by Blake Pierce
Riley looked at him with surprise. It seemed like an odd question for him to ask out of the blue.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Bill shook his head.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “I could tell something was wrong when we met at the plane this morning.”
Riley cringed as she remembered how hung over she must have looked.
“I had kind of a rough night, that’s all,” she said.
Riley knew better than to think that Bill would accept that as an answer. He knew her much too well. But he didn’t say anything for a few moments. The only sound was of the surf pounding the beach.
Finally Bill said, “I heard about that woman’s death at your dad’s place.”
Riley shuddered a little. Of course it was hardly any surprise that Bill knew about Shirley Redding’s death. Word had surely gotten around the BAU about it by now.
Then Bill asked, “She was your real estate agent, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Riley said.
“That must have been a tough thing to deal with.”
Riley hesitated. What did she dare say about all this to Bill?
Then she said, “I went up there yesterday to see what happened.”
She hesitated again.
“The police said it was an accident,” she finally said.
As soon as the words were out, Riley somehow knew that Bill wouldn’t believe her.
She didn’t know why exactly.
Were there rumors that Jennifer Roston was looking into Riley’s connections with Shane Hatcher?
Or was it simply that Bill could see right through her?
Again, a few moments passed with no sound but the waves.
At last Bill said, “Riley, you can talk to me about anything. I hope you know that.”
Riley turned her head and met Bill’s gaze. She could tell by his expression that he had already guessed at least some of what was troubling her.
He probably even knows it has something to do with Hatcher, she thought.
He was her best friend, and he’d seen her through terrible times. He’d also covered for her when she’d done terrible things. He knew perfectly well that she’d deliberately let that young killer hang himself. He’d turned his back when she’d crushed the hand of the young man who had drugged April and tried to sell her body.
He’d remained loyal and silent through all of that.
If there was anybody in the world she could talk to about what was going on with Shane, it was surely him.
But how could she tell him without bringing him into her web of shame and deceit?
Her voice choking a little, she said, “Bill, I can’t. I just can’t.”
Bill nodded and said nothing.
After a few moments, Lucy came back from her walk and went on to bed. Bill also decided it was time to turn in for that night.
Alone on the patio, Riley decided to take a walk of her own.
As she strolled across the wide beach, she saw that Lucy had been right—the water wasn’t dark. Moonlight glowed through thin clouds, glistening on the waves. It was all very soothing and peaceful.
As Riley walked along the waterline, she saw another figure further up the beach—a silhouette of a man. Riley wasn’t alarmed at first. She saw no reason to be surprised that someone else would want to enjoy a lovely night walk like this.
But when the figure was about a hundred feet away, a voice called out to her.
“Agent Paige?”
Riley felt a rush of adrenaline. She was wearing her sidearm, and her hand hovered near it.
“Who’s there?” she called back.
The figure raised his hands.
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed. I came to help.”
Riley recognized the voice now.
It was Stanley Pope, the private who had provoked her on the seaside cliff.
What can he possibly want? Riley wondered.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Riley turned on her cell phone flashlight to get a better look at the shadowy figure farther down the beach.
It was Private Pope, all right. His hands were still high in the air.
What was he doing here?
What kind of “help” had the soldier who had tried to frighten her come to offer?
Revenge is more likely, Riley thought.
He was surely still stinging from the humiliation he’d suffered at her hands on the cliff a few days ago. She knew that he was arrogant and rebellious and hadn’t liked being taken down by a “chick.”
Maybe she should have expected him to show up sooner or later for payback.
Riley decided to keep her distance from him this time.
“I’m unarmed,” Pope said again.
Riley looked him up and down. It looked like he was telling the truth. But she also knew that he was physically tough and agile.
He began to walk slowly toward her. He moved smoothly, even on the sand.
“Keep your distance,” Riley said, her hand still near her weapon.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Pope said as he approached, his hands still raised. “Look, you taught me a good lesson the other day. I respect that. I respect you.”
Riley wondered whether to believe him.
Then she remembered something he’d said about Worthing, the dead sergeant who had been his drill instructor and had taken away his mosquito wings …
“I’m damned glad he straightened me out.”
Now Riley wondered if he felt that way about her too.
It was certainly possible.
“I really want to help,” Pope said. “These murders have got to stop.”
Pope’s voice and expression seemed sincere.
She decided to risk approaching him—but she kept herself alert and ready for anything that might happen.
In a moment, they stood face to face in the beam from Riley’s flashlight.
“What do you want to tell me?” Riley asked.
Pope turned his head back and forth, as if to make sure they were really alone.
Riley asked, “Do you know who the sniper is?”
“No,” Pope said.
“Then how can you help me?”
Pope locked eyes with Riley.
He said, “I think I know how the four victims were connected.”
Riley’s attention quickened. So far, any connections among the slain soldiers had eluded both the CID and FBI agents on this case. Perhaps that was about to change.
