by Blake Pierce
She remembered Crivaro mentioning them during the drive here …
“Five monster masks, like for Halloween.”
What did those masks have to do with the murders of two women?
McCune said to Wertz, “Mr. Casal said you were stealing from his store.”
“Casal’s a lying bastard,” Wertz said. “I didn’t steal anything. I bought the masks from him at an employee discount.”
“OK, then,” McCune said. “Why did you want those masks, anyway?”
Wertz only shrugged.
Riley felt a strange, unexpected tingle all over.
She wasn’t sure what that feeling meant, but she turned to Crivaro and said …
“That’s the wrong question.”
Crivaro looked at her. “Huh?”
“Agent McCune asked why Wertz wanted the masks. It’s the wrong question.”
Crivaro held Riley’s gaze.
“What do you mean, it’s the wrong question?” he asked.
Riley felt briefly intimidated by Crivaro sharp tone of voice.
And the truth was, she really wasn’t at all sure what she meant.
Still, that tingling persisted.
She said, “He’s not going to answer that. McCune should ask him—who the masks are for.”
Crivaro squinted hard at her.
Does he think I’m crazy?
She wasn’t sure she could blame him if he did. She couldn’t think of a single rational reason for what she’d just said—just an irresistible gut feeling.
Then Crivaro spoke into an intercom connected with the interrogation room.
“McCune, I want a word with you.”
McCune turned toward the mirror, looking a little displeased by the interruption. Then he exited the room and came out into the booth.
“What?” he asked Crivaro.
Crivaro stared through the window at Wertz for a moment. Wertz was leaning back in his chair, looking unfazed and sure of himself.
Finally Crivaro said to McCune …
“Go in there and ask him who the masks were for.”
“Why?” McCune asked.
Crivaro grunted slightly, then said …
“Just humor me.”
McCune glanced at Riley suspiciously, as if he’d guessed that this was her idea. Then he shrugged and went back into the interrogation room. He stood square in front of the table and asked Wertz …
“Who did you steal the masks for?”
Wertz’s eyes widened and he sat bolt upright, looking very anxious.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Riley felt a slight thrill as she watched Wertz closely.
I’ve stumbled onto something, she thought.
She wished she had some idea of what it might be.
“Huh?” Wertz asked.
“You heard me,” McCune said. “Who were the masks for?”
Just moments ago, Wertz had seemed calm and self-confident. Now he suddenly looked very anxious.
“When’s my lawyer going to get here?” he said.
“Soon,” McCune said. “Meanwhile, what’s the harm of talking to me? I mean, if you’ve got nothing to hide?”
Wertz shook his head nervously.
“No way,” he said. “I don’t have anything else to say to you. Not one word.”
Wertz turned his head away from McCune, keeping completely silent as McCune repeated the question over and over again. The suspect was obviously upset and defensive.
Riley studied Crivaro’s reactions as he watched and listened. His mouth hung slightly open, and he seemed fascinated by what was happening—or perhaps by what wasn’t happening.
Suddenly, the door to the small room opened, and a short, hunched-over man carrying a briefcase charged in from the hall.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
Before Crivaro could say a word, the man looked through the two-way mirror and saw what was happening in the interrogation room.
He shook his head and grumbled, “Jesus, you scavengers don’t waste any time, do you? Get your man out of there right now. My client isn’t going to say another word.”
Looking thoroughly annoyed, Crivaro said into the intercom, “That’s all for now, McCune. Come on out.”
McCune looked toward the window with surprise, then came out into the smaller room.
His eyes darting back and forth from Riley to McCune to Crivaro, the small man asked, “OK, who are you people? I know that you’re FBI. But I want names.”
Crivaro introduced himself and McCune, and also Riley.
The man said, “I’m Lewis Gelb, Wertz’s public defender. Forgive me for not shaking hands. I’m sure you understand that ours is an adversarial relationship.”
Crivaro nodded and said, “We were expecting you.”
Gelb let out a snort of disgust.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you were. And you worked fast violating my client’s rights as much as you could before I could get here.”
McCune snapped, “Relax, he knows his rights. He demanded a lawyer, didn’t he? You can’t blame us for asking questions while he was waiting. It’s our job. Anyway, he hasn’t said anything useful.”
Gelb said, “I’ll make sure of that. Well, your tomfooleries are over. Get out of here right now. I’ve got to confer with my client.”
Gelb reached over and turned off the switch to the intercom, then went on into the interrogation room. Riley could see him open his briefcase and start talking to Wertz, but she couldn’t hear a word of what either of them was saying.
Crivaro growled, “You heard what he said. We’re through here.”
Crivaro, McCune, and Riley went out into the hall, where they stood looking at each other uncertainly.
“Damn lawyers,” McCune said. “If I’d just had a few more minutes—”
Crivaro interrupted him, “He wasn’t going to tell you anything. At least nothing we wanted to know.”
“What makes you think that?” McCune asked.
