A Desperate Place

by Jennifer Greer

  “I appreciate that.”

  Whit added, “You can trade some vital piece of the puzzle that I don’t have.”

  “That’s only fair,” Riggs nodded.

  They began their jog back down the mountain, the air laden with heat. They paced themselves during their descent on the Ponderosa Trail, careful of loose gravel, each lost in their own thoughts.

  As they neared their cars parked at the base of the road, Riggs said, “Just be careful, Whit.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Whit reassured her.

  Riggs persisted. “Keep in mind, desperate people do desperate things.”

  Whit leaned against her car, catching her breath, and nodded. “You’re not the only one with a license to carry.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  “IT’S A PROVERBIAL madhouse down in the lobby!” George pulled up a chair at Whit’s desk.

  She asked, “How did the morning interviews go?”

  Whit had arranged for George to take her place in the media spotlight while she met with Riggs. Today she had dressed casually in pale-blue capri pants and a white blouse. No fancy interviews today if she could help it.

  “Excellent, if I do say so myself. I’m still somewhat alarmed that Stu is going to be enraged, spitting and snarling like a bad-tempered Chihuahua.”

  Whit laughed. “Perfect image. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine after I file my interview with Celeste Cordero.”

  “Do write lean and sharp prose. Your finesse might appease him.”

  “What’d you find out so far this morning?”

  “Well, the receptionist at Cordero Realty was quite chatty. She said Cordero always carries this elaborate thank-you basket to the close of her high-end sales. Did I hear referral, referral, referral? I didn’t grow up in the midst of elite entrepreneurs without learning that basic tidbit.”

  “Of course,” Whit said dryly.

  “Anyway, these baskets are like the Cordero signature dish, if you will. She makes a personal trip to Harry and David Country Store, where she has a clerk design a shrink-wrapped basket full of her client’s favorite things. Like wine and cheese, crystal glasses, fruits, little delectables. Sometimes she throws in one of those famous spiral hams.”

  Whit gave him the evil eye, and he hurried to a close. “Okay. Here’s the coup de grace. My dear esteemed colleague, I bet you can’t guess what items of import are in these elaborate baskets?”

  “What?”

  “An Eden Retreat spa package and a meet-and-greet with the big cheese … Dr. Heinemann.”

  Whit’s brows rose at that. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave …”

  “When first we practice to deceive.”

  “Sir Walter Scott.”

  “I’m impressed,” he teased, as he popped one of his French mints into his mouth. “I presumed you were the hard-boiled news type.”

  Whit chugged the last of her Pepsi and tossed the can in the recycle bin. “Actually, I have a master’s in English, my dear boy; that’s how I write such captivating prose.”

  “Who knew?”

  “I try not to let on that I’m the literary sort. I also have the mind of a crime writer, so it occurred to me that Cordero could be avoiding the law because she’s duplicit in this whole murderous scheme. Dr. Frankenstein’s partner, perhaps. She could be enticing me into the wilderness so she can murder me. Bury my body in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Do you have to be so graphic?”

  Whit laughed, somewhat enjoying ruffling his newbie feathers. “That’s what good storytellers do.”

  George looked horrified. “I think you should take me with you.”

  “I can’t. She won’t talk if you’re there. I shouldn’t have even told you about her, but since you were so good at keeping my police source to yourself and you’re my writing partner, I figured you should know.” She leaned back, pondering the situation. “I’ll text you as soon as I get there. Then you text me every fifteen minutes. If I don’t respond right away, then you have my permission to call the police.”

  George shook his head. “It won’t do any good to call the police if you’re already dead. I’m going with.”

  “No. George, you can’t. Celeste specifically asked me to keep this private. Besides, you’re the only person that knows I’m meeting with her and where. I need you here as backup. Just in case.”

  “You’re frightening me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got my gun.”

  Stu barked out her name from the doorway of his office. Glancing at the clock, she decided this might be a good exit strategy. She grabbed her purse. The door was open, so she walked right in.

  “Come in. Come in.” Stu waved her to a chair in front of his desk. “Shut the door.”