“What’s the connection?” she asked.
Pope seemed to gather his nerve to speak.
“It’s hazing,” he finally said.
Riley felt alarm bells go off. Hazing was, of course, the first and most obvious theory; and yet it had been ruled out.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“There have been some serious hazing incidents at Fort Mowat. Some of it has gotten out of hand.”
Then Pope fell silent. Whatever he had to say, Riley sensed that he was reluctant to say it.
Maybe even fearful, she thought.
She had to frame her words and questions carefully to draw him out.
“Talk to me about hazing,” she said. “Is it unusual?”
“Not really,” Pope said. “It happens on all military bases. It’s not supposed to happen at Fort Mowat, but it does.”
He was looking down at his feet now.
“Look, I think this is a mistake,” he said. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
He started to turn away.
“Don’t go,” Riley said. “Just talk to me.”
He turned back toward her and nodded nervously.
“How do you know about hazing?” Riley asked.
“I was hazed. Badly. I can take it. Just like I could take what you dished out after Sergeant Worthing’s funeral.”
He fell silent again. Riley knew she had to keep him talking.
She asked, “Are there recruits who can’t take it?”
“A few. We’ve had dropouts in my platoon. There was a suicide in another unit.”
He shrugged uneasily.
He said, “Like I said, sometimes it can get out of hand. Physical assault is one thing—beating, getting knocked around. That kind of thing toughens you up, gets you ready for combat. But some of these drill sergeants have been in battle too many times. Some actually suffer PTSD. They get kind of crazy, do crazy things. One recruit’s skin was so scarred by bleach that he had to get grafts.”
Riley was shocked.
“Nobody mentioned that to me,” she said.
“It was a couple of years ago,” Pope said. “I heard about it from some guys who were here back then. That drill sergeant was court-martialed. Everybody thought the bad hazing was all over. But it’s still going on.”
Although Riley was shocked by this news, she sensed that Pope was still being evasive.
“You said you know a connection among the four victims,” she said. “What is it?”
Pope looked away again and said nothing.
“Were they hazers?” she asked.
Pope nodded. “They were the toughest of the hazers,” he said.
Riley struggled to make sense of what she was hearing.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Kyle Barton was a private, not a drill sergeant. Why would he haze anyone? And how?”
Now Pope seemed both scared and defensive.
“Look, he was part of it, that’s all I can tell you. And …”
His voice trailed off.
Riley asked, “Is someone taking revenge on hazers?”
“I think maybe so,” Pope said. His voice was getting shaky now.
“Why are you so scared?” Riley asked.
Pope seemed to be struggling with himself, trying to decide what to say.
Finally he said, “Look, that’s all I can tell you. I’ve got to get back to the barracks.”
He turned and started to walk away.
“Come back and talk to me,” Riley said, walking rapidly to keep up with him. “If you’re scared, we can protect you.”
Pope shook his head and kept walking.
“That’s all I’ve got to say. Please—don’t tell anybody I talked to you. Nobody must know. These are people who—”
Without warning, he broke into a run and took off down the beach.
Riley started to run after him, but thought better of it and stopped.
She knew Pope had told her all that he was willing to tell her—probably more than he’d meant to tell her.
Even so, her head was full of questions as she walked back to the cottage.
Why is Stanley Pope so scared? she wondered.
She needed to find out soon—before someone else was killed.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
When Riley woke up Bill and Lucy early the next morning to tell them about her weird and unsettling encounter with Private Pope, her colleagues listened with fascination.
When she finished, Bill said, “We’ve got to bring this Pope kid in for more questions.”
Riley shook her head.
“I don’t want to do that,” she said. “Not right now.”
Bill looked incredulous.
“Why not?” he asked. “Pope is a person of interest, if anybody is. And it sure doesn’t sound like he told you everything he knows.”
Riley knew that Bill was right. She didn’t want to ignore his concerns, but she had worries of her own.
Then she said, “For one thing, I think he’s genuinely terrified—and probably with good reason. Bringing him in might make him a target.”
“A target for who?” Bill asked. “For all we know, he’s the one we’re looking for.”
“I’m sure he’s not,” Riley said.
Bill sounded incredulous now.
“How do you know? Riley, the guy attacked you.”
“He didn’t attack me. He just tried to scare me. Apparently he learned his lesson. He was actually trying to find a way to help.”
Bill groaned with exasperation.
“I don’t know about this, Riley.”
The more Riley thought about it, the more sure she was that she was right.
She said, “First I want to talk to Barton’s AIT group again. At least for now, we’re not telling Larson or anybody else about my meeting with him last night.”
She watched Bill’s face as he digested her words and somewhat reluctantly accepted her decision. Finally, he nodded his head.
Riley drew a breath of relief. She really didn’t want to get into an argument with her partner over this. Once again, she appreciated his willingness to go with her instincts even when she couldn’t explain them.
