Blake Pierce - The Making of Riley Paige - 4 - Taking

by Blake Pierce

  And yet …

  She wondered whether she should voice her lingering doubts to Crivaro.

  For example—how could they be sure that David Hunter hadn’t lied when

  he’d written his next destination into the register? If he’d had any idea that

  the law might be closing in on him, would he have told the truth about that?

  But then she realized something. Even if Hunter had taken off in a

  different direction, he’d still wind up running into one of the roadblocks,

  which were placed all around Sedona by now.

  Riley let herself breathe a little easier. Yes, it really did seem as though

  their investigation was about to come to an end. Which made her wonder …

  How will it feel to look that monster in the face?

  Crivaro’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to

  Riley.

  “You answer it,” he said. “Put it on speakerphone.”

  Riley took the call, which was from Jay Faulkner, the ME they’d met a

  little while ago.

  Faulkner said to Riley and Crivaro, “I’m just starting to work on the latest

  victim’s body, and I already did what you said and checked under her

  fingernails. I also cross-checked with Paco about what he found on his

  victim. They both had cotton fibers under their nails.”

  “Fabric?” Crivaro asked hopefully.

  Faulkner said, “Uh-uh. This isn’t threads. It looks recycled—the kind

  you’d find in soundproofing insulation.”

  Riley and Crivaro exchanged knowing looks.

  Faulkner said, “Like I said, I’m just getting started, but I thought you’d

  want to know that much.”

  “We sure did,” Crivaro said. “Thanks for getting in touch. Let us know if

  you find anything else we should know about.”

  “Will do,” Faulkner said, and ended the call.

  His expression grimmer now, Crivaro drove on in silence for a few

  seconds.

  Then he said to Riley, “I guess you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

  Riley nodded and said, “Yeah, we’re probably right that he’s fixed up a

  space in his camper for his victims to die in—probably a bathroom. And he’s

  soundproofed that room so that nobody can hear the victims’ screams.”

  Crivaro shook his head. “Jesus, this is ugly stuff. Well, we can probably

  count on one thing. Whenever he gets stopped at a roadblock, the cops won’t

  have to search hard to find evidence of the murders.”

  Riley gulped hard as she realized why he was right. She imagined how the

  bathroom space was set up, possibly with soundproofing all around the

  shower or bath stall.

  And right now, that soundproofing must be gouged and spattered with the

  blood of two murdered women.

  No, the cops won’t have to look too hard for that, she thought.

  As they raced northward, Riley was amazed at how much the landscape

  was changing. No cactuses were in sight, and they soon left the red buttes and

  hills behind. They were obviously moving to a higher elevation. The highway

  was lined with tall trees—Ponderosa pines, Riley thought. She found it hard

  to believe they were still in the same state.

  After about an hour on the interstate, Crivaro’s phone buzzed again, and

  Riley put the new call on speakerphone. This time the caller was Chief

  Wilson.

  He asked, “Where are you guys right now?”

  “On the interstate heading north toward Flagstaff,” Crivaro said.

  “Have you gotten to the roadblock yet?” Wilson asked.

  “No, but we’re almost there,” Crivaro said.

  “Well, you’re in luck. The troopers there stopped the guy you’re looking

  for. The same license plate, the same kind of vehicle, and the same name—

  David Hunter. They’ll have him nice and ready and wrapped up with a bow

  on top when you get there.”

  Crivaro looked at Riley with a smile and said …

  “We’ve got him! We’ve really got him!”

  Riley hoped he was right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  They were just ending the phone call when the interstate traffic began to

  slow.

  Riley’s nerves quickened. The roadblock must be coming right up.

  She wondered …

  Is this going to be it?

  Had they caught up with the merciless killer who drained his victims of

  blood?

  It sure sounded likely, but she couldn’t quite let herself hope.

  Once again, Crivaro grumbled about not having lights and a siren, and

  they had no choice but to stay with the sluggish traffic until they reached the roadblock itself.

  Once they were there, a man wearing a tan uniform with a “Smokey” hat

  tried to wave them through with the rest of the unsuspicious vehicles. Crivaro

  stopped the RV, rolled down his window, and flashed his badge at the

  trooper.

  The trooper stepped closer to the window, looking skeptical as Crivaro

  introduced himself and Riley.

  The trooper took a step backward, appearing confused as he glanced over

  Crivaro, Riley, and their modest RV.

  “We were told a couple of FBI agents were on their way,” he said. “But

  you aren’t exactly what we expected.”

  Crivaro growled, “Well, we’re the real thing, whether we look like it not.

  You have heard of going undercover, right?”

  The trooper nodded slowly and Crivaro continued, “We’re here to see the

  guy you stopped—the one with the license plate you were told to look for.

  We need to pull on over and see what’s going on.”

