by Blake Pierce
Riley ended the call. Then she called Dean Autrey and put him on speakerphone. Autrey sounded worried, and much more cooperative than he had been in the past. Riley figured that the horrible reality of the situation had finally sunk in.
“Have you reached out to all your students named Rachel?” Riley asked.
“I’ve tried. We’ve got seven Rachels. We were able to warn all of them except three.”
Riley felt a surge of adrenaline.
“Give us their full names and contact information,” she told Autrey. “We’ve got to find them—and fast.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Bill moved through the front door of the apartment building and up the stairs quickly. He, Riley, and Lucy had split up. A girl named Rachel was in serious danger, but three Byars students named Rachel hadn’t responded to the campus warning. GPS tracking had located all of them in the neighborhood around the Byars campus.
The one he was looking for, Rachel Reeves, was definitely here—or at least he’d tracked her cell phone here. His own cell phone indicated that she was upstairs.
But was she the right Rachel?
If so, was she in immediate danger?
It was a desperate situation. The girl might have been murdered already. Or there might be only seconds to spare.
As Bill mounted the stairs, he heard music blaring from above. It sounded like it was coming from the third floor.
A party? Bill wondered.
It seemed likely, given that the building was full of students.
It was also possible that the killer was using it to cover the sounds of murder.
For the moment, the noise was to Bill’s advantage. Nobody could hear him approaching. When he reached the third and top floor, he followed the GPS signal to apartment D.
The music inside was almost deafening.
Bill hesitated as he stood outside the door.
What should he do next?
In the heat of the situation, there hadn’t been time to get warrants of any kind. Bill and his colleagues hadn’t even known what premises they might need to search.
Should he knock on the door and announce himself?
No, he thought. A girl might be getting killed in there.
If he’d gotten the wrong girl, he’d just have to deal with the legal consequences later.
He drew his weapon. He doubted the killer himself would be armed. But a threat of deadly force might be necessary to stop a murder in progress.
He turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked and he pushed it open.
He almost choked from the smell of marijuana, and his eyes stung from the smoky haze. When his eyes adjusted, he saw seven stunned college-age youngsters, all of them looking thoroughly stoned.
Some were sitting on the floor, others on the stuffed furniture.
They raised their hands, their mouths gaping with alarm. Some of them staggered to their feet.
With a groan of discouragement, Bill holstered his weapon.
“Turn the music down!” he yelled.
A young man did so, then stared at Bill.
One of the other kids murmured, “Oh, man, this is so not cool.”
“Tell me about it,” said another. “We are so vigorously fucked.”
Bill showed his FBI badge and introduced himself.
“I’m looking for someone named Rachel Reeves.”
A freckled redhead sheepishly raised her hand.
“Please don’t arrest me. My parents will freak out totally.”
Bill looked straight at Rachel.
“Didn’t you get the warning? The administration tried to contact all the students named Rachel.”
“Yeah, I got it,” Rachel said. “I’m safe here, thanks.”
“Why didn’t you respond?” Bill asked.
Rachel shrugged.
“I dunno. I don’t even know this Murray What’s-His-Name. What’s the big deal?”
“Oh, I know him,” another said. “A real dork.”
“Me too,” said yet another. “Who’d have figured he was some kind of killer?”
Bill was seething with anger and frustration. He felt like shaking Rachel Reeves.
“You brought me here on a wild goose chase,” he said. “I could haul you in for obstruction—and a few other things. Meanwhile, another girl named Rachel is in danger right now. And instead of keeping her alive, here I am in a room with a bunch of stoned college kids.”
The kids looked thoroughly chastened—not that it did any good.
“Never mind,” Bill growled. “Enjoy your goddamn party.”
He left the apartment and walked back down the stairs. He heard the apartment door close and the music start up again.
Bill hoped that either Riley or Lucy was having better luck.
I’d better check in with them, he thought, taking out his cell phone again.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Murray thought that Rachel looked bored. He knew she didn’t much enjoy his company, although she did her best not to show it.
“Where are we going?” she asked Murray as they walked along.
“Someplace nice,” Murray said. “You’ll see.”
It was chilly outside. Murray watched Rachel sip her hot chocolate, then took a sip of his own. The drug didn’t seem to have affected her yet.
He was running out of time and he knew it. He’d seen the warning on his cell phone a little while ago. But he was sure that Rachel hadn’t seen it—not yet. He’d met her just after a class, and he knew that she always turned her phone off during classes.
And he knew she wasn’t going to check it now. He had easily snatched it out of her jacket pocket and tossed it aside a short distance back. So far, she hadn’t noticed that it was missing. With luck, she wouldn’t notice until it was too late.
He hoped he could squeeze in just one more retribution before the law closed in.
The noose is tightening, he thought.
