Once Stalked (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 9)

by Blake Pierce

  Bill threw himself over the railing, leaping feet first toward the water. The fall seemed longer than he’d expected, and the water was surprisingly hard and cold.

  He fought his way to the surface, spat out a mouthful of salt water, and caught his breath.

  Paddling frantically, struggling against the weight of his own clothes, he looked around for Graham.

  A wave rolled by, and then a bit of Graham’s jacket bobbed up on the rough surface. Bill felt sure that Graham was trying to pull himself under. Suicide by cop hadn’t worked out for him; now it looked like he was going to resort to deliberate drowning.

  Bill was getting mad. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  He thrashed his way toward Graham, reached down into the water, and pulled at his clothing. Graham thrashed back at him, trying to push him away. Another wave lifted them both in the water. Bill managed to get a grip on the other man’s jacket collar and yanked his head above the surface.

  Then Bill punched him as hard as he could.

  Dazed by the blow, Graham began to sink. Bill grabbed him by the hair, lifted the man, and turned around. He pulled his right arm over the man’s shoulder for a cross-chest tow and started swimming with him.

  In a struggling sidestroke, Bill dragged the now quiet man along the pier, from one massive piling to the next. Each wave threatened to take them both under.

  Finally they reached shallower water and Bill was able to get to his feet, gasping for breath. But waves were breaking around him now and the undertow tugged at his ankles.

  Graham was whimpering now.

  “Let me go, let me go.”

  With great relief, Bill saw Lucy and Riley wading through the water toward him.

  And Riley had her handcuffs ready.

  “We’ll take it from here,” she told Bill.

  Bill handed his burden over to Riley and Lucy.

  “Where are the CID guys?” Bill gasped.

  Lucy said, “Up on the dock clearing people away.”

  Bill let out a snort of disapproval.

  “Hell, there’s no point in that now,” he said. “I’ll go tell them to stop.”

  Bill staggered closer to the shore. More exhausted than he had realized, he collapsed to his knees in the shallows, gasping for breath.

  With a deep sense of satisfaction, he heard Riley reading Graham his Miranda rights.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  When the CID team came down off the pier, the BAU agents turned the handcuffed and drenched Brandon Graham straight over to them. Riley watched with satisfaction as Sergeant Matthews and his CID team dragged the captive across the beach and toward their car.

  Graham was raving wildly, “Let me go! There are more guys on that list! They’re thugs, not soldiers! You won’t stop them, so I’ve got to!”

  Riley watched and listened with curiosity. The suspect was implicating himself with every breath.

  They’d surely caught the killer.

  But she recognized a nagging doubt that she couldn’t quite put into words.

  We’ve finished this case, she tried to convince herself. It just hasn’t sunk in yet.

  Then she heard Bill laughing.

  “Look at us,” her partner said. “Some fine-looking FBI agents.”

  Riley looked at the other two and broke into a laugh herself.

  They were all soaking wet, straggly hair and saggy clothes still dripping salt water onto the beach. They looked more like survivors of a shipwreck than skilled BAU profilers.

  “Let’s get back and change before we scare somebody,” Lucy giggled.

  But as Riley and her soaking wet companions staggered across the sand toward their own vehicle, that odd doubt lingered in her mind.

  *

  While the CID agents drove the captive to the CID building, Riley and her BAU colleagues went to their cottage, showered, and put on dry clothes. When they finally arrived at the CID building, Larson was right there to greet them.

  “Congratulations!” she said. “Excellent work!”

  “Has Graham made a confession?” Riley asked.

  Larson laughed.

  “Several times over. We’ve got him dead to rights. He’s still under interrogation. Come on, let’s go see how it’s going.”

  Larson led Riley and her colleagues to the interrogation room, where they stood outside looking through the two-way mirror. Sergeant Matthews was conducting the interrogation. Graham was wrapped in a blanket, still wet and shivering.

  Riley didn’t think Graham sounded any more coherent than he had on the beach.

  “You’ve got to let me out of here,” he said wildly. “It’s my responsibility. It’s my payback. You’ve got no right to take it away from me.”

  Riley found it hard to believe that this guy had already given a lucid confession. She also didn’t think keeping him wet like this was a very good tactic. The man seemed to have no idea where he actually was.

  As Riley stood wondering, Sergeant Matthews was staring coolly at Graham and snapping out questions.

  “Tell us where you’re hiding the weapon,” Matthews said.

  Graham’s eyes rolled wildly. “Let me go. I’m a good swimmer.” He tried to thrash his arms, but his wrists were cuffed to the table. “You’ve got no right,” he wailed. “It’s my revenge. Mine, not yours.”

  Col. Larson didn’t seem to share Riley’s uneasiness.

  She said, “It might take a while, but he’ll eventually settle down. He’ll tell us where the weapon is. He’ll tell us everything—how he came and went on the base, how he stalked his victims, the whole works. It’s going to be quite a story.”

  Col. Larson looked at Riley and her colleagues, smiled, and shook her head with admiration.

  “I have to admit, I underestimated you guys. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Larson turned and headed back to her office.

