Riley Paige 11-Once Buried

by Blake Pierce

  A tingling possibility occurred to her.

  This woman was large and strong—strong enough to have committed the murders.

  Riley flashed back to her impressions of how the murderer had lured the victim on the beach through personal charm, then smiled down into the hole in the woods while pouring dirt over the victim.

  With a shock she realized—she could easily visualize this woman’s face in those situations.

  Was it possible?

  Of course it is, Riley thought.

  After all, the last murderer Riley had brought to justice had been a woman.

  Her brain clicked away, trying to figure out how to draw out Hope’s guilt.

  She asked, “When you run past Rags Tucker’s wigwam, do you always run between it and the beach?”

  “I really don’t understand why—”

  “Just answer my question, please.”

  The woman’s brow crinkled.

  “Not always. It depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  Hope shrugged.

  “The tide, I guess. If it’s high I run higher on the beach, if it’s low I run close to the water.”

  Riley sensed that Hope was getting nervous.

  “Hope, could you tell me where you were the morning before last at about six o’clock?”

  Hope’s eyes widened.

  “Why … I was here. In bed asleep.”

  “And not out running?”

  Hope smiled nervously.

  “Probably not. I don’t go running every morning.”

  Riley’s voice got sharper.

  “Probably not? Are you saying you can’t remember what you were doing two mornings ago?”

  Now Hope was starting to look angry and defensive.

  “Maybe I don’t. Why is it any of your business? You don’t need to get pushy about it.”

  Pushy? Riley thought.

  The response struck her as downright weird.

  Riley said, “I think you’d better start answering my questions in a straightforward manner.”

  Hope crossed her arms.

  “Why should I? You’re acting just like my family. And my friends. And the people who work for me. Acting like I don’t know what’s what, like I don’t know what I’m doing. What’s with everybody, anyway? Why are you treating me like this? I don’t even understand what you’re doing here, asking me all these questions. I’ve got half a mind to call the police.”

  The police? Riley thought.

  Riley was suddenly baffled. What on earth was Hope even talking about?

  It began to occur to Riley that the woman was deeply insane—and possibly very dangerous.

  As Riley tried to think of what to ask next, her hand hovered near her handcuffs.

  One way or the other, she felt sure that she was going to make an arrest in the next few seconds.

  Then Riley felt Bill’s hand on her shoulder.

  He said, “Riley, we’re through here. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Riley could hardly believe her ears. She turned and looked at Bill, who was standing right behind her. His expression was serious, but it gave her no clue to why he had suddenly decided to leave.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but Bill spoke first.

  “I mean it. Let’s go.”

  As Bill escorted Riley to the front door, she heard Jenn saying, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Reitman. We’re sorry for the inconvenience. Please call us if you remember anything pertinent.”

  The three agents left the house. Without comment, Bill took the driver’s seat of the SUV again, so Riley got in front next to him. She heard Jenn climb into the back.

  When Bill spoke, Riley was startled by the sharpness of his voice.

  “Riley, what did you think you were doing back there?”

  Riley glared at him. She felt her anger rising.

  “What was I doing?” she snapped. “I was doing my job. What about you? We almost had her, Bill. She was almost ready to talk.”

  She pointed to the front door of the townhouse.

  She said, “Let’s get back in there. We can finish this thing in minutes.”

  “Finish what?” Bill growled. “She’s not our killer.”

  “Like hell she’s not,” Riley said. “She’s strong enough, she’s got no alibi, and she fits my profile. Best of all, she’s practically gift-wrapped. She can’t keep her stories straight. Give me just another few minutes with her and—”

  “And what?” Bill snapped. “You’ll beat the truth out of her?”

  Riley was startled by Bill’s indignation.

  “I won’t have to,” she said. “Just a few more questions. I’m sure to break her.”

  “She’s broken already!” Bill almost shouted.

  His voice reverberated through the car for a moment.

  Riley’s mouth dropped open.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Bill just shook his head. Riley heard Jenn’s voice from the seat behind her.

  “Hope Reitman has dementia.”

  Riley was thunderstruck. She twisted around to argue with Jenn.

  “That—that’s impossible,” she sputtered. “She’s so—”

  “Young?” Bill interrupted. “It happens. It’s called early onset dementia. My sister-in-law had it, died from it just a couple of years ago, and she wasn’t much older than me.”

  Riley glanced back and forth between Bill and Jenn.

  She could see by their expressions that they’d come to the same conclusion.

  But Riley was still having trouble believing it.

  “How do you know?” she asked Bill and Jenn.

  Jenn said, “I just got a feeling right from the start. Remember what she said about running with her dog?”

  Riley did remember …

  “Neptune keeps me from getting lost.”

  Riley had thought it was a joke.

  Had Hope meant it?

