Waiting (The Making of Riley Paige—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  Then McCune stepped into the kitchen, the only room he hadn’t checked yet. Right there on the Formica table, he saw five rubber masks, the kind that pulled all the way over the head. McCune recognized the faces from Universal monster movies—the Mummy, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Karloff’s Frankenstein monster, Lugosi’s Dracula, and the Wolf Man.

  Casal had definitely been telling the truth about Wertz stealing.

  And now McCune had no reason to doubt that Casal was also telling the truth about Wertz’s confrontation with one of the murder victims.

  We’ve caught our guy, he thought with satisfaction.

  Meanwhile, he knew better than to even touch the masks.

  He walked back into the living room, where Wertz was now safely cuffed and kneeling.

  McCune said to Crivaro, “You’d better have a look in the kitchen.” He drew his own weapon.

  Crivaro nodded and went to check that out.

  McCune stood guard over Wertz until Crivaro came back and said, “We’d better get a forensics team over here to conduct a proper search. We won’t have any trouble getting a warrant at this point.”

  As McCune holstered his weapon, he noticed the prisoner’s dark scowl.

  “Let’s get this guy to headquarters,” he said.

  *

  Riley was still waiting impatiently in the car when she saw Crivaro and McCune emerge from the apartment building. They were escorting a handcuffed man wearing dreadlocks.

  That must be Wertz, she realized.

  The man looked muscular and dangerous and angry.

  Surprised, Riley got out of the car. She remembered Crivaro saying they didn’t have enough evidence to arrest this man. But they were obviously doing exactly that.

  Crivaro glanced over at her with a scowl and snapped …

  “Get back in the car.”

  At that moment, the prisoner slammed to one side, knocking McCune off balance. He reached both hands toward Crivaro’s holstered gun.

  But Crivaro was too fast. He grabbed the attacker’s hands and threw him to the ground.

  Then both agents had their guns out. Their prisoner got slowly to his feet, looking like the fight had been knocked out of him.

  Riley was glad it was all over so quickly.

  She realized that her own impulse had been to rush forward to stop the man, and she knew that had been a bad idea.

  Her father had given her a single lesson in the ultra-aggressive Israeli fighting system Krav Maga during recent months, and she’d used it to fend off a male attacker. Otherwise, she’d had very little self-defense training. Besides, she was pregnant. Again she wondered …

  Maybe I shouldn’t be doing fieldwork at all.

  She got back into Jake’s car and waited while the two agents put Wertz into McCune’s vehicle, which she could see was equipped with a prisoner partition. They cuffed him in place.

  Riley wondered if Crivaro would have allowed her anywhere near this situation if he knew she was pregnant. She felt a little guilty for never telling him about that.

  But she remembered what Crivaro had said to her just yesterday about what the other interns would be doing …

  “… learning how to use filing cabinets and paper clips …”

  Of course Crivaro had been making the usual intern activities sound a lot more boring than they really were. Surely there were plenty of exciting things to learn about crime data, lab work, forensics, and such. But just this morning, Riley had gotten a taste of what it might be like to work on a murder case.

  When the suspect was secured in McCune’s vehicle, Crivaro came over and got into the driver’s seat beside Riley, giving her a stern and silent look.

  As he started driving away, Crivaro tersely described what had just happened—that Gregory Wertz had greeted them with a weapon, and they had found a stash of masks apparently stolen from Costume Romp.

  “Masks?” Riley asked.

  “Yep. Five monster masks, like for Halloween.”

  “What do you suppose he wanted them for?” Riley asked.

  “Beats me,” Crivaro said. “But we’ve got him on possession of stolen goods, threatening two law enforcement officers with a deadly weapon, and resisting arrest. That’s plenty to bring him in on. I’ve already called in a request for a warrant to search his apartment, and we’ll get a forensics team there in just a little while. Meanwhile, we’ll have to see what he has to say for himself under questioning. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll give us a confession.”

  Riley was excited by the thought of an interrogation.

  She said, “Agent Crivaro, can I—”

  Crivaro interrupted, “Participate in questioning the guy? Not a chance. But you can stand outside the interrogation room and watch and listen. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  Riley was pleased. She really hadn’t intended to ask for more than that.

  They said little else during the rest of the drive to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Just as Crivaro was pulling into a space in the parking garage, his phone rang.

  He answered the phone as he and Riley got out of the car and walked toward McCune, who was leading the now docile handcuffed suspect toward an entrance into the building.

  Crivaro stopped in his tracks as he talked, and so did Riley. Crivaro sounded annoyed with whoever he was talking to.

  “You’re kidding,” he said. “Forget about it. I don’t have time for it. Neither does McCune. And he interviewed the guy already. Can’t you just tell him to go away? Uh, nicely?”

  Crivaro scratched his head and listened for a moment.

  Finally he said, “OK. I guess we’ll manage it somehow.”

  He stared after McCune and the suspect, who were already passing through the door into the building.

  Crivaro turned back to Riley.

