Once Forsaken (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 7)

by Blake Pierce

  The woman’s face softened. Riley could see that she cared about Murray. Riley had to use that genuine feeling to get into this house without taking time to get a warrant.

  “We’ve got to see him right now,” Riley said. “All three of us.”

  Then the butler nodded and said, “Come with me.”

  Riley, Bill, and Lucy followed her into the house, where a couple of security men were still on duty. They continued up the stairs. There was no nurse waiting outside Murray’s bedroom this time.

  The butler knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Master Murray, Agent Paige is here again.”

  Cautiously she added, “And two other agents. They really need to talk to you.”

  No answer came.

  The butler knocked more sharply.

  “Master Murray, I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is important.”

  Riley could see a trace of panic in the woman’s face.

  Riley whispered to her, “Ma’am, we’ve got to go in there.”

  The butler hesitated. Riley guessed that she’d never barged into a room in this house without permission. But in her worry, she was reconsidering her usual ways.

  Maude Huntsinger opened the door. Riley stepped inside, followed by the others.

  The bed was unmade, but Murray wasn’t in it.

  The vast, cavernous bedroom was entirely empty. There was no furniture to hide behind. The butler looked under the bed.

  “This is impossible,” the butler said with a gasp.

  Riley and her colleagues spread across the room. Riley saw that the door to the adjoining bathroom was open. She looked inside and saw no one.

  “I don’t understand,” the butler said. “He must be somewhere in the house.”

  The butler took out her walkie-talkie and called other personnel throughout the house. She also called Agent Huang, whom Riley knew to be in the house monitoring security screens.

  “No one has seen him,” the woman said, her voice trembling with alarm.

  Riley looked around. Her eyes fell on a panel that looked different from the rest of the wall. It had a small keyhole.

  “What’s this?” Riley asked.

  “The door to his wardrobe closet,” the butler said. “His dressing room. It’s always locked. Nobody in the staff has a key. I haven’t been in there for years.”

  Riley looked around some more. Her eyes fell upon the bed.

  She remembered how crumpled and pathetic he had looked the last time she’d seen him.

  “I can’t shut my eyes,” he’d said. “That’s when the flashbacks get really bad.”

  Riley shuddered as she remembered the quote:

  “The worst form of tyranny the world has ever known is the tyranny of the weak over the strong.”

  Had she ever in her life met a person as palpably weak as Murray Rossum?

  Riley pounded on the wall and called Murray’s name.

  There was still no answer.

  Riley looked at Maude Huntsinger.

  “We don’t have time to get a warrant,” she said. “We have to know if Murray is inside.”

  The woman was sputtering with confusion.

  “But without the young master’s permission … or his father’s …”

  Riley interrupted sharply.

  “I don’t have time to argue.”

  The woman nodded.

  “I understand,” she said. “Do what you have to do.”

  Bill hurled himself against the wall to no effect. The panel rattled, but didn’t open.

  Riley drew her weapon, aimed at the lock, and fired into it at an angle that would prevent the bullet from striking anyone inside. The damaged door then slid effortlessly open.

  It room was dark, but some of the light from the bedroom spilled inside. The first thing that struck Riley about the room was its size.

  This is a closet? she thought.

  She could tell at a glance that it was bigger than her own bedroom.

  She found a switch and turned on a light.

  Murray wasn’t here.

  Riley stepped inside. Lucy and Bill followed close behind her.

  Both sides of the room were lined with expensive clothes and shoes. At the far end of the room was a big mirror. In the very middle of the room stood a desk covered with papers.

  The next thing that caught Riley’s eye was a large bulletin board hanging at one side. Her mouth gaped with horror at what she saw pinned up on it.

  Photographs of young women were carefully arranged under slips of paper with their names …

  DEANNA … CORY … CONSTANCE … LOIS … PATIENCE …

  They were pictures of the girls who had been murdered.

  He must have taken the photos with his cell phone without the girls’ knowledge, then printed them out and posted them here. Riley recognized all the names—except for one. At the top on the far right was the name RACHEL. There were no photographs under it.

  “It’s him,” Lucy said with a gasp. “Murray’s the killer.”

  Then came a hoarse outcry of horror from Maude Huntsinger.

  “My God! No! It’s impossible!”

  But Riley knew that it was true.

  Riley heard Bill’s voice behind her say, “Riley, you’d better look at this.”

  She turned and saw him standing at the table reading the pieces of paper. Riley joined him and saw that they were all unsent letters that began with the victims’ names.

  Dear Deanna … Dear Cory … Dear Constance …

  She picked up the letter that began “Dear Patience.” It began …

  I don’t understand. You like me but you don’t like me. You say I’m nice, but you don’t want to go out with me. This happens to me again and again. Girls don’t want a boy who’s “nice.” But this time it hurts more than it has before. Because you’re special to me, Patience. And do you think I don’t know what “mapache” means? …

  The rest of the letter was a mess, with illegible passages and countless cross-outs.

  It reminded Riley of her father’s letter—with one important difference.

