Midnight Fear

by Leslie Tentler

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Caitlyn, you remember Agent Tierney?”

  She took heed of the formality in Reid’s voice. He indicated his partner, who was dressed in the standard FBI uniform of a dark suit and heavily tinted sunglasses. Agent Tierney looked as unfriendly and imposing as he had during the Capital Killer investigation and Joshua’s trial.

  “Ms. Cahill.” Tierney gave her a sharp nod, then gestured to the other man and added, “This is Agent Morehouse.”

  “Ma’am,” the younger man, also in a suit, said politely.

  “What’s going on?” she repeated.

  Reid spoke. “Could we go into your office?”

  Without a word, Caitlyn turned on her heel and traveled back through the stables with the men behind her. Her mind kicked out several reasons for their appearance, including the possibility that the second victim—the one Reid had mentioned that morning—was someone Caitlyn knew. Preparing herself for whatever news she was about to receive, she led them into her office and closed the door.

  “What’s this about, gentlemen?”

  “We ran the background check on your employees,” Reid informed her. “How long has Manny Ruiz worked for you?”

  Caitlyn’s throat tightened. “He’s been here since we opened. Over a year—”

  “Is he here now?”

  “I sent him to the feed store.” Her heart began to beat faster. Manny? What could they want with him? He was a hard worker and had proved himself to be trustworthy and reliable, which is why she had put him in charge of the stables and farm. “Whatever you’re thinking about Mr. Ruiz, I can assure you that you’re mistaken. I checked his references—”

  “Then you know he’s a former inmate at Springdale Penitentiary,” Agent Tierney supplied. It was the same federal penal facility where Joshua was serving a life sentence. Surprise must have registered on her face, because he added, “I’m guessing that little nugget didn’t make it onto his employment application.”

  “What…what did he do?”

  He pulled his sunglasses from his broad nose and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his suit coat. His eyes were a pale blue. “Kidnapping and battery. You still want to vouch for this guy?”

  Caitlyn was speechless. She thought of Manny’s gentle manner with the horses, and the patience he had with the stable workers and field hands. It was unimagin able that he had lied to her. That he’d done the things they claimed. She looked between the men. “You can’t be serious. You’re sure about this?”

  “Caitlyn.” Reid’s voice was low. “Some of his time at Springdale overlapped with Joshua’s. We want to talk to him.”

  She took a wavering breath. Despite her best efforts she was trembling.

  “Please excuse me for a minute,” she whispered.

  “Caitlyn—”

  She walked back toward the stalls. Several workers lapsed into awkward silence when she appeared, and she guessed they’d been speculating about what was going on. Normally the smell of horses and hay had a calming effect on her, but at that moment she felt slightly nauseous. She concentrated on the sound of the teenagers talking and laughing while they wet Gemini down with the hose, oblivious to the encroaching tension.

  “Start at the feet and work your way up,” she heard Dennis, one of the equine instructors, tell them from the wash stalls. “The water’s cold—let him get used to it.”

  “Caitlyn.” Reid loomed beside her. He caught her elbow. “Where are you going?”

  “I…don’t want to be part of your investigation again.” Caitlyn pulled from his grasp, unable to control the slightly panicked tone of her voice. She knew she sounded unreasonable, but couldn’t help herself. “I don’t want people around me getting arrested. I don’t want to be a part of this.”

  Reid frowned, his gray eyes darkening. He moved closer, ensuring their words were a private exchange. “You didn’t want to know this guy has a record? What if he’s the one who was in your house last night? Whether you like it or not, things are going on here.”

  She stared at him, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the one who had comforted her last night. But all she could see at that moment was the FBI agent who’d torn her life apart two years earlier.

  It was happening again.

  The rumble of an approaching vehicle filled her ears. Her heart sank as a cherry-red pickup truck bearing the Rambling Rose logo pulled up outside the stables, its bed loaded with burlap bags of feed and supplies. Agents Tierney and Morehouse appeared from her office.