  As Riley stood watching and listening to the interrogation, she began to realize what was nagging at her. At the two shooting sites, she’d gotten a distinct impression of the killer—an impression of a cool, calm, calculating, ruthless mind.

  Could this be the same man?

  She tried to convince herself that it was possible. She’d known even the seemingly strongest killers to crack up eventually.

  Just then, Bill clapped Riley and Lucy on the back.

  He said, “What do you say we get out of this place? I for one am ready to call it a day. Let’s go to the cottage and pack up and head back to Quantico.”

  Riley didn’t comment. She followed her colleagues as they left the building. When they got to their car, she said, “I’ll drive.”

  On the way back to their beach cottage, Bill got on the phone to the BAU pilot and told him to get the plane ready right away.

  But when Riley pulled up to the cottage, she didn’t feel like packing. She stayed in the driver’s seat with the motor still running, trying to work out something in her mind.

  “You two go on inside,” she told Bill and Lucy. “I’ve got one more thing I want to do.”

  Bill looked puzzled.

  “Riley, what the hell’s going on?” he asked.

  “Nothing, really,” Riley said, trying to sound more nonchalant than she felt. “Just one little loose end.”

  Bill asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not really important,” she said.

  “Well, make it quick,” he said. “Our plane leaves in an hour.”

  Bill and Lucy got out of the car and went into the cottage. Riley turned the car and drove back into the main part of the base, still not sure of what it was she wanted to do or where she wanted to go.

  She flashed back to a moment when she was standing near the end of the pier. Bill and Graham were pointing their guns at each other.

  Something that Graham had said came back to her …

  “They hung me by my feet over a cliff—Larry’s Leap, it’s called.”

  The terror
of that ordeal had been too much for Graham.

  He’d never been able to pull himself together after that, and he’d had to be “separated,” as the Army called it.

  Riley pulled her car over to the curb, rolled down her window, and called out to a passing soldier.

  “Can you tell me how to get to a place called Larry’s Leap?”

  The soldier pointed the way.

  “Take the next left and follow that road up into the hills. You can’t miss it. Believe me.”

  Riley followed the soldier’s directions. Sure enough, a tall cliff quickly came into view. Riley wended her way along the narrow road toward the very top of the cliff.

  She parked her car, stepped out, and walked toward the edge.

  The place offered a stunning view of the entire camp.

  It was also dizzyingly high—about as high as the cliff over the ocean where she’d encountered Private Pope.

  Riley swallowed down a sinking feeling of vertigo.

  She pictured the place by night, with the camp lit up far below.

  Then she tried to imagine how it would have felt to be held by the ankles over this precipice.

  She shuddered. It was a terrifying thought. It seemed small wonder that Brandon Graham had cracked under this hazing ordeal.

  And yet …

  She thought back to those two locations where she’d gotten such a powerful sense of the shooter—the coolness with which he’d held Sergeant Worthing in the night scope of his M110, the cunning and skill with which he’d dodged the helicopter’s heat-seeking technology just before shooting Private Barton.

  If he had actually been put through this test of will and courage, would he really have let it faze him?

  Riley tried to imagine what it would feel like for the man whose mind she’d probed.

  It was night, and he’d been abducted.

  He’d already been subjected to beatings, forced to eat cardboard and drink vinegar, and had been the last man standing in a brutal free-for-all of hazing victims.

  And now here he was, suspended by his ankles, looking out over Fort Mowat.

  But he wasn’t terrified. He was annoyed and offended. In fact, he was deeply pissed off.

  These guys had a lot of nerve putting him through this kind of test.

  Or anybody else, for that matter.

  Even so, he called out to his tormentors …

  “Thanks, guys! Great view!”

  His voice was full of laughter and mockery.

  After all, he knew perfectly well this was the final test.

  He was going to be accepted as one of the elite now—ready to “run with the pack.”

  He would join their pack.

  But he would also reinvent it. This behavior, what had been done to him, and to others, was unacceptable. There was a cancer in this fine organization—a culture of vulgar, pointless, undisciplined hazing.

  It was up to him to cut out that cancer.

  Now, he had a mission all his own. He would get rid of the guys who were the worst hazers.

  Honor demanded it.

  Duty demanded it.

  Only if the worst hazers were gone, could this organization be the elite, honorable organization it was meant to be.

  Riley opened her eyes, stunned.

  Her whole body shook with the realization.

  We had it wrong all the time, she realized. This was not an act of revenge from a man who was hazed.

  This was the act of a man of moral superiority. A man who could tolerate no dishonorable actions. A man who lived for the military. Who wanted it to be perfect. Who demanded it be perfect.

  And when he witnessed the hazing of others, it was a stain on his own personal honor.

  We’ve got the wrong man, she realized.

  Nobody else was going to like that idea, but she knew she was right.

  She hurried back to her car and started to drive.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  As she drove back down the hilly terrain, Riley felt a sense of certainty that had been missing when they arrested Brandon Graham. With that sense came relief at finally knowing what had been bothering her.

  She got Col. Larson on the phone. The CID chief’s voice sounded pleasant at first.

