Riley Paige 11-Once Buried

by Blake Pierce

  Riley threw her upper body backward, striking Carson sharply in the chin with her head.

  His head recoiled from pain and surprise.

  Riley then leaned swiftly backward, creating an opening between her and the knife-wielding hand.

  She grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands. She threw her hips back into his body, throwing him off balance.

  She pushed the knife away with her right hand, at the same time hitting him directly in the groin with her left forearm.

  As Carson let out a huge groan of pain, Riley elbowed him in the abdomen and pushed the knife away with both hands. She rotated her body out of his grasp until she faced him.

  Then she landed another solid blow to his groin with her foot.

  Still in motion, Riley stepped farther backward and twisted his arm painfully, causing him to let go of the knife and drop to his knees on the floor. She delivered a kick to his chin, sending him flat on his back.

  Riley grabbed up the knife and planted one knee on his chest.

  Suddenly, Riley’s expression changed to one of wild rage.

  She let out a howl of triumph as she raised the knife as if to slam its handle into Carson’s face.

  She’s going to kill him! Bill realized.

  He plunged forward and grabbed Riley by the arm, snatching the knife away from her.

  She whirled and glared at him, her eyes wide with fury. It was an expression Bill had seen on her face, but never directed at him before.

  For a moment, he was afraid she was going to attack him.

  “Riley, it’s me!” he cried. “Stop! It’s over!”

  Riley’s face and body slackened. She looked dazed with shock, as if she had no idea what had just happened. Then she stood up and stepped away from Carson’s fallen body.

  She was shaking all over—and Bill knew that she wasn’t pretending anymore.

  Chief Belt hurried over to Carson, handcuffing him and reading him his Miranda rights.

  Bill seized Riley by the arm and led her to the other side of the room.

  “Riley, what the hell just happened? What did you think you were doing?”

  Riley stared at him dumbly, as if he’d just awakened her from some nightmare.

  He said, “Go out to the car and stay there. I’ll take care of things here.”

  Riley nodded and staggered out of the house toward the SUV.

  Bill went outside and summoned the team, giving them orders to search the house and immediate area. He noticed that some neighbors were standing in their doorways, looking frightened and alarmed.

  He called out to them, “It’s OK. Everything’s under control. It’s all over.” He knew that the team would ask some of them what they knew about their neighbor who was being taken away in a police car.

  At least I hope it’s all over, he thought, still wondering what kind of demon had taken control of Riley.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Riley felt weak all over as she climbed into the SUV. She sat down in the back and shivered, feeling cold all over from sheer shock.

  She knew she was coming down from a terrible flood of adrenaline.

  But what had just happened?

  Little by little, the truth began to dawn on her.

  In the violence of the moment, she had flashed back to the single most vicious act she had ever committed.

  It was when she had killed Peterson, a psychopath who had captured and tortured her, causing her own severe bouts with PTSD. He had kidnapped her daughter, and then she had finally caught up with him and killed him.

  She had savagely smashed his head with a rock, time and time again.

  And she had enjoyed doing it.

  When she’d crouched over Carson’s prone body just now, she’d been reliving that moment again.

  She cringed as she realized …

  If Bill hadn’t stopped her, she would have killed Carson.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  What was it about this case that was making her react this way?

  She tried to tell herself that it was over now, the case was solved, they’d caught the killer and stopped him from committing any more murders.

  But somehow, the relief she usually felt at such a moment refused to surface.

  She turned in her seat and saw the two sand timers in the back of the vehicle—one of them empty, the other still running. A trickle of sand was still passing through the narrow neck between the two glass globes, a relentless reminder of passing time.

  But why did that matter now? Why was the flow of sand still gnawing at her psyche?

  It’s just sand, she tried to tell herself.

  And besides, it no longer signified any danger.

  It’s over, she tried to tell herself.

  Even so, that trickle evoked a feeling of helplessness she’d seldom experienced, not even after years of facing almost every conceivable kind of threat or danger.

  She felt a deep, irrational need to stop that flow of sand.

  It looked easy enough to stop. Just inserting a single finger below the narrow neck of glass to plug it up—that was all it would take.

  But she couldn’t do that.

  There was a taunting wall of clear glass between her fingers and the flowing sand.

  That puny trickle might as well be a massive avalanche or mudslide for all she could do to stop it.

  Of course, she could turn the timer over and reverse the flow. Or she could lay it on its side and the sand would stop completely.

  But she couldn’t make herself reach out and move the thing at all.

  Why not?

  What was stopping her?

  After all, it was over, wasn’t it?

  The case was closed.

  But for some reason, she didn’t dare interrupt the flow of sand.

  Don’t look, she told herself.

  With what felt like a superhuman effort, Riley managed to shut her eyes. Then she turned her head away.

  She realized that she was hyperventilating. She deliberately slowed her breathing and tried to control it.

  It’s just stress, she told herself, keeping her eyes shut.