  Whit closed the door and sat down.

  “Got some buzz on the scanner. Something’s going down at Eden Retreat. Not sure what. Instead of taking Highway 140 to the interview, take Dead Indian Memorial and stop in at Eden. Find out what’s going on.”

  “Sure. I’ll leave now, then.”

  He didn’t know that George wasn’t going to the interview or who she was interviewing. She planned to keep it that way. He’d probably insist and might ruin her chances of getting Celeste to talk. She nodded, but kept her mouth shut.

  “On a side note. Since you and George scheduled this interview, I sent Renee Perkins to cover the press conference over at South Gym. We won’t learn anything new there, most likely, but we need to cover our bases. Listen.” He stood and started to pace, slurping from his coffee cup. He had at least gotten some rest and showered, because his clothes were new and his wispy hair had that flyaway thing going on instead of being plastered to his head. “You’ve done a great job on the Frankenstein story. Star reporting. But now we’ve got every wacko out there hounding us. And the police too, for that matter. It’s kinda at a point where I feel responsible for your safety.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your stories have created a frenzy in the public. They … the public, want blood. Dr. Frankenstein’s blood. There’s more than a few doctors out there afraid for their lives. They’re getting threats. The police are afraid some nutjob might lynch an innocent doctor.” He set his cup down on the desk and picked up his pacing. “Dr. Frankenstein didn’t just kill three people. He killed three very prominent people. One of which was a Hollywood darling. The media is eating it up. The world’s biased that way. My point.” He paused at his desk, facing Whit. “I mean, that you’re the point man on this one. You’re out there gathering the facts, workin’ the story. Possibly closing in on him. The thing is, he knows that too. Journalists have been killed for less. You know that firsthand.”

  His reference to Afghanistan was not helpful. Of course she understood the risks. Hadn’t she lived it? “What exactly are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Dr. Frankenstein could feel cornered. Watch your back.”

  She recalled the threatening presence at Eden Retreat the night before and Dr. Heinemann’s strange behavior. “Don’t worry. I’ll take precautions.”

  Stu glanced down, uncomfortable. “That’s all I’m sayin’. Keep a sharp eye.”

  Touched by his concern, she decided to put an end to his suffering and stood up to leave.

  “Thanks, Stu. Don’t worry. I’m armed and dangerous.”

  “Good. Keep me informed. You and George use the buddy system.”

  Sure thing, Stu.

  CHAPTER

  29

  KIDS WAILED AND grown men shouted abuse at each other while Mayor Ostrander tested the microphone; its shrill whine momentarily quieted the place down. A disheveled, sweaty stream of vagabond citizens continued to file into the air-conditioned South Medford High School gym. With the heat at a dangerous 104 degrees outside, Riggs was surprised by the turnout. The two-thousand-capacity seating was challenged. This was a community up in arms with unreasonable fears of monster tumors and killers on the loose.

  Riggs had overheard
numerous conspiracy theories. She and Blackwell had gotten a kick out of the ridiculous imaginings: Terrorists had poured chemicals in the drinking water. The government was secretly using Medford as a test site for cancer cures. The growths were the result of radioactive fallout from a hushed-up nuclear accident. Her favorite had her laughing out loud: aliens had invaded and implanted their fetuses, and the government had assigned a secret assassin team. She couldn’t wait to share that one with Whit.

  Her gaze swept the crowd at the door. The cacophony of voices and speaker checks drowned out her yell to Dr. Kessler, who stood in the doorway. She hustled toward him. It was strange to see him without his requisite lab coat. She’d called earlier and made sure he was available to speak to the crowd, as Blackwell insisted. At least his appearance was professional: light-gray slacks, crisp white dress shirt, and dark-gray tie. She hoped the presence of a bona fide pathologist to explain the teratomas might calm some of the irrational fears.

  “Thanks for coming, Dr. Kessler. We’re sitting over here.”

  His sharp blue gaze traveled the stadium seating. “Quite the turnout!”

  “Yes. It is.”