  “Agent Paige, this is a surprise. Where are you? On the plane back to Quantico?”

  “Not exactly,” Riley said.

  “Where are you, then?”

  Riley swallowed hard before speaking further.

  “Col. Larson, there’s no easy way to say this. But Brandon Graham is not our shooter.”

  A silence fell.

  “What are you talking about, Agent Paige?” Larson finally asked.

  Riley hesitated.

  How on earth was she going to explain her realization to Larson?

  “Look, I just know, OK? You’re just going to have to trust my gut about this.”

  Larson sounded angry now.

  “Agent Paige, this is ridiculous. Graham confessed. And even if he hadn’t, we’ve still got plenty of circumstantial evidence. He had a list of targets—and he’d crossed out the ones that he’d already killed. What else would he be doing with a list like that?”

  It was good question, and Riley knew it. But she didn’t have time to sort it out with Larson right now.

  “Col. Larson, I’ll get my team and we’ll come right by the CID building to regroup.”

  Larson sounded incredulous.

  “To regroup? Not a chance, Agent Paige. This is over. Go home, get some rest. It sounds like you need it. I won’t have this investigation ruined by irrational doubts. You and your agents are to stay out of this from here on in. Is that clear?”

  Riley didn’t answer for a moment. She remembered what Larson had said just a little while ago …

  “I have to admit, I underestimated you guys. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Riley suppressed a groan of despair.

  Larson sure wasn’t keeping her promise.

  “Col. Larson, I’m serious about this,” Riley said.

  “So am I. I expect the three of you to get on that plane and head back to Quantico. Are you going to defy me?”

  Riley swallowed hard again.

  “I’m afraid so, Colonel,” she said.

  Larson’s voice was cold now. “Then you’re going to regret it.”

  The CID colonel ended the phone call without another word.

  Just a few minutes later Riley arrived at the cottage, parked, and rushed inside. She found Bill pacing back and forth talking on his cell phone while Lucy looked on with a startled expression.

  Bill was saying on the phone, “I don’t understand it, sir. Believe me, it’s the first I heard of it.”

  Then Bill looked across the room and saw Riley.

  “She just walked in the door, sir. I’ll talk to her. We’ll straighten this out.”

  Bill ended the call and stared at Riley.

  “Riley, would you mind explaining to me just what the hell’s going on?”

  “Who was that on the phone?” Riley asked.

  Bill’s face was red with exasperation.

  “That was Special Agent in Charge Carl Walder. Our boss, remember? He just got a call from Col. Larson.”

  “That was fast,” Riley murmured under her breath.

  Bill continued, “Col. Larson told him that you said we’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “We did get the wrong guy,” Riley said.

  Both Bill and Lucy stared at Riley in disbelief for a moment.

  Riley said, “Look, I just went to Larry’s Leap—that place where Brandon Graham said that he’d cracked from the hazing. Believe me, our killer wouldn’t have fallen apart like that. It was someone else, not Graham. I just know it my gut. How often have I ever been wrong about something like this?”

  Neither Bill nor Lucy spoke for a moment.

  Finally Lucy said, “What about Graham’s confession?”

  Bill added, “And what was he doing with that list?”
<
br />   Riley had to stop and think. Col. Larson had asked her that same question. But now that she had a chance to run all of the elements through her mind, she could feel them falling into place. Everything was starting to make sense.

  “Graham wanted to be that killer,” she said. “He had his own grudge against those guys. He was ashamed that he couldn’t go through with it. And the fact that somebody else had the guts to do it made him feel even worse. He was desperate to claim credit.”

  Lucy asked, “So are you saying he’s pretending to be the killer?”

  Riley paused and thought for a moment. The man in the interrogation booth had seemed nothing if not sincere.

  “No, there’s more to it than pretense,” Riley said. “Remember, he’s probably delusional, even schizophrenic. He’s managed to convince even himself. At this point, he might honestly believe that he’s the killer.” She smiled grimly as she pictured the interrogation room in her mind. “This guy is going to keep his interrogators running around in circles for a very long time.”

  Riley watched as Bill’s and Lucy’s expressions began to change. She was starting to get through to them.

  She said, “Bill, when you met him on that pier, you were sure he was contemplating suicide by cop. But he didn’t go through with it. He jumped instead. Do you honestly think he was capable of shooting you in the head so your partners would take him out?”

  Bill slowly shook his head. “I didn’t think so at the time. If I’d believed he was going to shoot, I would have fired first.”

  Riley said, “Think about that wretched man, both of you. Do you really and truly think Brandon Graham is capable of stalking his prey without being seen? Of carrying out a cold-blooded murder?”

  Bill and Riley looked at each other.

  Lucy said, “No. He might kill someone in some kind of frenzy. But he’s not a stalker.”

  Bill just said, “No.”

  Riley breathed a sigh of relief.

  “OK, then,” she said. “We’ve got to get back to work—without the CID’s help. We don’t know how reliable that list was, but it’s likely that more than a few of those other names are actual hazers. Which means they’re still targets. We need to put a stop to this before any of them get killed.”