Once Forsaken (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 7)

by Blake Pierce

  Riley ended the call and told Lucy and Bill what Flores had said.

  “What are we waiting for?” Lucy asked. “Let’s go to his house and pick him up.”

  But Riley knew that it might be a wasted trip. They might not catch Pike Tozer at home.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Riley said.

  The three agents headed straight for the dean’s office, where the secretary greeted them in her usual chilly manner.

  “Dean Autrey isn’t in his office,” she said.

  The dean’s door was open, and Riley could see that nobody was inside.

  She’s telling the truth for once, Riley realized.

  “That’s OK,” Riley said. “I’m sure you can help us. Does Byars College hire independent contractors for minor repairs? For example, electrical work?”

  The woman frowned. The idea of being in any way helpful seemed to be positively repugnant to her. Riley guessed that she was under orders from Dean Autrey to give the FBI as little information as possible.

  Nevertheless, she replied, “Yes, our wiring is very old. Someday we’ll have to have the whole campus completely redone. But we don’t have the funds right now. We hire freelance electricians to troubleshoot.”

  “Do you ever hire an electrician named Pike Tozer?” Riley asked.

  The woman continued to frown silently.

  Riley said in a mock-charming voice, “Miss Engstrand, I hope this doesn’t have to become difficult.”

  The woman made a low grumbling sound. She obviously understood Riley’s meaning—that the threat of a subpoena was still very real. She picked up her phone and made a call. Riley felt pretty sure that she was calling the maintenance department.

  She asked, “Do we happen to hire an electrician named Pike Tozer?”

  She listened for a moment, then ended the call without another word.

  She glared at the agents silently.

  Then she said, “Mr. Tozer is working on campus right now. You’ll find him in the basement of Olmsted Hall.”

  “Would you be so kind as to tell us where we can find Olmsted Hall?” Riley asked.

  The woman growled again and handed Riley a flyer with a map of the campus.

  A moment later, Riley, Bill, and Lucy were headed across the campus.

  Lucy was practically bursting with excitement.

  “This is it,” she said. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  Riley was pleased that Lucy had pulled herself out of her funk.

  Riley, too, felt suddenly hopeful.

  They walked across the campus to Olmsted Hall, a majestic, ivy-covered brick building with a clock tower. In a small parking lot alongside the building, Riley saw a few cars. Among them was a beat-up Ford pickup truck.

  Things are looking up, Riley thought.

  Riley, Lucy, and Bill walked into the building. They saw a professorial-looking man with a bow tie walking down the hall.

  “Excuse me,” Riley called out. “Could you tell us how to get to the basement?”

  The man looked puzzled.

  But when Riley pulled out her badge, he pointed.

  “Turn left at the end of this hall. The basement door is at the end of that corridor.”

  When they got to the door, the three agents looked at each other. Riley knew what they all were thinking.

  Is this going to be easy or hard?

  Riley opened the door. A flight of steps led down to a damp, gloomy basement.

  “This is the FBI,” she called out. “We’re looking for Pike Tozer.”

  No one answered.

  But Riley’s instincts had kicked in.

  She could feel in her gut that he was down there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Lucy’s heart was pounding as she and Agents Paige and Jeffreys stood at the top of the basement stairs.

  This is it, she thought.

  The suspect was surely down there.

  And maybe, just maybe, this was going to be her chance to make up for her poor handling of the interview with Patience yesterday.

  Agent Paige called down again, “Is Pike Tozer there? Is anybody?”

  Again there was no answer. The only sound was the low, rattling growl of the building’s furnace.

  Lucy silently signed to the others that she would go first. She started to draw her weapon. Agent Paige touched her hand to stop her.

  Does she know something I don’t know? Lucy wondered.

  Then Agent Paige herself went down the stairs, and Agent Jeffreys followed close behind her.

  Keeping her hand near her weapon, Lucy followed them downstairs. The huge furnace dominated much of the basement. Watching carefully, they made their way around it.

  On the far side of the basement, they found him.

  He had a breaker box open and was poking at the wiring with some sort of professional tool.

  He was also wearing a pair of headphones.

  Lucy fought down an embarrassed sigh.

  So that was why he didn’t reply.

  He couldn’t hear Agent Paige.

  Agent Paige had saved her from making a ridiculous scene by charging down here with her weapon drawn.

  Again and again, Agent Paige daunted and surprised her. Somehow, while they’d still been at the top of the stairs, Agent Paige had known the suspect wasn’t immediately dangerous. Lucy hoped that someday she’d have instincts like Agent Paige’s. It might take her years, but she was determined to develop those skills.

  So far, the man hadn’t even noticed that he had company.

  Agent Paige said his name in a louder voice.

  This time he jumped with alarm. He fumbled with his headphones and took them off.

  All three agents took out their badges, and Agent Paige told him who they were.

  “What’s this all about?” the man asked in a deep gravelly voice.

  Agent Paige showed him the flyer with the picture on it.

  “We’re looking for this man,” she said.

  Lucy’s eyes darted between the man and the sketch.