  Bill said, “And did you hear about what she said about her friends, family, and coworkers? They’ve all noticed her lapses. They’re worried about her living alone. They think she needs someone to take care of her. And she’s defensive about it. She’s in denial. The same thing happened with my sister-in-law.”

  Riley’s heart sank. She laid her head back on the headrest and ran images of the interview through her mind.

  Now that she thought back on Hope Reitman’s words, her actions, it seemed perfectly obvious.

  It had certainly been obvious to Jenn and Bill.

  Why hadn’t it been obvious to her?

  She was sure that she’d normally pick up on something like that. Her gut would tell her that the woman was too incapacitated to be a murderer.

  Why didn’t her gut tell her that this time?

  She had to stop herself from asking aloud …

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  Instead, she simply said, “I’m sorry.”

  Bill shook his head.

  “This has already been a long hard day,” he said. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Bill started the car and drove them to a fast food place in the same chain as the one in Williamsburg where they’d eaten earlier. Inside, everything looked the same. Riley couldn’t shake off the feeling that they’d gone nowhere, made no progress at all today. They all ordered burgers again, but Riley didn’t feel hungry. She sat staring at her food, feeling frustrated and tired.

  “OK, then,” Bill said when they all got seated. “What do we do now?”

  All three agents sat and thought for a few moments.

  Finally Riley said, “I guess we’d better check in with Craig Huang and find out how everybody else is doing.”

  She dialed up Huang’s number and put her cell phone on speaker.

  When he answered, Huang asked, “Did you get anything more from the witness?”

  “Less than nothing,” Riley said. “The witness is completely unreliable.”

  “Unreliable? Ho
w?”

  Riley suppressed a sigh.

  “I’ll explain it some other time. How are things going with your people?”

  “There’s not much to report. Whittington and Craft are back from meeting with the victims’ families. They didn’t get any new information. Engel’s doing his best to keep the reporters from spreading crazy rumors. Ridge and Geraty are on their way back to Quantico with the sand timers. Chief Belt and I are getting ready to put out an APB warning people to stay away from Belle Terre.”

  Riley thought for a moment.

  “Are you and Belt sending out the sketch with your APB?”

  “We’re planning to.”

  “Don’t,” Riley said.

  Huang sounded surprised.

  “Isn’t it better than nothing?” he said.

  Riley thought for a moment.

  She remembered what Hope Reitman had said when she’d looked at the sketch.

  “I’m sure the man had lighter hair. And a ruddy complexion.”

  The woman’s memory was obviously completely unreliable.

  She said to Huang, “It’s likely to be really inaccurate and that might do more harm that good. Anyhow, the face is so innocuous, we might start getting false identifications again. Worse, it might give people a false sense of security. They might not recognize the killer if they really see him. It might even put people in danger.”

  “We’ll scrap it, then,” Huang said. “What else do we need to do?”

  Riley paused again.

  She said, “Just do everything you can to secure Belle Terre. Put all the local cops to work, even those who aren’t usually on night duty. Send out some drones with night vision to survey the area. Make sure that nobody is in Belle Terre who shouldn’t be.”

  Bill said, “What about Rags Tucker?”

  Riley was slightly startled. She’d almost forgotten about Rags, who might be in danger all alone in that area. She was glad Bill mentioned him. But she was also a little disconcerted that she hadn’t thought about him first.

  She said, “Agent Huang, send a couple agents to pick up that vagrant we talked to on the beach and find a safe place for him to spend the night. He might not be happy about it, but get him out of there anyway.”

  Huang chuckled a little.

  He said, “Should I send a couple of heavies, or agents with good people skills?”

  It seemed like an odd question, but Riley knew it was a good one.

  “Go with people skills,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll put up a fight but he won’t be happy and there’s no point in provoking him. But tell whoever you send not to take no for an answer. We’ve got to get him out of there.”

  When she finished giving Huang instructions, Riley ended the call.

  Jenn said, “What about the three of us? What do we do now?”

  Riley shrugged.

  She said, “We’d better head back to the police station and give Huang a hand with things.”

  Bill was looking at her steadily.

  “Riley, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  Riley stared at him for a moment, wondering what he meant.

  She quickly realized from his anxious expression …

  He’s worried about my mental state.

  That really made her angry.

  She said, “What do you think I’m going to do? Beat somebody else up? Or just generally make a mess of things?”

  Bill shook his head.

  “Can you really say you’re at your best right now, Riley?” he said.

  Riley stared at him in stunned silence for a moment. She knew perfectly well that the answer to his question was no.

  Bill added, “Riley, we’re not needed there. Huang’s got things completely under control. Let’s head back to Quantico, check in with Meredith and see if we can give Flores and his team any help with their forensics work or computer searches. It’s a better use of our time.”

  Riley couldn’t disagree.

  She noticed that Bill and Jenn had finished eating. She had barely touched her burger at all. She took one bite, chewed, and swallowed fast.

  “Come on, let’s go,” she said.