  The trooper waved their RV out of the lane of sluggish traffic over to the

  shoulder of the road, where a Class A RV was parked along with several

  Arizona Highway Patrol vehicles. When Riley and Crivaro got out of their

  vehicle, Riley was startled by how chilly it was outside. They hadn’t driven

  very far north, but the weather was already markedly more brisk, and Riley

  wished she was wearing something warmer than shorts.

  She and Crivaro headed straight toward the RV. They could see activity

  inside, which looked like it was being searched already.

  A trooper wearing sergeant’s stripes seemed to be in charge of the

  operation. When he spotted the FBI agents, he stepped in front of them.

  Before he could complain that no civilians were allowed near the scene,

  Crivaro and Riley both produced their badges and introduced themselves

  again.

  A name plate above the trooper’s right hand shirt pocket revealed that his

  last name was Gray.

  He took off his hat and scratched his head.

  “Are you sure we’ve got the right guy?” he said.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Crivaro said. “Where is the driver of

  the vehicle?”

  Sergeant Gray pointed at a Highway Patrol van and said, “We’re holding

  him over there, but—”

  Crivaro interrupted, “Good. Don’t let him go anywhere. We’ll talk to him

  after we’ve had a look inside the RV ourselves.”

  Crivaro stepped around the sergeant and headed toward the RV. As Riley

  trotted behind him, she glanced back at the confused-looking trooper. He

  really seemed to doubt that they’d stopped the right guy.

  She wondered why.

  Maybe we should have sto
pped to hear what he had to say, she thought.

  But Crivaro was in too much of a hurry for that. Riley followed her

  partner into the RV, where a couple of troopers were pulling out drawers,

  throwing aside cushions, and generally taking things apart as they searched.

  Riley and Crivaro exchanged glances, and she knew they were thinking the

  same thing …

  The bathroom.

  An image flashed through Riley’s head of gouged and bloodstained

  insulation.

  But she wondered …

  Wouldn’t these troopers have found that already?

  Crivaro pulled the bathroom door open, and he and Riley both stared

  inside with shock.

  “Damn it,” Crivaro said.

  The interior was absolutely pristine.

  The space was surprisingly large, equipped with a sink, a medicine chest,

  a toilet, and a shower stall. It really didn’t look possible that anything violent had happened here at all—certainly not a brutal, bloody murder.

  She heard Crivaro’s growled curse. “Damnation.”

  As they turned and headed for the exit, Crivaro told the troopers who were

  still searching the motor home …

  “Keep at it, guys.”

  But Riley could hear a note of futility in his voice.

  She felt that herself. There was no sign a murder had ever happened here.

  How could this really be the man they were looking for?

  Riley followed Crivaro back out of the RV, where they encountered

  Sergeant Gray again.

  Sergeant Gray said, “Did you find anything?”

  Crivaro shook his head silently.

  Gray added, “I was about to say—I find it hard to believe the guy we

  pulled over is a serial killer. For one thing, he’s traveling with his son.”

  Crivaro’s eyes widened.

  “His son?” Crivaro said.

  “Yeah, a ten-year-old kid,” Gray said. “That’s him right over there.

  Trooper Harris is looking after him.”

  Riley looked where Gray pointed. Sure enough, she saw a female trooper

  watching over a small boy next to one of the patrol cars. The boy didn’t seem

  the least bit frightened, and the woman appeared to be keeping him

  entertained. Right now she was letting him play with her badge, pinning it

  onto his own shirt.

  Gray led Riley and Crivaro over to the patrol van and opened the rear

  door. He introduced them to David Hunter, who was sitting on a bench

  inside. Then Gray left Riley and Crivaro alone with him.

  Unlike his son, David Hunter appeared to be absolutely terrified.

  “Would somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” he begged.

  Riley and Crivaro both climbed into the van and sat on the opposite bench.

  Crivaro began to ask questions, but Riley could see the growing

  discouragement in her partner’s eyes.

  David Hunter told them that he was from Dallas, and he was taking his

  son on a camping tour of the Southwestern states. David’s wife was at home,

  and she expected the two of them to be back in time for Christmas.

  Hunter readily admitted that he and his son had, in fact, stayed at both the

  Wren’s Nest Campground and the Spring View Campground. But he claimed to know nothing about the murders except what he’d heard on the radio. He

  denied having met either Brett Parma or Shelby Eden. They were on their

  way to take a look at the Grand Canyon from the South Rim, and then they’d

  head back home.

  Riley believed him.

  And she could tell by Crivaro’s downcast eyes that he believed him too.

  Once he’d finished asking questions, Crivaro awkwardly apologized to

  Hunter for their unfortunate mistake. They left the unlucky man sitting

  dumbfounded in the back of the van. Crivaro then instructed Sergeant Gray to

  let Hunter go.

  Riley watched as Hunter climbed out of the patrol van. For a moment he

  just stood there gazing around, obviously still in a state of confusion.

  Then the man’s son came running toward him.