He was amused by the metaphor.
He knew what it felt like to have a real noose tightening around his neck. His fake suicide attempt had been an excellent ruse. It had been especially effective with that woman, Agent Paige. How easy it had been to gain her sympathy and trust!
But all that was coming to an end.
Meanwhile, he had to keep some conversation going.
“Have I ever told you about my trips to the Greek islands?” he asked.
“No,” the girl said. “Tell me.”
He started telling her about the nude beaches in the Aegean—an entertaining story, he thought. But he could tell she wasn’t at all interested.
She was being polite.
Rachel was like that—always polite.
All the girls were always polite.
He hated their politeness.
He wanted to be loved, wanted, desired.
But it never ever happened.
He was nice, they all told him.
That word “nice” was always the kiss of death.
Of course, it was only figuratively the kiss of death for Murray.
It was quite literally the kiss of death for the girls.
He kept on talking, keeping his eye on the girl. She still wasn’t showing any effects of the drug. He hoped she didn’t get too out of it before they reached his destination. It would be bad if she keeled right over as they walked. He was prepared for what was to come next, and the noose was tied and ready in his backpack.
Still, it seemed kind of crazy, taking this enormous risk when the law was closing in.
What the hell did he think he was doing?
Well, he wasn’t thinking at all, of course.
He was following his urges, as he always did.
How could he do otherwise?
Anyway, he’d been lucky so far—lucky with Deanna, Cory, Constance, Lois, and Patience.
And he had a strong feeling that his luck was going to hold.
All he had to do was kill this one and get away.
He had a one
-way plane ticket for a flight to Venezuela that left in an hour and a half.
If he could just slip away from the murder scene and get on that plane, he’d never come back.
What would become of him then, he didn’t know. But he had all the resources he would ever need to live well wherever he went.
Oh, well, he told himself. All good things must come to an end.
He smiled as he thought …
Rachel’s life, for example.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Riley’s pace quickened as she approached a quaint little brick building with shutters flanking the windows.
Had she located the right Rachel?
The letters on the awning said ROSEDALE BOUTIQUE INN. It wasn’t far from campus, and it looked like many of the shops and residences in the area.
The GPS signal was definitely coming from here. Bill had just called to tell Riley that his own Rachel had been a dead end. He’d also said that he’d talked to Lucy, who was still following her own signal.
Guess there’s a fifty-fifty chance, Riley figured.
She walked into the small lobby, where an elderly male concierge stood behind the desk. Riley produced her badge and introduced herself. He peered through thick glasses at the badge, as if not sure what to make of it.
Then she showed him a picture of Murray Rossum on her cell phone.
“Has this young man checked in here?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” the man said, pointing to his eyes. “I’m not good with faces. Macular degeneration.”
“His name is Murray Rossum.”
The concierge peered closely at the register with a magnifying glass.
“No such guest,” he said.
“He might not have used his real name,” Riley said. “I think he may have brought a young woman here—a Byars student named Rachel Hawk.”
The man’s lip curled with disdain.
“So what if he did bring her here?” he said. “Ma’am, this is the twenty-first century.”
“Sir, Murray Rossum’s a serial killer,” Riley said. “If he brought her here, it’s likely that he’s going to murder her. If he hasn’t already.”
The concierge’s bushy gray eyebrows rose.
“A young man brought a girl in here just a little while ago,” he said. “He signed in this morning by the name of Toby Seton.”
He picked up his desk phone.
“I’ll call his room,” he said.
“No,” Riley said. “I can’t give him any warning. You’ve got to let me in the room right now.”
The man wavered.
“Do you have a warrant?”
Riley stifled a groan of frustration. There simply hadn’t been time for legal formalities.
“Sir, have you ever found a dead body hanging in one of your rooms? Because that’s what may very well happen unless we stop it from happening.”
His face grew paler. He picked up a set of keys and silently led Riley up the stairs. He turned the key in a room door and opened it.
Riley heard a girl’s squeal of alarm and a boy yelling, “Holy shit!”
Two naked young people were cowering under a bed sheet. The boy definitely wasn’t Murray Rossum. The room was small but comfortable.
“What the hell do you want?” the girl said.
Riley produced her badge and introduced herself.
The girl looked truly alarmed.
“Lady, I beg you, don’t tell my parents about this. They’ll have a fit. Toby came down from New York just to see me, and—”
Riley wasn’t interested in her story.
“Are you Rachel Hawk?” she asked.
“Yeah, so what?”
“Haven’t you checked your cell phone?”
The girl shook her head.
“Not lately. Why?”
“Byars has an excellent warning system,” Riley said. “You should start using it.”
The girl was reaching for her cell phone when Riley left the room and shut the door behind her. She heard a shrill screech of alarm as the girl found out what the warning had been. Of course, the warning wasn’t of any use to the girl now.