Crivaro didn’t reply, just looked thoughtfully back at the door to the interrogation room. Riley sensed that there were wheels turning in his mind—and it had something to do with the question she’d suggested …
“Who are the masks for?”
The question had seemed to catch the suspect off guard.
But why? Riley wondered.
Crivaro finally said …
“The day isn’t over and we’ve still got work to do.”
Then he turned directly toward Riley and asked …
“Any suggestions as to what we do next, Sweeney?”
Riley gulped and her eyes widened.
He’s asking me?
She could see that McCune looked surprised too—and not at all pleased.
She thought hard for a few seconds, then asked …
“What about the family of the first victim? I take it the local police have already talked to them. Shouldn’t we talk to them too?”
Crivaro half-smiled at her, as if he’d been thinking the same thing.
“Sounds like a plan,” Crivaro said. “Let’s get going.”
As she followed Crivaro and McCune toward the parking garage, Riley felt puzzled by Crivaro’s sudden display of confidence in her judgment.
Meanwhile, McCune kept glancing back at her with a frown.
He’s not very happy with me, she thought.
Riley felt sure that he’d realized the question about the masks was her idea. And now Crivaro had just asked her—and not him—for ideas on what to do next. She wasn’t surprised at his annoyance.
But she worried …
How bad are things going to get between us?
Now was no time for petty rivalries—especially if they hadn’t yet caught the killer.
She didn’t know why, but her instincts were telling her that Wertz wasn’t that man.
She also sensed that Crivaro felt the same way.
*
As Crivaro drove north through Washington, McCune sat in the front pas
senger seat and Riley in back. McCune got on his cell phone and called the first victim’s family to let them know they were on the way.
When McCune ended the call, he said …
“They’re expecting us. But I’ve got a feeling we’re not in for a warm welcome. They sounded pretty upset.”
Riley could well understand why, especially after her troubling encounter with Gary Davis, the second victim’s husband, and how he’d said …
“It’s been driving me crazy, not knowing what’s going on.”
Riley didn’t see any reason why Margo Birch’s family should feel any differently.
McCune opened his manila file and flipped through some papers. He filled both Riley and Crivaro in about the people they were about to meet. Margo Birch had lived with her parents in Witmer Grove, Maryland, while taking a bus into DC daily to go to college. Margo’s parents, Lewis and Roberta, hadn’t even known that anything had happened to their daughter—not until the horrifying moment when DC police arrived at their door with a picture ID that they’d found on Margo’s body.
The police had interviewed the couple then and there. Then the officers had taken the parents to the DC morgue to identify the body. No law enforcement officers had talked to them since. Now that the FBI was on the case, interviewing them was definitely a priority.
During the rest of the drive, Riley listened to the two agents trying to brainstorm about the case. Both of the victims’ bodies had been found in DC’s Northwest quadrant. Janet Davis had lived in that area, and Margo’s home was just across the DC line in Maryland.
Were there any other connections between the two victims? So far, no one had found any. Crivaro and McCune couldn’t think of any, either. The two women didn’t even look alike. So why had the murderer singled them out as victims?
Crivaro grumbled, “There’s so damn much we don’t know. We don’t even know when or how Margo was abducted.”
Riley’s mind drifted as the conversation between Crivaro and McCune meandered vainly on. She remembered again how Gary Davis had said that his wife had “laughed off” Gregory Wertz’s crude advances.
It didn’t sound as though Janet Davis had sensed any danger from Wertz.
And what were Riley’s own impressions of the man she had seen on the other side of that two-way mirror?
Riley pictured again that dark face framed by dreadlocks. And his voice as well—so smug and self-confident at first, then alarmed and defensive when asked who the masks were for.
She hadn’t trusted that face and voice, and sensed that he was definitely a criminal.
But were those the face and voice of a murderer?
Deep down inside, she didn’t think so.
Meanwhile, she remembered the crackers in her purse. She knew that Crivaro hadn’t had anything to eat all day either, and the same was probably true of McCune. Neither of the agents seemed in the mood to stop anywhere for food, so Riley offered to share her crackers with them, and they accepted right away. She kept a couple crackers for herself and handed over the rest, wishing she’d bought more than one package.
Evening was setting in by the time they pulled into the sleepy working-class neighborhood where the Birches lived.
Crivaro parked in front of a little brick house with a small yard and immaculate hedges.
As soon as they got out of the car, a stout, middle-aged woman rushed out the front door and down the sidewalk toward them, weeping and screaming with rage.
“How dare you not tell us the truth!” she cried. “How dare you!”
Riley’s heart jumped up into her throat as she wondered …
What have we just walked into?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Exchanging perplexed looks, Crivaro and McCune took out their badges and tried their best to introduce themselves as the woman ranted on.
“Was this some kind of a joke, letting us find out like that? How dare you!”
Riley realized that the woman must be Roberta Birch, Margo’s mother.
