggie smiled. “Everything’s perfect.”

With the background reports spread out on Nora’s dining room table, a glass of buttery chardonnay in front of her — her one and only for the evening — she finally hung up her phone.

In the two hours she’d been home, she’d been productive. She’d heard back from Sara Ralston that Anya Ballard was
not
the woman with Russ Larkin on Sunday in Starbucks, even if she had dark hair, according to Summer, the coffeehouse employee who had seen her. Then she’d talked to Rachel about running a background check on Maggie O’Dell, including all variations of the name “Maggie.”

“Make sure you get a photo from the DMV and Rose College. Get her transcripts as well — if they squawk, let me know. We’ll get a warrant. We have more than enough cause.”

She was satisfied that Rachel would hop on the assignment first thing in the morning, and they’d debrief at nine with the rest of the team, after Nora observed the autopsies of the three students. Coffey would send her the information, but she’d rather stop by and get it faster. It wasn’t too far out of her way to head up to Placer County before going to headquarters.

She made notes on Anya, Scott, and Chris. While they shared their major and college, they were born in different towns, went to different high schools, and didn’t seem to have had any contact prior to attendance at Rose College.