  She led him around a group of television and print reporters gathered together on the polished gymnasium floor to a row of chairs in the center of the gym, where a microphone and podium had been set up. Above, on the mezzanine level, bystanders crowded near the new banner, consisting of large block letters in royal blue: HOME OF THE PANTHERS. The school gym had recently been painted, so instead of the pungent scent of teenage sweat, it smelled of fresh paint.

  Blackwell motioned to Mayor Ostrander, and he nodded and approached the microphone.

  “Quiet down. Quiet down.” Ostrander repeated himself several more times before the crowd responded. “We are here to help the citizens of Medford understand this very complex case. We believe if you know the proper chronology of the investigation, we can put your fears to rest. Now, of course, we cannot share every detail of the case, but enough to alleviate any undue fears. Lieutenant Sergeant Blackwell and Special Agent Rasmussen with the FBI are going to run through the case with you, and then medical examiner detective Katie Riggs and Dr. Kessler, a pathologist, will help enlighten all of us regarding the complicated science involved in this case. At the end, police chief Tom Holbrooks will take questions. If you’ll all remain quiet and calm, we can proceed.”

  All things considered, Riggs thought the proceedings went fairly well, with only an occasional interruption. Sleep deprived, she felt fatigue settle in as she waited her turn to speak. Evelyn Zagorski from the crime lab in Central Point had sent a text saying she had some potential DNA evidence from the Niki Francis burial site that she’d run through CODIS, but with no match. Riggs wanted to take a look at it anyway. On the way to the crime lab, she’d stop at All’s Natural and get a green smoothie with a blueberry kicker.

  When Blackwell informed the crowd that MADIU was in the process of interrogating a person of interest, a collective sigh came from the bleachers. They would not release his name to the public until they had enough evidence to arrest him. The circumstantial evidence against Dr. Heinemann was certainly overwhelming, but they were following policy to the letter and shared none of that with the public. Blackwell cautioned that the investigation was still ongoing.

  Using a whiteboard, which was projected onto a giant screen, Detective Blackwell detailed all the steps that the combined task force was taking. He methodically, in his slow drawl, explained the procedures set in place for the protection of the community.

  Eventually, Riggs was introduced.

  She planned to keep her presentation short and sweet. After sharing some of the details of the autopsy and the discovery of the teratomas, she went through the chronology of each event before finally passing off the mic to Dr. Kessler.

  With a quick wave to Blackwell, Riggs ditched the gym and headed back to the sheriff’s office so she could see how Panetta’s interrogation was going with Dr. Heinemann. When she arrived at the sheriff’s station, she found Tucker standing in the hall, watching a monitor outside the interrogation room. On the screen she could see Panetta sitting across a small table from Dr. Heinemann, who wore white linen and a loose-fitting black-and-white short-sleeved shirt. He’d make a great poster boy for the Caribbean. His curly dark hair had that windswept, casually cool look as he half lounged in his chair. Not a good sign.

  “How’s it going?” Riggs asked.

  “Blackwell is on his way over, but he’s probably wasting his time.” Tucker made a sour face. “We ain’t got shit.”

  “So he’s not talking?”

  “Oh, no. The guy jabbers like a parakeet on crack. Just none of his squawking is worth anything.” He spread his feet apart and crossed his arms, biceps bulging. “I told Panetta to cut the feed to the monitor and let me have at him.”

  Riggs chose to ignore that. “How long has Panetta been in there with him?”

  “About thirty minutes. Burns just left with a dozen squad cars and the cadaver dogs to search Eden Retreat.”

  “Why did it take so long?”

  “Couldn’t find a judge for the warrant. Everyone’s out playing. It’s a holiday weekend, remember?”

  She had forgotten. She hit the button on the monitor to turn up the sound. Heinemann was saying something about the joy of living with a clean conscience, free from guilt and fear of the law. His past was a lesson learned … blah, blah, blah. Tucker was right. He was a windbag. And worse, a psychiatrist. Panetta’s training with the FBI might trip him up. But they were probably looking at hours and hours of interrogation.

  “Well,” she sighed. “Maybe our search at Eden will turn up something.”