  “I’ve got a little job for you.” he said.

  “Me?” Riley said with surprise.

  “Yes, I need you to take care of something.”

  Riley felt her excitement building.

  Crivaro continued, “Janet Davis’s husband just showed up here. He wants answers about what happened to his wife. McCune already visited him this morning, but neither of us can talk to him right now—we need to get right to work questioning this suspect. I need for you to take care of the husband.”

  “The husband of the … the victim? The victim we just saw this morning?”

  “Yeah. He’s down at the security gate in the front lobby. You can meet him there.”

  Riley’s head buzzed with confusion.

  “But what do I tell him? Who do I say I am?”

  Crivaro shrugged.

  “Tell him the truth, that you’re an intern shadowing two agents who are working on the case. Otherwise, tell him as little as you can. You can tell him we’ve got a suspect in custody, but don’t go into any details—and I mean no details at all. Whatever you do, don’t get his hopes up. Tell him …”

  Crivaro paused, then said, “Just tell him we’ll get back to him as soon as we know more. Tell him … well, just try to get him go home and wait.”

  Crivaro let out a growl and added …

  “I hate it when this happens. Such a goddamn distraction, a real waste of time. We’ve got to focus on catching the killer. On keeping anybody else from getting killed. Just take care of it with as little fuss as possible, OK? Show some compassion, but don’t get carried away. It’s really pretty simple. Do you think you can handle it?”

  Riley nodded slowly.

  “Great,” Crivaro said. “His name’s Gary, by the way. Gary Davis.”

  Crivaro walked away without another word.

  Riley stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

  She thought about what Crivaro had said …

  “Such a goddamn distraction, a real waste of time.”

  Riley felt a twinge of resentment as she understood …

  He just stuck me with a job he didn’t want to do.

  Meanw
hile, Crivaro and McCune were going to be interrogating the suspect, and Riley would miss all of it.

  But she swallowed down her irritation as she walked into the building and headed toward an elevator.

  After all, what did she expect? As an intern, she was going to get stuck with unenviable tasks a lot of the time.

  She took the elevator to the vast lobby and headed toward the security gate. She briefly wondered who she should ask to help her find Gary Davis.

  But she quickly saw a young man with an unmistakably anguished expression, anxiously pacing back and forth.

  Her heart jumped up in her throat as she realized …

  That’s him.

  And the task she’d been given was going to be a lot harder than she’d expected.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Riley’s anxiety mounted as she walked toward the husband of the murdered woman.

  She stepped out through the security gate to join him, reminding herself of Crivaro’s instruction …

  “Show some compassion, but don’t get carried away.”

  How was she going to manage that?

  She asked him, “Are you Gary Davis?”

  The man turned toward her and nodded.

  She began, “I’m Riley Sweeney, and I’m …”

  She gulped as she realized …

  The last thing he wants to hear is that I’m a summer intern.

  Instead she said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The man looked confused now.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “It’s been driving me crazy, not knowing what’s going on. Please tell me something.”

  Riley took a deep breath, trying to settle her own nerves.

  Then she said, “The lead detective told me to come here and tell you—that they’ve got a suspect in custody.”

  Gary Davis’s eyes widened.

  “Who is he?” he said with a gasp. “How did they find him?”

  Riley’s heart jumped up in her throat.

  She thought something else Crivaro had said …

  “Don’t go into any details—and I mean no details at all.”

  But how could she help it?

  How could she not tell this grieving, desperate man what little she knew?

  She sternly told herself …

  Orders are orders.

  She took a slow breath and said …

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Davis looked completely aghast now.

  “Why on earth not?” he asked.

  Riley stammered, “I’m just … I’m not at liberty right now. But I promise …”

  She stopped short in mid-sentence, wondering …

  Promise him what?

  She said the only thing she could think of saying …

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  Riley said, “Special Agent Mark McCune—the agent who came to see you earlier. And Special Agent Jake Crivaro. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

  “And you?” Davis asked.

  Riley gulped hard.

  “I’m Riley Sweeney. I’m a summer intern and I’m working on this case.”

  Davis’s look of frustration gave way to one of pure disbelief.

  “An intern? I can’t believe this. This isn’t right. I demand to talk to one of the real agents. Right now. Right this minute.”

  “That’s not possible,” Riley said, surprised by the sudden stern firmness in her voice. “Agents McCune and Crivaro are both interrogating the suspect. Please believe me when I say we’re all doing everything we can. And we’ll let you know when we know anything—anything at all.”

  Riley hoped she was telling him the truth. But she really had no idea what to tell him to expect.

  The anger and frustration faded from Davis’s face, replaced by a look of terrible sadness.

  “It’s no use,” he said, choking back a sob. “None of this matters. None of it is going to bring Janet back.”

  He turned slowly and started to walk away.

  Riley knew she ought to feel relieved that her awful little task was done. Instead, questions swelled her mind.

  She said, “Mr. Davis, wait a minute.”