She looked at Lucy, who had been quiet so far.
Lucy said softly, “So what do we do now?”
Riley said, “We go back to Barton’s group. We’ve got to ask more questions,” she said.
“Could we ask them at Barton’s funeral?” Lucy asked.
Bill said, “No. I’ve been told that his widow doesn’t want a military ceremony, so it’s going to be a private funeral for family and a few friends. Few if any of his fellow soldiers will be there. We’d best stay focused on the base.”
Riley drummed her fingers for a moment.
She said, “Well, we’ve got to talk to those trainees right now. Somebody in that group is holding out on us. I feel sure of it.”
*
Riley called Col. Larson right away to set up the meeting. About a half an hour later, she, Bill, and Lucy joined Larson and her team head, Sergeant Matthews, at the mess hall. The AIT training group was gathered at a table there. Sergeant Williams explained that Riley and her colleagues had more questions for them.
Riley noticed that their young faces looked markedly more worried than they had yesterday. They also looked more fearful. She wasn’t surprised. Now that they’d had a full twenty-four hours to process what had happened to their fellow soldier, the initial shock was giving way to a whole world of dark and troubling feelings—including paranoia, some of it directed at each other.
Riley, Bill, Lucy, and Col. Larson stood in front the group. Sergeant Matthews took his place nearby.
Riley decided to get right to the point.
“I want to ask you about hazing,” she said.
A palpable shudder went through the group. Riley sensed surprise, confusion, and alarm.
One young man said, “I don’t understand. The victims were shot, they weren’t hazed.”
“Or were they hazed?” a female recruit said.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” another male asked.
A brief hubbub followed until Sergeant Williams sternly quieted the group. The drill sergeant himself seemed shaken by what Riley had just said. That was good as far as Riley was concerned. The last thing she wanted was for the recruits to be comfortable. She was far more likely to get meaningful information now that they were off their guard.
Riley continued, “I know hazing goes on. That’s nothing unusual. But I need to hear about your own personal experiences. Has it happened to you?”
Recruits eyed each other anxiously.
Riley knew perfectly well that she’d asked a difficult question.
Sergeant Williams spoke up.
“With due respect, Agent Paige, the Army now has rules against that kind of thing. It says so in the training manual. ‘Stress created by physical or verbal abuse is non-productive and prohibited.’”
Riley looked hard at him and said, “Are you telling me that hazing never happens here at Fort Mowat?”
Sergeant Williams didn’t answer. His expression grew sullen.
Riley asked, “Do you haze your recruits, Sergeant Williams?”
He glared at her, looking insulted now, but still said nothing.
A young man called out, “Sergeant Williams would never do that, ma’am. He sticks to the book. He treats us with respect.”
There was a general murmur of agreement. Riley
believed them. But she sensed that she was pushing the right buttons.
The young woman who had already spoken said, “Look, sometimes other drill sergeants give us a hard time. My platoon sergeant back in basic combat training used to give us extra workouts. We can deal with it. Anybody who can’t deal with it shouldn’t be here.”
A couple of recruits grumbled in agreement.
Riley pressed on.
“I’m not talking about extra workouts. I’m talking about stuff that pushes the envelope, goes too far. And I need for you to tell me about it right here and right now.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the group.
Then a young man spoke reluctantly, almost in a whisper.
“Something happened in my unit.”
Several of his comrades tried to shush him.
Col. Larson said, “Speak up, Private. Agent Paige needs to hear about it. There won’t be any repercussions. I guarantee it.”
Now there was a barely audibly groan of incredulity from the group. Riley understood why. How could Col. Larson guarantee no repercussions for telling the truth about this kind of thing? The truth was, Riley knew she was asking them to put themselves at risk of retaliation from their peers. Riley didn’t like it, but she felt that she had no choice. Lives might well depend on what she learned here today.
She said to the soldier who had spoken, “Go ahead. Tell me.”
The young man winced sharply.
“My basic combat drill sergeant assembled our unit and fired a gun in the air. Then he waved the gun at us and said that he was going to take one of us out with the next shot. He pulled the trigger again, but there weren’t any more bullets in the cartridge. Scared us half to death.”
The soldier sitting next to him looked furious.
“You keep your trap shut, Musser. That’s nobody’s business.”
“But did it really happen?” Riley asked the angry soldier.
“Yeah, it happened,” the soldier snapped at Riley. “I was in that unit too. But so what? It gave us a good scare, and we needed it. It was just a taste of what we’d feel in combat. I’m damn glad the sarge did it. He’s been in combat, knows what we’re in for. We’ve got to become cold-blooded killers. Coddling us now is a sure way to get us killed later on.”
A woman said, “You’re full of shit, Parks. It’s not like killing’s the only thing we’re training for. We’ve got science units, intelligence, engineering, law. I’m going to be a mechanic.”