She remembered what McCune said after talking to the Margo’s parents on the phone …
“I’ve got a feeling we’re not in for a warm welcome. They sound pretty upset.”
Riley had expected grief and even anger, but not this kind of raging, incomprehensible hysteria.
After all, the police had already informed the couple of their daughter’s death. They’d even gone to the morgue to identify her body.
But Roberta Birch was acting almost like she’d just now learned the truth.
A heavyset, balding man had also come out of the house—Margo’s father, Lewis, Riley was sure. He took hold of his wife and tried to calm her down.
“Darling, don’t be like this. They’re here to help.”
“Like hell!” Roberta screamed at him. “What kind of sick game are they playing with us?”
Lewis put his arms around his wife, whose screaming subsided into bitter sobbing.
“She was our only child,” she whimpered. “She was all we had.”
Riley’s heart sank at the sadness of those words.
Lewis led his wife into the house, turning around toward the three visitors and saying …
“Please. Come on in.”
Riley, Crivaro, and McCune followed the couple into the cozy little living room. Lewis took his wife into a bedroom and came out and shut the door. Riley could still hear the woman crying.
Crivaro was now able to properly introduce himself and McCune and Riley.
Lewis nodded and suggested that they all sit down. He was visibly upset himself. His hands were shaking and his face was red.
In a trembling voice he said to the three visitors …
“I want you to know, I’m angry too. I don’t understand why we weren’t told.”
In a gentle voice Crivaro said, “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure I understand.”
Lewis said, “We had no idea that our daughter’s death had anything to do with a serial killer.”
Crivaro said, “I understand how you feel. But the other victim hadn’t yet been found. When the local police came to talk to you, they didn’t know—”
Lewis interrupted, “And we weren’t told—the other thing either.”
Crivaro fell silent. Riley sensed that he didn’t know what to say. She hoped that Lewis would explain.
Lewis took a long, slow breath, then said …
“When we went to the morgue, Margo was … she was naked lying under a sheet and her face … well, she looked pale and unnatural but Roberta and I thought that was just because …”
Lewis choked back a sob and fell silent.
Riley could hear Crivaro let out a sigh of realization. She, too, now understood what this was all about.
The ME had already removed the clown makeup from Margo’s face when Lewis and Roberta identified her body. They’d had no idea that their daughter had been found wearing a clown costume and makeup. Not until …
How had they found out? she wondered.
Finally Lewis said …
“We had to find out about it on the TV news. The ‘Clown Killer,’ they’re calling him. Why weren’t we at least told about how she’d been … ?”
Lewis fell silent again.
Riley could see Crivaro hunch down in his chair uncomfortably. She could guess the answer to Lewis’s unfinished question.
She also understood why Crivaro didn’t want to say it.
She remembered this morning at the murder scene, how annoyed one of cops had been when reporters showed up and saw the woman’s body …
“We’d managed to keep the clown angle about the other murder quiet until now.”
The cops who had interviewed the Birches earlier hadn’t wanted them to know about that. They’d still been trying to keep it a secret because they knew the media would go crazy with a thing like that. So they’d said nothing about it. But the secret had been out since this morning—and the Birches had found out the truth in the worst possible way.
Crivaro s
aid slowly, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t our call. It wasn’t our case then.”
For a moment, Lewis said nothing in reply, just stared at Crivaro with a stricken expression. Then he spoke quietly. “She never liked clowns. She was afraid of them. That just made it …”
Riley almost gasped aloud. What would it be like to know you were made to look like a thing you feared? Because the reports said that the victims had been alive when the makeup and costumes were put on them.
Lewis fell silent again, staring down at his clenched hands.
Riley found herself wondering what kind of a “call” Crivaro would have made if he’d been the first to talk to the couple instead of the local cops.
Would he have told them the truth about the makeup and the costume?
Would that have made this any easier for them, or even more of a nightmare?
Would he have trusted them to keep quiet about it?
And for that matter …
What would have been my own “call” if it had been up to me?
She really had no idea. But she knew it could be one of the countless dilemmas she would surely face if she went into law enforcement. It was a daunting thought.
As Crivaro continued to talk to Lewis Birch, Riley heard gentleness in his voice she hadn’t noticed from him before.
“Mr. Birch, I hope you’ll understand that I’ve got to ask you some questions that you’ve been asked already. Your daughter’s murder case has entered a new and very unexpected phase. We’ve got to look at everything in a new light.”
Lewis nodded.
Crivaro said, “When did you first notice that your daughter was missing?”
Lewis shrugged slightly.
“Margo was at home Thursday night, we all had dinner together. My wife and I went to bed and Margo stayed up to study. The next morning we just guessed she’d left earlier than usual for school. We started to worry when she didn’t she come home that afternoon, and she didn’t call to tell us why. She wasn’t home by suppertime, and we got really worried, so we called the police. They told us it was too soon to file a missing person report. We couldn’t sleep all night.”
His face twisted with anguish as he added …