  “That’s him,” Reid said. Caitlyn pressed her hand against her stomach.

  “Manny Ruiz?” Tierney called as he and the other agent strode toward the idling truck. Both held up their badges. Manny froze, and for several long seconds Caitlyn believed he might put the truck back into gear and make a run for it.

  “Mr. Ruiz, step out of the vehicle.”

  Manny hung his head, the premature lines in his face appearing deeper. His shoulders slumped and he released a long breath before turning off the engine.

  “Put your hands where I can see them!”

  Manny’s eyes met Caitlyn’s. She felt a mixture of pity, anger and confusion overtake her. He slowly got out of the car. Her vision was blocked by Tierney’s broad back as Manny spoke with the agents.

  “Whatever he did, he isn’t involved in the murders,” Caitlyn appealed to Reid, who still stood beside her.

  “You can’t be sure of that—”

  “Why? Because I didn’t know my own brother was a killer?” Her eyes clung to his, and her face felt hot. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at the ground.

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “To the Middleburg police station for questioning. Like I said, we just want to talk to him for now.”

  A horse snorted from one of the stalls, its hooves stamping the ground. Caitlyn thought of the prescription pill bottle she’d found in the bathroom that morning. She wondered if Reid needed the medication, if he was looking for it. But now didn’t seem the time to bring it up. At the moment, he appeared strong and resolute. Invincible.

  Tierney motioned for Reid as the younger agent led Manny to the back passenger side of the sedan. Manny climbed inside and the door closed behind him.

  “I’ve got to go,” Reid said. She nodded blankly.

  He didn’t look back. Caitlyn watched as the sedan drove away, feeling more isolated than ever.

  10

  This wasn’t Reid’s fault, Caitlyn told herself. She couldn’t blame him if Manny had lied about his past, if the secrets he’d been keeping were now coming back to haunt him. But Manny wasn’t responsible for Aggie’s death or the break-in to her home. Certainly, he’d had nothing to do with the murders.

  She was sure of it…wasn’t she?

  A thread of doubt traveled through her, making her question her own judgment. Kidnapping and battery were serious offenses—felony convictions Manny had failed to inform her about. In any case, falsifying information on his employment application was grounds for termination. She would have to begin an active search for his replacement, and soon. His responsibilities at the stables and farm were too large to be left unhandled for long.

  She had already gone to bed when the phone rang on her nightstand. Glancing at the glowing numbers on the digital alarm clock, she saw it was nearly midnight. Not that it mattered since she’d been too wired to sleep and had instead been tossing and turning.

  “Hello?”

  “Caitlyn, it’s Reid.”

  Holding the handset against her ear, she pushed herself up against the bed’s antique, ironwork headboard.

  “I’m sorry for calling so late.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Back in D.C.”

  “What about Manny?”

  “He was released a few hours ago.”

  Caitlyn reached to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. “Meaning the FBI doesn’t have anything to charge him with.”


  “There’s nothing substantial enough for an arrest,” he conceded. “In particular, Ruiz has an alibi that checks out for last night when someone broke into your home. But he lied to you, Caitlyn. He never told you about his prison term. Isn’t that something you want to know about a man you’re entrusting your stables to?”

  Caitlyn rubbed her forehead. She knew Reid was right, but she was still upset about the disruption at the stables that afternoon. Even more, seeing him with the other two agents had brought back bad memories of the investigation into her brother—memories she’d worked hard to push aside.

  “Did he…” She closed her eyes. “Did he know Joshua in prison?”

  “He denies it. We also checked Ruiz’s prison records and there’s nothing to indicate their paths crossed through work detail, especially since your brother’s in maximum security.” Reid paused. “Still, the fact remains that he’s a former convict. I don’t think he’ll come back to Rambling Rose, even to collect his things. But if he does, I want you to call me. My gut tells me he isn’t involved in all of this, but I can’t be one hundred percent certain. You should err on the side of caution where he’s concerned.”