  As the three agents walked toward the SUV, Jenn said, “Let’s not get too worried. With the park closed off, he’s not likely to kill tonight.”

  “If we’re lucky,” Bill said, getting into the SUV on the driver’s side.

  If we’re lucky, Riley thought as she buckled herself into the passenger seat.

  But she couldn’t help thinking about that sand timer, still trickling away the seconds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Felix Harrington leaned on the handle of his shovel and looked over his work with a sense of satisfaction. He had just finished digging a sufficiently deep hole here inside the abandoned storage building. The sandy soil of this dirt floor had been perfect for digging—and a diverting change from his previous two efforts, both of them outdoors.

  At least I’m not predictable, he thought.

  And that was important.

  He’d been following the news all day and knew what a stir he’d caused throughout the area. He knew that the Belle Terre Nature Preserve was closed off to the public, which meant that the cops expected him to strike there again.

  He smiled with satisfaction.

  No one could possibly guess that this would be his next spot. He wouldn’t have guessed it himself until his explorations had turned up this suitable site.

  His killings were as random as the patterns made by water in the ocean sand—the very patterns he had portrayed in his woodwork on the sand timers. Yes, they were like those patterns, similar but never exactly the same.

  He stabbed his shovel into the pile of dirt next to the hole and walked over to admire the new sand timer sitting nearby. He’d made it just for the occasion. Right now, all the sand lay quiet in the bottom globe. But soon enough he would turn it over and the sand would flow, marking the hours and minutes left in someone’s life.

  He knew that word had gotten around about his other two timers, especially the one that was still running. The cops, the FBI, and even the public understood his message.

  He knew that he’d even gotten a couple of nicknames.

  What were they?

  Oh, yes.

  “Father Time.”

  “The Sandman.”

  His smile disappeared. The truth was, he didn’t much care for all this publicity.

  He wasn’t doing all this for fame.

  The truth was, he still didn’t know quite what drove him to kill.

  He only knew that something dark had welled up in him recently—some sort of irrational terror and pain. The only way to expel that pain was to inflict it upon other people—not just the people he buried, but the many other people he shocked and frightened.

  People would lie awake tonight, wondering who would die when the timer he’d left behind ran out.

  It gave him a feeling of power that relieved his own agony and fear. It also gave him a sense of purpose, of destiny. He was linked in some important way to that falling sand. It fascinated him and it drove him to complete his actions before it ended.

  It gave meaning to his life.

  He turned away from the timer beside the empty hole. This was not the time to turn it over and start its flow of sand. That would be hours from now.

  I’ve got nothing but time, he thought, brushing off his hands again.

  He stepped outside the building and strolled to the water’s edge, looking out over the brackish creek that flowed into the Chesapeake Bay. He stood still and admired the nighttime view. It was never completely dark on the water, and lights along the shoreline highlighted the gently lapping waves.

  It had been a warm day, a lovely day. And he was truly enjoying the coolness of night on the water.

  Off to his right, new and substantial houses boasted their own private piers and boat slips. Those were the lights that illuminated the water. Back to his left, the shoreline was dark
er. Since this little marina had fallen into disuse, only a few bare bulbs shed their weak light in that area.

  Of course, all these old marina buildings and rotting piers would soon be cleared away. No doubt a new and larger marina would spring up with facilities for boats owned by the wealthier families that were moving into the area.

  Gentrification, he thought.

  The thought troubled him, because it meant that people would soon be encroaching upon this quiet area. People were even moving closer to his own isolated home on a different waterfront.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  People.

  He’d always been shy, but he could remember, when he was little, not being so deeply alarmed by the presence of other people.

  For some years now he’d been deliberately reclusive. He could spend days at a time without seeing another living soul.

  Or at least he could not long ago.

  Machines were disturbing the sandy earth just a mile from his home. He could already feel the pressure of people moving in … setting off pain and terror that he couldn’t understand.

  Even now, just thinking about it, he could feel his heart beating faster, his breath coming short. He didn’t understand why, but he did know what he had to do about it.

  He slowly breathed in the damp night air to calm himself down.

  After all, there were no people in sight here, and he could bask in the solitude.

  And he wasn’t in a hurry.

  He could spend an hour or so hanging around here before he got into his pickup truck and drove through this little town looking for his next random victim.

  Suddenly, a wandering flash of light caught his eye among the other buildings.

  He quickly realized that someone was approaching him with a flashlight, walking across the open area between the marina buildings.

  Who was it?

  He felt a rush of panic at the thought of encountering another human being.

  But then he realized, maybe he wasn’t going to have to go driving in search of a victim after all.

  Maybe he was going to be especially lucky tonight, and a victim was about to fall right into his hands. That was the way he preferred things to happen anyhow—the way the two joggers had come to him during the previous mornings.

  The flashlight came closer and hurt his eyes. He couldn’t see the person who was holding it. But he heard a man’s voice.