  Sure enough, they looked remarkably alike—the same unruly hair, broad face, dark eyes. Lucy thought his mouth looked a little different from the sketch—less sneering somehow. His nose was different too. But she was sure that those were minor details.

  This is our man, she thought.

  The man looked at the sketch, his eyes shifting about uncertainly.

  “Yeah, I saw that posted over at Howard Hall. I don’t think I’ve seen him. I’ll be sure to call the FBI if I do.”

  He turned his attention back to his work—or maybe he just pretended to, Lucy thought.

  Agent Jeffreys said, “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The man shook his head as he poked at the wires.

  “Look, I’m really busy,” he said. “Could we do this later?”

  Lucy said, “It would be better if you’d come with us.”

  The man looked at all three agents.

  He appeared to be surprised.

  But was he really?

  Lucy doubted it.

  Scared is probably more like it, she thought.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Am I a suspect?”

  He looked more closely at the sketch.

  “Do you really think I look like this guy? Because I don’t see it.”

  Lucy was sure he was lying. How could he or anybody else look at that sketch and not see the resemblance?

  Agent Paige asked, “Can you account for your whereabouts Monday during the early morning?”

  Agent Jeffreys added, “What about the early morning hours of the Sunday before last?”

  The man stood silent for a moment. Then he shrugged.

  “Home asleep, I guess,” he said.

  “Can you prove it?” Agent Jeffreys asked.

  The man forced a smile.

  “Prove what? That I was asleep?”

  His smile disappeared.

  “Sounds like I’d better get a lawyer,” he said.r />
  Lucy stepped forward.

  “You might want to do that,” she said.

  She was about to tell him he was under arrest when Agent Paige tugged her by the sleeve. She turned and looked at Agent Paige, who shook her head slightly.

  Lucy could hardly believe it.

  Were they going to let this guy get away?

  Agent Paige said, “Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Tozer. Please let us know if you see the person in the sketch.”

  Lucy followed Agents Paige and Jeffreys up the stairs and out of the building.

  As they walked toward the car, Lucy protested, “Why aren’t we taking him in?”

  “Because he’s not our guy,” Agent Jeffreys said.

  Lucy was growing more baffled by the second.

  “He’s got to be,” Lucy said, trotting along to keep up with the others. “What about the pickup?”

  “Coincidence,” Agent Jeffreys said.

  Lucy was starting to get angry now.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences!” she blurted.

  She regretted the words as soon as they were out.

  Agents Paige and Jeffreys both stopped walking and looked at her sternly.

  “You’d better start believing in coincidences,” Agent Paige said. “Because they happen from time to time. They’re going to be part of your job.”

  Lucy sputtered, “But he looked so much like the sketch.”

  “Not the nose,” Agent Paige said. “It’s much thinner.”

  “But that’s just a detail,” Lucy said.

  “Not a small detail,” Agent Jeffreys said. “The sketch artist drew a nose that was practically bulbous. Murray must have been very specific. It’s not likely that he would have been that wrong about it.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to say. But the truth was starting to sink in. She’d misread the whole situation.

  Agent Paige smiled a little.

  “What about the guy’s accent?” she asked. “Where would you say he was from?”

  “The South,” Lucy said. “The very deep South, I’d say. Alabama or Mississippi or someplace like that.”

  Agent Paige said, “When I talked to Murray, he was sure that his attacker came from somewhere north—Boston or New York, he said. How would you describe his voice otherwise?”

  Lucy remembered the impression she’d gotten with the first words he’d said.

  “Really deep, and kind of rough.”

  Agent Paige said, “Murray told me his voice was high-pitched, odd-sounding for a guy his size.”

  Agent Jeffreys chuckled a little as they neared the car.

  He said, “Of course, he could have cleverly disguised both his accent and his voice—either when he was talking to Murray or to us. What do you think of that theory, Agent Vargas?”

  The whole thing was becoming clearer to her.

  “Not likely,” she said. “If he were going to disguise his voice, surely he’d also have gone to the trouble to look different.”

  “You’re catching on,” Agent Paige said.

  Lucy felt herself flush with embarrassment.

  “Agent Paige, Agent Jeffreys, I—”

  Agent Paige interrupted her with a peal of laughter.

  “If you apologize, I’m going to slap you silly. You’re not making mistakes. You’re learning. Maybe I’ll tell you all the goofs I made back in my days as a rookie. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  Agent Jeffreys laughed too.

  “I’m sure as hell never going to tell you the dumb stuff I did. Hell, I still make my share of goofs.”

  Lucy joined in their laughter, feeling a bit encouraged.

  Just then, Agent Paige’s phone buzzed.

  Agent Paige looked at it and said, “It’s a text message from Murray Rossum. He wants me to come to his house.”

  “What about?” Lucy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Agent Paige replied. “But he said just me. Do you two have something else to cover here?”

  Lucy looked at Agent Jeffreys. He nodded and said, “Sure.”

  “We can keep showing that picture around,” Lucy said.