  By saying precisely nothing, her father had said exactly what he’d wanted to say. He’d signed his non-letter “Dad.” But this letter had no signature. It was hopelessly unfinished. Murray had no idea how to put into words what he wanted to say. In the end, the only way he knew how to communicate his feelings was murder.

  Riley picked up the letter Murray had started writing to a girl named Rachel. It was much the same, filled with self-pity and bafflement at why the girl somehow both liked and didn’t like him. One crossed-out phrase seized her attention …

  I know I’m not a big strong guy, but …

  Riley stopped reading right there.

  She murmured aloud, “‘The tyranny of the weak over the strong.’”

  The veil had lifted from her eyes.

  Now she understood what her instincts had tried to tell her all along.

  Every time she had tried to get into the mind of the killer, she’d found herself in Murray’s mind. She’d sensed some kind of danger hovering around Murray. She had thought it was because he’d been a victim. Because he could still be in danger.

  But the danger wasn’t to Murray.

  It was from Murray.

  And now, at long last, she could slip into Murray’s mind and feel what he’d felt, think what he’d thought.

  In the bed … lying there … his eyes pleading with her … looking so pathetic …

  He was gloating!

  And he’d played her completely, just as he’d played his victims.

  He’d carried his deception out as fully as he possibly could—even faking his own attempted murder.

  Murray Rossum was his weakness.

  His weakness was his obsession—and his power.

  Murray killed out of weakness.

  His weakness of character made it possible for him to kill. His physical weakness forced him to drug his victims.

  Shane Hatch
er had figured it out already. He knew that the truth was right under Riley’s nose. So what had kept Riley from getting the message?

  It was my pity, Riley realized.

  She’d let compassion cloud her instincts.

  By his very weakness, Murray had tyrannized Riley’s judgment.

  Riley looked again at the bulletin board.

  Why weren’t there any photographs under Rachel’s name? He’d surely stalked her, taking pictures of her—pictures that must be in his cell phone. Why hadn’t he printed them and posted them?

  Riley realized with a shudder …

  Because he hasn’t killed her—yet.

  Riley turned to Lucy, whose mouth was hanging open with shock.

  “Agent Vargas, call Byars College right now. Talk to Dean Autrey. The school must have some kind of campus alerts app. Have the dean broadcast a warning and a photo of Murray to all the cell phones on campus. Tell him to personally contact and warn every single student at Byars named Rachel. Tell him that one of those girls is in immediate danger. Autrey might give you some resistance. Don’t take no for an answer!”

  Lucy nodded, took out her cell phone, and went right to work.

  Riley turned toward the butler, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Where is he?” Riley demanded. “Where is he right now?”

  “I don’t know!” the butler cried. “I have no idea!”

  “Is he in the house?” Bill asked.

  “I said I don’t know!”

  Riley called Craig Huang, who was in the basement watching security monitors.

  “Agent Huang, do you know whether Murray is in the house?”

  “Huh?” Huang asked.

  Riley understood his confusion. He’d thought his job was to watch for intruders, not to keep track of Murray.

  “I need to know if he left the house,” Riley said.

  “No. He couldn’t have. I’ve been watching the entrances like a hawk. Windows too.”

  “Have you got recordings?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Go over them. Right now. We’re coming right down.”

  Riley ended the call.

  “Take us to Agent Huang,” Riley told the butler.

  The woman led them down a back stairway that wound floor by floor to the basement. The basement was a maze, with rooms for utilities and supply storage, and also servants’ quarters and rest areas for servants who didn’t live in the house.

  Riley asked the butler to open a door to one of the storage rooms. Riley could see at a glance that there were no windows. She guessed that there weren’t windows anyplace else in the basement. The place was built like a bunker.

  “Does Murray ever come down here?” Riley asked the butler.

  “No. The basement is for servants only. He’d feel out of place here. And the servants wouldn’t like it.”

  Not true if he’s got an accomplice, Riley thought.

  Maybe somebody was hiding him.

  Was she going to have to arrest the whole staff?

  And what if he wasn’t in the house at all?

  If so, they were wasting valuable time.

  They went into the security room, where Agent Huang was watching a bank of computer monitors.

  “I’ve just gone over the recordings,” Huang said. “I’m sure he hasn’t left the house.”

  The group stood silently thinking for a moment.

  Then Lucy said, “It’s what we’ve been saying about the killer all along. Nobody notices him on campus. People can’t even see him in his own house. He’s like the Invisible Man or something.”

  A realization seemed to be dawning on the butler.

  “Yes—he can be like that,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Riley asked.

  “This may sound crazy, but … sometimes he just seems to disappear. He’ll be in the house, but nobody will know where he is for long periods. A few times I noticed …”

  She paused.

  “I’ll see him leave his bedroom. Then I won’t see him at all for a long while. It’s as if he vanishes into thin air. Then he reappears again, seemingly out of nowhere.”

  Lucy was pacing and looking around.