  “Daddy!” the boy cried. “Can we go to the Grand Canyon now?”

  Hunter pulled himself together. Without another glance at the Highway

  Patrol and FBI agents standing there, he hurried his boy back to their camper.

  Riley knew what that camper looked like inside now because of the hasty

  search by highway patrolmen looking for signs of murder. She half-expected

  Hunter to pop right back out again and complain. But he simply closed the

  camper door and drove away. He was apparently too grateful for the chance

  to get all this behind him.

  Crivaro asked Sergeant Gray, “How many other Class A RVs have you

  stopped here at this roadblock?”

  “Just five,” Sergeant Gray said.

  “What kinds of people were in them?” Crivaro asked.

  “What you’d expect, mostly. Couples and families out traveling together.”

  Crivaro inhaled sharply, then asked, “Any guys traveling alone?”

  Sergeant Gray squinted and said, “Now that you mention it, there was one

  —the last one we pulled over before this one, in fact. I checked him out

  myself. A pleasant guy, really. Mentioned that he was on his way north to

  Bryce Canyon, and that he’d be staying in the Crayfish Creek Campground

  along the way.”

  “Did you take down his license plate number?” Crivaro asked.

  Gray blushed a little and said, “Well, no. Right while I was talking to him,

  Chief Wilson called in a with a license number for us to watch out for. So I

  just let the guy drive on through, didn’t think anything more about him.”

  Riley sensed that Crivaro was struggling to keep his impatience in check.

  She figured maybe she should chime in herself.

  “What kind of RV was it?” she asked.

  Gray scratched his chin and said, “Nothing unusual. Just a really big white

  Winnebago, recent make, I think. You know, the kind with the wraparound

  windshield. You see them all over the place in these parts. This one had a red

  stripe along the side, if I remember right.”

  Crivaro asked, “Did you search inside all the RVs?”

  Gray shrugged and said, “Not as thoroughly as we did Hunter’s outfit. But

  yeah, we looked through them.”

  “What about the lone driver’s vehicle?” Crivaro asked. “Did it look clean?

  Especially the bathroom?”

  “Clean as a whistle,” Gray said.

  Crivaro murmured almost inaudibly, “Then it wasn’t him.”

  He looked down at the ground and shook his head.

  Then he said to Sergeant Gray, “Take down this roadblock. Get your

  people out of here. Before you do, call Chief Wilson and tell him send out

  word to all the troopers to get rid of all the roadblocks we’ve got around

  Sedona.”

  Gray looked startled by the finality of Crivaro’s decision.

  Riley, too, felt unsettled.

  She couldn’t remember Crivaro ever sounding so defeated.

  Then Crivaro muttered to Riley, “Come on, let’s get back to the car.”

  “Where are we going next?” Riley asked as she walked alongside of him.

  Crivaro darted a sharp look at her and snapped bitterly …

  “Well, that’s a damned good question, isn’t it? Where are we going next,

  and what are we going to do next? Anyway, you were right about the

  roadblocks. The
killer was probably long gone from the whole area before we

  set them up. All we succeeded in doing was letting him know we’re looking

  for his kind of RV. I’ll bet he’s dumped the one he had and is driving

  something new right now. So I was wrong, and you were right. Does that

  make you happy?”

  Riley was stunned.

  “No, it doesn’t make me happy,” she said in a shaky voice as they kept on

  toward the car. “I always want us to be right—both of us. We’re a team,

  aren’t we? Why are you talking to me that way? Why are you mad at me?

  What did I do wrong?”

  Crivaro let out a long, discouraged sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Riley,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. That was way out of

  line.”

  They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence and got inside.

  Crivaro put the key in the ignition, but didn’t bother to start the engine. He

  just sat there staring at the keychain hanging there.

  Then he said in a hushed voice, “What are we going to do, Riley?”

  “Huh?” Riley said with surprise.

  Crivaro looked into her eyes with an earnest, pleading expression.

  “I said, what are we going to do? I’ve got no ideas, kid. I’m stumped. It’s

  up to you. You’ve got to come up with something.”

  Riley could hardly believe her ears.

  He wants my advice, she thought.

  He needs my advice.

  But what on earth was she going to tell him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Jake Crivaro sat gazing at his young partner. He knew he was repeating

  himself when he asked her again …

  “What are we going to do?”

  He had no answer to the question, and apparently Riley didn’t either.

  Instead of replying, she just stared at him with a stricken expression. Jake

  couldn’t help but turn away. The words he’d just said to her had been

  remarkably stupid.

  “I was wrong, and you were right. Does that make you happy?”

  Now he could feel his whole body cringe.

  That really was out of line, he thought.

  Worse than out of line.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  But the truth was, Jake knew perfectly well what was wrong.

  He was feeling discouraged. No, more than discouraged.

  He was feeling positively burnt out.

  And of course, he’d been feeling that for some time now.