  It had been a uniquely stressful case, after all. That’s what had taken such a toll on her.

  But neither Bill nor Jenn seemed to have been as worn down by it as she was. And Bill had been particularly fragile lately.

  She was the one who had almost killed a suspect for no good reason.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  Why had this case pushed her buttons in such a personal way?

  She opened her eyes at the sound of approaching voices. She saw the team coming toward her from the house. Chief Belt wasn’t among them. Riley realized that Belt and at least one of his cops must have already driven back to the station with Grant Carson in custody.

  The remaining group clustered around the SUV. None of them looked happy—especially not Bill.

  Riley asked, “Have you conducted a search?”

  “Yeah,” Bill said, shuffling his feet impatiently. “We didn’t find any solid evidence—no shovel, no wheelbarrow, no carpentry equipment, no sand timers or any sign that he’d been making them.”

  Jenn added, “But we did find a bundle of money in his car, about five hundred dollars. And he was all packed up and ready to drive out of here. And when we got here, it seemed almost like he expected us.”

  Bill nodded and said, “He’s guilty, there’s no question about it. But he’s smarter than the average psycho. He’s got another lair where he keeps everything incriminating. And my guess that place is going to be pretty hard to find. Until we do, it’s going to be hard to prove that he’s guilty.”

  Jenn said, “Well, at least we’ve got him in custody—and with hours to spare before he planned to kill again.”

  Bill said nothing, but Riley could see the disappointment on his strong features. Riley knew what he was thinking, and she shared his discouragement. They had found nothing to prove Grant Carson’s gui
lt. If he wound up going free, what kind of threat would he pose in the future? Especially if he left the area and put down new roots in some unsuspecting neighborhood? How many lives would he take on yet another sinister schedule?

  She glanced at the other team members who were still gathered around the SUV. They all looked expectant. They were awaiting further orders.

  But at the moment, Riley had no idea what to tell them.

  Before she could think things through, her cell phone rang. The call was from Chief Belt. Riley put the call on speakerphone so the team could listen.

  Belt asked, “Did the team find anything useful?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Riley said.

  “Well, it might not matter,” Belt said. “Grant Carson says he’s ready to confess.”

  A murmur of excitement passed among the team.

  Riley simply couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Say that again?” she said.

  “Carson says he’ll tell us everything,” Belt said.

  Riley exchanged eager glances with Bill and Jenn.

  She said, “Don’t let him get started until we can get there.”

  “Nothing to worry about there,” Belt said. “He insists on having a lawyer present when he talks. Just try to get over here before the public defender gives him too many ideas.”

  The call ended. The local cops headed back to their vehicles. Bill and Jenn climbed into the SUV along with Huang and the other three FBI agents.

  Riley just sat still, so Jenn climbed into the front seat and Bill took the driver’s seat.

  As Bill drove back toward the police station, Riley kept waiting for relief to kick in.

  It didn’t happen, and she wondered why.

  It seems too easy, she thought.

  Why was Carson so ready and eager to confess so quickly after his arrest?

  It hardly made sense.

  During the ride, she kept thinking about the sand timer in the back of the SUV, still marking lost time with its steady trickle of sand. It seemed to contradict the news they’d just heard.

  Riley couldn’t shake off the feeling that the timer still spelled trouble.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Bill parked the SUV in front of the police station, Riley saw a group of reporters outside. She also saw that Chief Belt was standing in the front doorway waiting for them. She was relieved to shift her focus from the flow of sand in the timers to the man who had probably placed them with his victims.

  Riley and Bill pushed past the noisy reporters, ignoring them as they walked toward Belt.

  “Carson’s lawyer is here,” Belt said. “Come on in, we’re ready to get started.”

  Riley and her companions followed Belt into the building and to the interrogation room. She could see that the chief was excited about the prospective confession.

  Carson was sitting manacled to the table in the little room. A rather bored-looking middle-aged man was seated next to him. When the FBI agents entered the room, Carson glanced up at Riley and recoiled.

  “Keep that crazy bitch away from me,” he squealed.

  Riley just smiled and stepped back against the wall. She wasn’t proud of the fury that had overtaken her at the arrest, but she thought it might be helpful for the suspect to be a little frightened.

  Chief Belt ignored the prisoner’s comment. He just nodded to the man at the table to go ahead.

  The man introduced himself to Riley and her colleagues as Ralph Craven, the public defender who had been assigned to represent Carson.

  Also sitting at the table was a female stenographer armed with pen and paper and also a recording device.

  Then Craven said, “My client is willing to talk—but I want you to know that I’ve advised him not to.”

  Belt said, “Your client knows his rights. Let him talk if he wants to.”

  Craven nodded reluctantly at the stenographer, who started the recording machine and sat poised with her pen ready.

  Carson just sat there in silence for a moment. Gone was the smirk he’d worn back at his house. Now his expression seemed to be completely blank. Riley had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

  Finally Carson said, “OK, I did it. I’m guilty.”