Riley thanked the bewildered concierge for his help and left the building.
Where does this leave us? Riley asked herself as she walked away.
She and Bill had eliminated two Rachels. That meant that Lucy must be heading straight toward the true murder target—and into trouble.
Riley got on her phone to warn Lucy.
*
Rachel was feeling uneasy—and oddly lightheaded.
“Where are we going?” she asked Murray again.
“You’ll see,” he said again.
Murray resumed telling her all about his travels all over the world. Right now he was droning on and on about Paris.
He was leading her into an out-of-the-way area. The path was lined with shrubbery that probably bloomed in the spring, and bare tree branches crisscrossed overhead.
Rachel had never been here and didn’t especially like it. The path was narrow and the area was somewhat tangled with vines. And today was uncomfortably chilly for such a walk. She gulped down the rest of the hot chocolate Murray had bought for her, but it didn’t really help.
She was also feeling uncomfortable around Murray. For one thing, she found his stories to be boring and tedious.
So why didn’t she come right out and tell him?
The answer was simple. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. The truth was, she felt more than a little sorry for him. She knew that he came from a wealthy family—far richer than hers. And he was a perfectly nice guy, which was pretty rare at Byars. Even so, he wasn’t popular, and he didn’t seem to have a girlfriend.
She certainly didn’t want to be his girlfriend.
But she also didn’t want to be cruel.
Her friends always told her that she was way too polite.
“You’re a chump, Rachel,” they said.
Her friends were right. It was a character flaw that left her vulnerable to odd and off-putting people.
She felt especially awkward around Murray. Once he had even turned up at her home in Bethesda while she was there one weekend. He said he wanted to take her to the movies. She told him that her family had made plans for her that day. It was a lie, and she’d immediately felt guilty about it. And Murray had looked terribly hurt.
She didn’t want to make him feel like that again.
Shouldn’t she put a stop to this?
Surely it was high time for her to stop being a chump, to show a little backbone.
It was time to tell him that she wanted to go back to the campus center.
If it hurt his feelings, there was nothing she could do about it.
But as soon as she opened her mouth to say something, she was seized by a sudden dizziness. Her knees went weak and she almost fell. The empty cup tumbled out of her hand.
Murray caught her by the arm.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
He led her toward a fallen log underneath some overhanging branches.
“Sit down here,” he said.
She sat down. Her head was buzzing and reeling, and the world was spinning around her.
What’s going on? she wondered.
Her thoughts were foggy, and she couldn’t make sense of things.
But she had a vague feeling that she was in danger.
She had to get help.
She reached into her jacket pocket for her cell phone.
It wasn’t there.
Had she left it back in her room?
No, she’d had it in class, she was sure of it. She’d turned it off before the lecture started.
Murray was still standing and rummaging through his backpack.
What’s he doing?
As she struggled to think, a terrible memory formed in her mind.
Several Byars students had been murdered recently—drugged and hanged.
A sketch of the killer was posted everywhere.
She remembered the sketch and the description—a big man with thick, shaggy hair.
Murray didn’t look at all like that.
He couldn’t be the killer.
But he was. She knew that now.
She tried to get up from the log but dizziness overwhelmed her and she fell sideways.
She knew that she should be afraid. But she was too foggy and disoriented. And that was bad. Fear would help her. It would energize her so she could escape.
Now Murray was putting something around her neck.
I’ve got to get scared, she thought.
If she didn’t, she knew she was going to die.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Lucy’s nerves were tingling as she moved along the path, following the GPS signal for Rachel Mackey’s cell phone.
She’d just gotten off the phone with Agent Paige, who had told her that she and Agent Jeffreys had eliminated the other two Rachels.
Lucy now knew that she was tracking the true murder target.
Agents Paige and Jeffreys were on their way to join her. But from the looks of the GPS signal, Rachel wasn’t far away. Lucy doubted that they’d arrive before she found the girl—and the killer as well.
It’s going to be up to me, she thought. She hoped she was up to whatever awaited her.
But now, looking at the GPS instructions on her cell phone, something seemed to be wrong.
It looks like Rachel is right here, she thought.
Lucy stopped in her tracks and turned all around.
She saw nobody at all.
Then a glint of plastic caught her eye on the ground under a bush. She reached down and picked it up. It was a cell phone, the one she was tracking.
Rachel’s cell phone! The killer must have taken it from her and tossed it away.
Lucy was seized by a wave of despair.
How long had it been since Murray and his victim were here?
How far away could they be?
She broke into a run along the path, winding her way between ornamental bushes until she came to a three-way fork.
Her eyes darted frantically among the three paths.
Murray must have continued along one of them.
But which?