Stranded

now.”
    “Lily the lot lizard.”
    “The body we found was in a black plastic garbage bag,” Maggie continued. “Well, most of it. The head was in a separate bag, a smaller one close by. And he left us another puzzle piece to our scavenger hunt.”
    Gwen felt nauseated at the mention of the head. The last time she had worked on a homicide case, it also involved a decapitated victim. The victim was someone Gwen knew—a receptionist who had worked in her office.
    Gwen was beginning to second-guess joining this task force. She had a successful practice listening to the District’s elite—generals and politicos and their wives or husbands rehashing their emotional instabilities, their addictions, and their dysfunctional childhoods. Sometimes it wore her down but rarely did it scare or nauseate her. Did she really want to delve back into criminal behavior? Sort through its psychotic motives and view their bloody aftermath? Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for this anymore.
    “Gwen?”
    She suddenly realized she hadn’t heard the last of what Maggie had said.
    “Gwen, are you okay?”
    “I’m fine.” Then because she knew Maggie would worry, she added, “I guess maybe I’m not quite as awake as I thought. What were you saying? He left you something?”
    “He used the same retailer’s bag where he bought the orange socks. Even left the receipt for us.”
    She realized she had missed more than she thought.
    “Orange socks?” Gwen asked.
    “The victim’s wearing orange socks. I knew they looked too new. We think the killer bought them and put them on the corpse before he stuffed her in the garbage bag and buried her. I’m sure the socks are simply for our benefit. Like I said, another puzzle piece for the scavenger hunt.”
    Gwen stood and walked around her Georgetown condo now, turning on more lights. As she passed the front door she checked the locks. Working these cases brought on a whole slew of obsessive-compulsive habits. Oh sure, she double-checked security, but suddenly she wanted the room filled with light. She wanted the shadows and dark corners gone.
    She opened the refrigerator. Grabbed a bottle of water. Twisted off the cap with too much urgency and swigged almost half the bottle while Maggie told her about the significance of the orange socks.
    “Tully’s been talking to Agent Antonio Alonzo. Have you met him yet?”
    “We had a long meeting today. He’s impressive.”
    “He’s a data whiz. He can put together information in a remarkably short amount of time.” Maggie paused before continuing. “I remembered a recent case that involved orange socks. Last month. In Virginia. They discovered a woman’s remains that had been stuffed in a culvert. She had gone missing more than a year agoand no one had found her. The culvert was on a remote gravel road just off the interstate.”
    “A year? How did they find her?”
    “A prisoner tipped off a television news reporter.”
    “Possibly the killer?”
    “No, this guy’s in for arson,” Maggie said. “As far as Agent Alonzo can tell, Otis P. Dodd hasn’t killed anyone. In fact, it sounds like he’s gone out of his way to not kill. He’s in prison for setting more than thirty fires across Virginia. The last one was a retirement home and yet he managed to do it without any of the residents getting hurt.”
    “Okay. If he’s been in prison how did he know about the woman in the culvert?”
    “According to Alonzo, Otis claims he had an interesting evening throwing back a few too many drinks with a guy who confessed to murdering a woman. He told the television crew that the conversation happened before Otis got arrested and went to prison.”
    “And he was convincing enough for them to search?”
    “Sounds like they didn’t need to search too hard. Otis was able to tell them exactly where to look.”
    “Coincidence?”
    “Otis also said the guy left her in orange socks. Not exactly something he could take a wild guess at.”
    Gwen wandered back to her bedroom, snatched a robe and pulled it on, suddenly chilled.
    Great
.
    She was still nauseated and now her skin felt clammy and cold. The refrigerated water certainly didn’t help. She needed hot tea instead. Maybe with a splash of bourbon in it.
    “So Otis may have met the highway killer. Well, this is definitely something the task force needs to look at,” she told Maggie.
    “I’m glad you agree. There’s no way we’ll be able to keep the orange socks out of the news. Too