  Riley said, “You’re going to have to give us more than that.”

  Carson shrugged.

  “Why? You’ve got me dead to rights. Didn’t you find the money in my car?”

  The money? Riley thought.

  She glanced at her colleagues and saw that they were just as puzzled as she was.

  Carson’s eyes darted from person to person around the room. He swallowed hard, then started up again.

  “You said you talked to old man Droullard,” he said. “I figured he’d told you …”

  Carson’s voice trailed off for a moment. For the first time since Riley had set eyes on him, he looked somewhat alarmed.

  He said, “Shit, you mean you didn’t know?”

  His lawyer let out a growl of dismay.

  “I told you not to talk,” Craven said. “Now listen to me—not another word. Do you hear me?”

  Carson lowered his head.

  Riley now worried that he wasn’t going to talk after all. She thought hard and fast, trying to figure out what was really going on.

  She said, “You’ve been pilfering money from your workplace, haven’t you? Little by little, probably since you started working there. Probably from petty cash. That’s how you got the five hundred dollars in the car. You were getting ready to leave town with it.”

  “Not another word,” Craven said again, more sternly this time.

  But Carson’s patience seemed to be at an end.

  “I’m sick of this town, OK? Everyone here has treated me like shit all my life. I’ve been planning to get out of here since I got out of jail. I’d chew my leg off to go somewhere else. And why not take that money? What’s five hundred bucks to a guy like Droullard?”

  He shook his head and added quietly, “Hell, he didn’t even notice it was gone. And you guys didn’t even care about that money. I should have known. I should have kept my mouth shut. I just thought you’d go easier on me if I confessed and saved you a trial and all. I thought maybe you wouldn’t send me back to prison, you’d let me off with a slap on the wrist. Maybe I could just give the money back. But now … Jesus, I really screwed myself over, didn’t I?”

  Craven let out a grunt of angry agreement.

  Riley planted her hands on the table and leaned toward Grant Carson. He drew back from her as far as he could.

  She said, “Grant, you know perfectly well that you were arrested for a lot more than petty theft. We can add resisting arrest, attacking a police officer and—”

  Craven interrupted her, saying to Carson, “I really mean it. Don’t say another word.”

  But Carson seemed more nervous, and more eager to speak his mind than ever.

  “Yeah, I know. You guys keep telling me. Two counts of murder. Look, I’m a goddamn social deviant, and everybody knows it. But I’m not a murderer. I had nothing to do with those two people getting killed. You’ll never prove it, because I didn’t do it.”

  Suddenly, Chief Belt let out an exasperated snarl and left the room.

  Riley was startled. She’d never seen any sign of anger out of the good-natured police chief until now. Of course, the chief did have good reason to be angry with Carson but he’d been acting as though that attack had never happened.

  She suddenly felt that she, too, had had enough of this scene. They were getting nowhere with the suspect. This was going to take longer than she had expected.

  She hurried out and joined Belt in the booth outside the interrogation room. They could hear Bill and Jenn still prodding away at Carson with questions, trying to get him to confess to the murders rather than to a minor theft.

  Chief Belt paced back and forth in the booth.

  “I should have known,” he said. “He pulled a bait-and-switch on us.”

  “What
do you mean?” Riley asked.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? He knows we don’t have evidence linking him to the murders, at least not yet. He’s confessing to petty theft to throw us off the track. You can see that too, can’t you?”

  Riley didn’t reply.

  The truth was, Belt’s conclusion wasn’t nearly so obvious to her.

  She turned and watched through the two-way mirror and listened to what was still going on in the interrogation room. Bill and Jenn were pounding the man with questions, doing everything possible to turn the situation around. But they were obviously getting nowhere. And Riley knew that she couldn’t do any better if she were in the room doing the interrogation herself, not even if she threatened the man again.

  Riley stepped closer to the window and studied Carson’s expression carefully. She now saw genuine panic in the suspect’s face.

  She heard genuine confusion in his voice.

  She swallowed hard.

  Still staring through the window, Riley said quietly to Belt, “Carson’s not our killer.”

  “What?” Belt said with a gasp. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s not him,” Riley said firmly. But before she could begin to explain, her cell phone rang.

  She saw that the call was from Carl Walder.

  She remembered what he’d said the last time they’d talked …

  “I expect you to apprehend the killer before six o’clock.”

  She looked at her watch and saw that it was six on the dot.

  Riley suppressed a sigh of despair.

  A bad day was about to get a whole lot worse.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Riley brushed past Chief Belt and stepped out into hallway to take the call from Carl Walder.

  When she answered, she was surprised at Walder’s cheerful tone of voice.

  “Well, Agent Paige, I understand that congratulations are in order.”

  “What?” Riley asked. “Why?”

  “Chief Belt called me just a short time ago. He said you tracked down the killer and that they have him in custody.”

  Riley’s heart sank. This call was going to be even harder than she’d expected.

  She said, “Chief Walder, I’m afraid that news was a trifle premature.”