  Davis turned and looked at her.

  Riley said, “We understand that your wife took some pictures at a costume shop. She went there for a couple of days. But the owner says she was upset the last time she left. Did she happen to mention to you why?”

  Davis squinted with thought.

  “I think maybe so,” he said. “Yes, a clerk there was rude to her. Actually, I think he kind of came on to her. She said she wasn’t going back there again. But …”

  Riley held her breath.

  But what?

  Davis shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t say she was especially upset about it—at least not by the time she got home. Really, she pretty much laughed it off. She was a very attractive woman. Things like that happened to her a lot, I’m sorry to say. She learned not to let it get to her. Why do you ask?”

  Riley hesitated.

  Should she tell him that the man who had offended her was the same man they now had in custody?

  No details, she reminded herself. She’d probably said and asked too much already.

  “Just trying to be thorough,” she said, immediately realizing what a lame thing it was to say.

  Without another word, Davis turned and walked out of the building.

  Riley felt a surge of relief that the conversation was over. But she stood there for a moment, filled with vague uncertainties as she replayed his words about the incident between Janet and Gregory Wertz …

  “I wouldn’t say she was especially upset about it.”

  “Really, she pretty much laughed it off.”

  Riley wondered why those words were nagging at her.

  Was it odd that Janet had “laughed off” a crude advance like that?

  Maybe not, Riley thought.

  After all, how could she have known that the man was going to kill her?

  Still, something about what Davis had just said somehow troubled Riley.

  But she couldn’t figure out why. And anyway, it hardly seemed to matter right now. She remembered Crivaro telling her she could watch and listen to the interrogation. It must still be going on, but where?

  She had no idea where in this vast building the interrogation might be taking place.

  Riley sighed aloud with irritation. Again, she had the feeling that Crivaro had dumped her just to keep her away from really important matters.

  But she wasn’t going to let that happen—not if she could help it. She took out her cell phone and called Crivaro’s number. She sighed again when she got his outgoing answering machine. At the sound of the beep, she said …

  “Agent Crivaro, this is Riley. I’m done talking with the husband.”

  She paused for a moment, then said, “Where are you? What should I do now?”

  She ended the call and paced nervously, wondering how long it would be before Crivaro called her back.

  Long after the interrogation was over, maybe?

  Or maybe even not at all?

  Riley certainly felt unimportant and left out at the moment. Maybe it had completely slipped Crivaro’s mind that there even was a summer intern who was supposed to be shadowing him right now.

  Maybe the whole case would be solved while she was standing around waiting.

  If so, why should she even bother waiting?

  Maybe I should just catch the metro and go home, she thought, feeling thoroughly indecisive.

  Then Riley realized that she was really hungry. She hadn’t had anything to eat since she’d left her apartment that morning. Still grumbling to herself, she bought a package of crackers from a vending machine there in the lobby.

  As soon as she started to open them, her phone buzzed. When she answered, she heard Crivaro’s gruff voice.

  “Third floor. Room 17B.”

  The ca
ll ended with an abrupt click. Riley stared at the phone for a moment. Crivaro certainly hadn’t sounded the least bit welcoming, but at least he had told her where to go. She tucked the crackers in her purse, then went through the security gate again and took the elevator up to the third floor. She found the door she was looking for and knocked.

  Crivaro opened the door, looking momentarily surprised to see her.

  Then he said, “Oh, yeah. Riley. Come on in.”

  Riley joined Crivaro in a small room with a large pane of glass on one wall. Riley quickly realized the glass was a two-way mirror …

  An interrogation room.

  She’d stood looking through a mirror like this once before, back in Lanton.

  Inside she saw Gregory Wertz, who was sitting handcuffed to a heavy gray table. Agent McCune was pacing silently back and forth in front of him.

  Riley asked Crivaro quietly, “What’s going on?”

  “Not much,” Crivaro growled, crossing his arms. “Wertz wants to lawyer up, of course. A public defender is on his way here right now. Meanwhile, Wertz isn’t saying a whole lot. We’re not likely to get a damn thing out of him.”

  Riley heard McCune’s voice crackle over a speaker.

  “What did you say to upset the woman?”

  Wertz rolled his whole head and said, “What woman?”

  McCune leaned across the table impatiently.

  “The woman I keep asking about. Janet Davis. The woman who came into Costume Romp to take pictures. The woman who left because of something you said to her. The woman who showed up dead yesterday morning. Just like Margo Birch wound up dead on Saturday.”

  Wertz said, “I don’t remember either of those names.”

  McCune stood staring at the suspect for a long moment. Finally he said, “What about the masks?”

  “What masks?” Wertz said.

  “The masks in your kitchen.”

  “I don’t remember any masks.”

  McCune leaned closer and said, “I’m talking about the masks you stole from Costume Romp.”

  “I didn’t steal any masks from anybody.”

  It was a lie, of course. Riley could see it in the man’s face.

  But something else was tugging at her consciousness—something about the masks.