  Agent Paige got in the car and drove off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The text message Riley got from Murray Rossum was very short.

  Plz come 2 see me.

  Riley hoped that maybe the injured boy had remembered some important detail. She hurried to meet with him.

  When she got out of the car in front of the townhouse, Riley once again felt oddly underwhelmed by the place. It was big but very plain, hardly the kind of home she’d expect for a family involved in international real estate. At least from outside, it didn’t compare with Representative Hazel Webber’s estate in Maryland or Andrew Farrell’s mansion in Georgia.

  She was greeted at the door by a tall, muscular, dour-looking woman. The woman’s formal pantsuit was tuxedo-like, except that she was wearing a red blouse with its collar unbuttoned and no tie.

  “I’m Maude Huntsinger, the Rossums’ butler,” she said stiffly. “May I ask the nature of your business?”

  A female butler? Riley thought.

  Then she felt slightly shocked by her own telltale prejudice. The assumption that butlers had to be male had gotten stuck in her mind somehow. Of course, there was no reason to think anything of the kind.

  Riley produced her badge and introduced herself.

  “I’m here to speak with Murray Rossum,” Riley said. “I believe he is expecting me.”

  The woman seemed to be genuinely surprised.

  “It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” she said.

  Riley showed her the text message.

  “Please wait a moment,” the woman said.

  She disappeared inside the house. Riley waited on the bare front stoop. She was beginning to feel impatient when the woman finally returned.

  The butler said, “Agent Paige, you may come talk to him.”

  Riley followed the woman inside. Right away she was stunned by her surroundings. The townhouse’s modest facade masked a truly vast, contemporary interior. All the walls and floors were white, except for a massive black marble fireplace. A single gigantic abstract painting loomed in the hallway—the work of some famous artist she’d never heard of, Riley figured.

  A couple of sturdy men in black suits were talking into wrist microphones while watching Riley closely. Weapons bulged from under their jackets. Riley guessed that they were part of the extra security that had been hired to protect Murray. They looked more like US Secret Service agents than conventional security guards. They were surely expensive, and Riley hoped they were worth the money.

  She asked the butler, “Why does Murray want to see me?”

  “It’s hard to say,” the woman replied.

  After a pause, she added in a softer tone, “We’ve been worried about young Master Rossum. He doesn’t want to see anybody—barely even the household staff. He shuts himself up in his room or wanders through the house by himself. We see very little of him. He hasn’t been himself at all.”

  Riley followed the woman up a staircase made of polished wooden steps with scarcely any visible means of support. The only railing was against the wall. Riley wondered if anybody had ever tumbled off the open side of the stairs. It struck her as a strange design choice.

  A white-clad nurse was stationed in the hallway on the second floor. She looked out of place, as if she had nothing to do.

  The butler opened the door to Murray’s bedroom and announced his guest. She ushered Riley inside and left, closing the door behind her.

  Murray was lying in a massive bed in the middle of a vast, barren room. He had pulled the covers up under his chin.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said quietly.

  He didn’t suggest that Riley sit down. In fact, there wasn’t a chair anywhere in sight. Riley felt stranded and uncomfortable.

  “Why did you want to see me alone?” Riley asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Murray said.

 
He thought for a moment.

  “I’ve been scared to death ever since … it happened. For some reason, I can’t trust anybody—not even people who are here to protect and care for me. Not even people I’ve known all my life.”

  He hesitated, then added, “I know this is weird, but you’re the only person I’ve met that I feel like I can trust. I don’t know why.”

  Riley didn’t say anything. But she thought she did understand why. Trust was often a casualty of the kind of trauma Murray had been through. Riley knew this from dealing with people who had suffered from PTSD, and from her own experience with it.

  She found it oddly touching that Murray seemed to trust her alone.

  She also knew that it was completely unhelpful.

  “What can you tell me?” Murray asked in a quietly desperate tone. “Please say you’re making progress. Tell me you’re about to catch the guy who did this.”

  Riley’s spirits sank a little. Now she understood why Murray had sent her a message. It was solely because he wanted her to personally reassure him. She couldn’t bring herself to lie, to say that they expected to close the case at any moment.

  “Murray, we’re doing everything we can,” Riley said. “Anyway, you’re as safe as can be here. Nobody can possibly harm you.”

  Tears welled up in Murray’s eyes.

  “Why can’t I believe that?” he asked in a choked voice.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve got some idea how you feel,” Riley said. “But you’ve got to trust the people who are trying to help you. You’ve got armed security people watching you day and night. Your butler, Maude, is obviously very dedicated. And I saw a nurse just outside who—”

  Murray interrupted her sharply.

  “I don’t like her. There’s something not right about her. I’m firing her. I want her out of here today.”

  The boy’s paranoia was starting to shock Riley.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Riley said.

  Murray didn’t reply for a moment. A tear trickled down his face.

  “I keep having flashbacks,” he said. “The noose choking me, trying to cut myself loose, crawling away. The fear keeps coming back in waves. I feel like it’s getting worse, not better.”

  “It will get better,” Riley said.