  “Yeah. I can’t watch this bullshit anymore.” He ran a harassed hand through his crew cut. “I’m gonna go help Burns pilfer this scumbag’s property.”

  She watched Tucker stride down the hall, not exactly sorry to see him go. If the team didn’t come up with something concrete, they would have to release Heinemann and put a tail on him, which of course he would be fully aware of. She had hoped Whit’s story might unearth a victim who could identify Heinemann. They would need it if Cordero didn’t pan out. The story had generated an avalanche of calls, more than they could handle, and created an impossible mess to sort out. Now they had more “victims” than they could count. Most were loonies that jammed the system, because precious time had to be wasted checking out each lead.

  Heinemann might respond differently to a woman. She opened the door to the interrogation room and popped her head in. “Hey, Panetta. Need a break?”

  “Actually, I’m feeling parched.” He stood up and indicated that she should take his chair. “Dr. Heinemann, this is Detective Riggs. She assisted with the autopsies of our three victims.”

  The good doctor’s demeanor changed dramatically; he straightened and smiled, holding out his hand politely. She shook it, and found it warm and soft with just the right amount of pressure.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “I’m trying to explain to Detective Panetta that he has the wrong man. We are all aware of my past mishaps with the law, but I’m a reformed man. I’m cooperating in every way. However, in my own interests, I did call my attorney. But in the meantime, ask any question you like.”

  Riggs glanced at Panetta, who shrugged. They both knew that unless they found something damning at Eden, or unless a legitimate witness or victim stepped forward, they were just fishing.

  Panetta quietly left the room, allowing Riggs to gain authority over the space.

  Her technique during interrogations had always been to find common ground. It was amazing what people confided when they felt a shared empathy.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” she said. “You’ve managed to quite successfully redesign your image at Eden. That’s not an easy thing to do with a criminal history.”

  “I’ll probably sue the Chronicle for linking my retreat to these heinous murders.” He smiled pleasantly. “I’m a respected memb
er of this community.”

  Riggs nodded. “It’s a shame that your reputation is being tarnished by the public nature of this case. Is there anything you can tell us that might help? You know, get the spotlight off of you?”

  He flashed an appreciative smile. “Nice empathetic approach to gain my confidence. Detective Panetta worked the angle of my interest in science and my legitimate desire to help humanity. It appears the law enforcement community has evolved since my last encounter. Oh, except for Detective Tucker. He’s a classic Neanderthal, brute force type.” He glanced at the door. “I’d appreciate it if you kept him at bay until my attorney arrives.”

  Riggs changed tactics. “All right. You see through us. What if we ask you for help? With your background in medicine and psychiatry and your previous interest in diseases of aging, you could be a real asset to this case.”

  “As a consultant?” Heinemann found this idea intriguing. “I’ll play. At least until my attorney arrives. I think she’d counsel against it.”

  “If.” Riggs leaned forward and pulled out her notepad from her back pocket, hoping to convey an air of respect for his psychiatric skills. The corners of his eyes crinkled, amused. “If you were putting together a profile on this killer, how would you describe him? What motivates him?”

  “I’ve read the newspapers, watched the news, like everyone else. But there are things I don’t know.” He folded his hands primly together on the table. “What have you learned about the manner of death?”

  Heinemann was no fool. If she wasn’t careful, he’d know every detail of the investigation, making it impossible to outwit him. “We don’t actually know. As you’ve heard in the news, we’re waiting for toxicology.”

  “You must have some suspicions?” he pressed.

  “Not really.” She thought it best to redirect the conversation. “So can you help us with motivation?”

  With an air of deep thought, he leaned back, drumming his fingers together slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. “This is a deeply psychotic man, but he is not delusional. He is displaying the typical pattern of a sociopath: a pervasive disregard for others, willing to violate them without remorse. He is aware of his lack of empathy. He is cunning and can be ruthless, clearly, but may have adapted a charming personality to conceal his true character. Each victim was no doubt lured into his trap with his charisma, a tool he uses to manipulate, to seduce.”