  “That reminds me of something,” she said. “A few years ago, I went on a trip with my family to the town in Mexico we originally came from. It’s an old town, dating way back to colonial times. Back during the Mexican War of Independence, the townspeople dug all kinds of escape tunnels among the houses. The entrances were well camouflaged.”

  That’s it! Riley thought.

  “Where do you see him just before he disappears?” she said to the butler.

  “I’ll show you,” the butler said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  As they followed the butler, Riley felt in her gut that Lucy had hit upon the truth. Murray must have left the house through some kind of secret exit. The house was old enough to have been built when a man could hide that sort of thing if he owned enough property in the area.

  She was glad for Lucy. After all, the young agent had gone through some setbacks lately and had been down on herself. Riley decided to let her take charge for the moment.

  The group arrived at the bottom of the back stairs that led down to the basement.

  The butler pointed up the stairs.

  “It has happened just a few times, and I’m not even positive about it. When I’m up on the second floor doing something, I’ll see him leave his room and head down this staircase. I think he’s going to the kitchen or maybe out to the pool. But after that I don’t see him at all. I don’t know where he goes.”

  Looking eager and alert, Lucy crept slowly up the stairs, knocking on the wall as she went. The others followed her.

  At the first landing, Riley could hear a hollow sound as Lucy knocked on a panel.

  “Here it is!” Lucy said, knocking again.

  The sound was definitely different from the wall beside it.

  “But how does it open?” Bill asked.

  Lucy pressed firmly and evenly with both hands. It took some effort, but when she leaned her body into it the panel slipped back a few inches. Then Lucy was able to slide it open. Lying before them, down a short flight of steps, was a concrete tunnel.

  Riley asked the butler, “Did you know anything about this?”

  The woman shook her head, mouth agape.

  “It must have been here for years and years, ever since the house was first built,” she said. “Murray’s great-grandfather built this place. Nobody ever breathed a word about it to me.”

  Lucy flicked a switch that turned on a light. It was a bare bulb hanging from the tunnel ceiling by a bare cord. Riley could see that the tunnel took a sharp turn a short distance up ahead.

  Where does it lead? she wondered.

  And what had it been built for?

  Riley, Bill, and Lucy drew their weapons.

  “I want to come,” the butler said. “I want to see where it goes.”

  Riley hesitated. But she knew that they might need the woman’s knowledge of the family history.

  “Come on,” Riley said. “But stay behind us.”

  They all crept into the tunnel. When they reached the sharp turn, Riley saw that the tunnel extended for a couple of hundred feet, lit here and there by hanging light bulbs. There was no sign of Murray or anybody else up ahead.

  After another turn, Riley and her companions found themselves facing a locked door.

  “Do you have a key?” Riley whispered to the butler.

  “I’ll see,” the woman said.

  She took out a key ring with a vast array of keys and tried them one by one. None worked.

  Bill started to aim his pistol at the lock, but Riley stopped him. She didn’t want to make any more noise than was necessary.

  She reached into her handbag for the flat tension wrench of her lock-picking kit. She inserted the wrench into the lock, then groped and twisted it until the lock rotated. When she turned the doorknob the door swun
g open.

  Riley and her companions found themselves in another basement.

  “Do you know where we are?” Riley asked the butler.

  “I’m not sure.”

  They moved silently up the basement stairs. The door opened into the ground floor of a narrow house—obviously smaller than Murray’s home, but expensive-looking just the same.

  The butler gasped.

  “Why, this house belongs to the older Master Rossum—Murray’s father! He sometimes uses this house for important visitors, special friends. I had no idea the two houses were connected. They’re not even on the same street.”

  With guns still drawn, Bill and Lucy went upstairs. Riley made a quick check of the kitchen and bathroom that adjoined the living room. No one else was there.

  “All clear,” Bill said, as he and Lucy came back down the stairs. “Nice place,” he added.

  Riley found it easy to guess just what the tunnel had been built for. The family patriarchs—perhaps for three generations—had used it as a route to carry on sexual trysts. It allowed them to slip out of the house without anybody noticing, especially their wives. The tunnel made it possible to discreetly meet a woman in the house where they were now.

  A mistress, perhaps?

  Maybe, Riley figured, but the rendezvous were likely much more casual—prostitutes, call girls, or other men’s wives.

  Doubtless the secret had been passed down from each father to each son all the way to Murray.

  And now Murray was putting the house and tunnel to a use that his forebears surely hadn’t anticipated.

  He was sneaking away from his own home to commit murder.

  Riley shuddered. He had to be found.

  “I need Murray’s cell phone number,” she said to the butler.

  The butler immediately told her.

  Riley whipped out her own cell phone and called Sam Flores, the technician.

  “Sam, I need you to do a GPS search right now. We’re looking for Murray Rossum.”

  Sam sounded surprised.

  “The kid who almost got killed?”

  “He’s our killer, Sam. And he’s after somebody else right now.”

  She told Sam the number and waited for a few moments.

  “Damn,” Sam said. “He’s a clever bastard. He’s disabled his GPS system. I have no idea where he is.”