old enough to own a car or even have a driver’s license. But old enough to know how to obtain and use a semiautomatic rifle.
He looked peaceful. No blood, no gashes, no abrasions—not a single mark that explained his death.
“I thought Cunningham told me they committed suicide? I don’t see any gunshot wounds.”
Stan grabbed a plastic bag off the counter behind him. He handed it to her across the boy’s body.
“The one who survived spit his out. I’m guessing arsenic or cyanide. Probably cyanide. Seventy-five milligrams of potassium cyanide would do the trick. Eat through the stomach lining in no time.”
The bag held one ordinary red-and-white capsule. Maggie could easily see the manufacturer’s name stamped on the side. Though intended to be an over-the-counter headache medication, someone had replaced the contents, using the capsule as a convenient container.
“So they were well prepared for suicide.”
“Yeah, I’d say so. Where the hell do kids come up with these ideas today?”
But Maggie had a feeling it hadn’t been the boys’ idea. Someone else had convinced them they could not be taken alive. Someone who amassed arsenals, concocted homemade death pills and didn’t hesitate to sacrifice young lives. Someone much more dangerous than these boys.
“Can we check the others before you start the autopsies?”
Maggie made it sound like a casual request. She wanted to see if all the boys were Caucasian, supporting her initial hunch that they might belong to a white supremacist group. Stan didn’t seem to mind her request. Maybe he was curious to get a look himself.
He started unzipping the next bag and pointed a stubby finger at Maggie.
“Please put your goggles down first. They’re not doing you any good on top of your head.”
She hated the suffocating things, but she knew Stan was a stickler for rules. She obeyed and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She glanced at the bag Stan had opened as she unzipped the one in front of her. Another blond-haired Caucasian boy slept peacefully as Stan pushed the black nylon material down around his face. Then she looked at the bag her fingers were peeling open. She didn’t get very far when she stopped. She snapped back her hands as though she had been stung.
“Oh Jesus!” Maggie stared at the man’s gray face. The perfectly round bullet hole was small and black against his white forehead. She could hear the sloshing of liquid behind his head; liquid that she had disturbed but that still remained captured inside the bag.
“What?” Stan’s voice startled her as he leaned over the body, trying to see what had upset her. “It must be the agent. They said there was one dead.” He sounded impatient.
Maggie stepped back. A cold sweat washed over her body. Suddenly she grabbed onto the counter, unsure of her knees. Now Stan was staring at her, concern replacing impatience.
“I know him” was the only explanation she could manage before she took off for the sink.
CHAPTER 3
Suffolk County, Massachusetts
R.J. Tully hated the whop-whop of the helicopter blades. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying, but helicopters made him aware that he was riding hundreds of feet above ground in nothing more than a bubble with an engine. And something this noisy couldn’t possibly be safe. Yet he was grateful the noise prevented any conversation. Assistant Director Cunningham had appeared agitated and visibly shaken the entire trip. It unnerved Tully, who had known his boss for less than a year. He had never seen Cunningham reveal much emotion other than a frown. The man didn’t even swear.
Cunningham had been fidgeting with the helicopter’s two-way radio, trying to get updated information from the ground crew investigating the scene. All they had been told so far was that the bodies had been airlifted to the District. Since the standoff had been a federal matter, the investigation—including the autopsies—would be handled under federal jurisdiction
He looked peaceful. No blood, no gashes, no abrasions—not a single mark that explained his death.
“I thought Cunningham told me they committed suicide? I don’t see any gunshot wounds.”
Stan grabbed a plastic bag off the counter behind him. He handed it to her across the boy’s body.
“The one who survived spit his out. I’m guessing arsenic or cyanide. Probably cyanide. Seventy-five milligrams of potassium cyanide would do the trick. Eat through the stomach lining in no time.”
The bag held one ordinary red-and-white capsule. Maggie could easily see the manufacturer’s name stamped on the side. Though intended to be an over-the-counter headache medication, someone had replaced the contents, using the capsule as a convenient container.
“So they were well prepared for suicide.”
“Yeah, I’d say so. Where the hell do kids come up with these ideas today?”
But Maggie had a feeling it hadn’t been the boys’ idea. Someone else had convinced them they could not be taken alive. Someone who amassed arsenals, concocted homemade death pills and didn’t hesitate to sacrifice young lives. Someone much more dangerous than these boys.
“Can we check the others before you start the autopsies?”
Maggie made it sound like a casual request. She wanted to see if all the boys were Caucasian, supporting her initial hunch that they might belong to a white supremacist group. Stan didn’t seem to mind her request. Maybe he was curious to get a look himself.
He started unzipping the next bag and pointed a stubby finger at Maggie.
“Please put your goggles down first. They’re not doing you any good on top of your head.”
She hated the suffocating things, but she knew Stan was a stickler for rules. She obeyed and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She glanced at the bag Stan had opened as she unzipped the one in front of her. Another blond-haired Caucasian boy slept peacefully as Stan pushed the black nylon material down around his face. Then she looked at the bag her fingers were peeling open. She didn’t get very far when she stopped. She snapped back her hands as though she had been stung.
“Oh Jesus!” Maggie stared at the man’s gray face. The perfectly round bullet hole was small and black against his white forehead. She could hear the sloshing of liquid behind his head; liquid that she had disturbed but that still remained captured inside the bag.
“What?” Stan’s voice startled her as he leaned over the body, trying to see what had upset her. “It must be the agent. They said there was one dead.” He sounded impatient.
Maggie stepped back. A cold sweat washed over her body. Suddenly she grabbed onto the counter, unsure of her knees. Now Stan was staring at her, concern replacing impatience.
“I know him” was the only explanation she could manage before she took off for the sink.
CHAPTER 3
Suffolk County, Massachusetts
R.J. Tully hated the whop-whop of the helicopter blades. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying, but helicopters made him aware that he was riding hundreds of feet above ground in nothing more than a bubble with an engine. And something this noisy couldn’t possibly be safe. Yet he was grateful the noise prevented any conversation. Assistant Director Cunningham had appeared agitated and visibly shaken the entire trip. It unnerved Tully, who had known his boss for less than a year. He had never seen Cunningham reveal much emotion other than a frown. The man didn’t even swear.
Cunningham had been fidgeting with the helicopter’s two-way radio, trying to get updated information from the ground crew investigating the scene. All they had been told so far was that the bodies had been airlifted to the District. Since the standoff had been a federal matter, the investigation—including the autopsies—would be handled under federal jurisdiction
Similar Books
The Sword of the Banshee
Amanda Hughes
Where Lilacs Still Bloom
Jane Kirkpatrick
Angelic Pathways
Chantel Lysette
The Christmas Cookie Chronicles: Carrie
Lori Wilde
Striking Distance
Pamela Clare
Second Chance
Jane Green
Cloudburst
V.C. Andrews
Another Day
David Levithan
An Untamed Heart
Lauraine Snelling