  Caitlyn bit her lip. A tree limb scraped the house’s exterior as the oak outside her bedroom swayed in the evening breeze. She didn’t want to talk about Manny anymore.

  “You mentioned a second victim in the District,” she recalled. Reid had been going to the crime scene when he had left her home that morning. “Who is she?”

  “Another Jane Doe for now, but it fits the pattern.”

  “So there is a copycat.” The words felt lodged in her throat.

  “It’s going to be okay. Just take the precautions we’ve discussed. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more, I promise.”

  “Reid? You left something here. A prescription medication—”

  “I don’t need it.” He sounded polite but distant. “Good night, Caitlyn.”

  Just like that, he was gone. She replaced the phone in its handset and stared out the window into the black night. The limb scraped the house’s siding again with a low, heavy rasp. Caitlyn glanced at the console on the bedroom wall, assuring herself that the repaired security system was active. Letting go of a breath, she drew her knees to her chest, willing away the nagging anxiety she felt. From inside her solitary bedroom, morning seemed about as far away as the moon.

  Reid observed silently from the back of the room as Mitch laid the photos on the table in front of Joshua Cahill. Garbed in an orange prison jumpsuit that appeared two sizes too large for his thin frame, Joshua’s dark eyes moved across the gruesome crime scene images. He wet his lips, frowning a bit.

  “Someone’s copying me?”

  “Like you don’t know,” Mitch growled.

  “I don’t.”

  “Are you willing to take a lie detector test to validate that?”

  Joshua pushed his scruffy bangs from his eyes, which had yet to leave the photos. He raised a tentative hand out to them.

  “Don’t touch,” Mitch ordered. He leaned closer, his tone goading. “Nice, aren’t they? This guy’s stolen your act, Cahill. You’re trapped in here while he’s out having a good time. Know what I think? Maybe he’s better at it than you.”

  Mitch pulled one of the photos closer, studying it. It was of the woman at Hains Point. “Just look at what he did to her. His work makes yours seem almost amateurish.”

  Joshua looked up then, his eyes slowly morphing into cold, black stones. His previously slumped shoulders squared a bit and his upper lip curled into a small smirk. Reid had witnessed the transformation before—in his myriad interviews with Joshua following his arrest, and in the psychological profile assessments following his conviction. He could turn on a dime from withdrawn, barely seeming capable of violence, to something bold and aggressive. It was as if a hardened, darker version of himself could overtake the more timid one at any time.

  “But maybe I’ve got it wrong,” Mitch admitted, scratching his head. “If you’ve been instructing him from behind bars, then the kills would be partly yours, right?”

  “I told you. I don’t know anything.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ll prove it. I’ll take your stupid lie detector test. On one condition.” His obsidian gaze moved to Reid. “If I can see my sister.”

  Reid crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening. “Caitlyn’s not coming here.”

  “But you could get her to. Couldn’t you, Agent Novak?”

  Mitch’s back had been to Reid, but he turned in his chair to look at him, too.

  “You can make her do just about anything, I bet. You got her to go through my things and steal from me. She turned her own brother in, all for you.” He rotated his shoulder, touching the area where it met his clavicle. “It still hurts where you shot me—”

  “Too damn bad.”

  “Maybe you got her to do some other things, too.”

  His suggestive tone made Reid’s face grow hot. Instead of looking at Joshua—he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see his irritation—he focused on the barred window on the far side of the small room.

  “Did she go down on you?” Joshua asked. “Caitlyn’s got a real nice mouth.”

  Anger thickened Reid’s voice. He still didn’t look at him. “This is a waste of time. This asshole doesn’t know anything.”

  With that, he strode out.

  A few minutes later, Mitch caught up with him in the corridor. Reid ran a hand through his short hair. “You can use a lie detector test if you want. We can get a warrant. But it won’t do any good. Cahill’s a habitual liar. He’ll fool the polygraph.”

  “Well, he knows how to push your buttons.”

  Reid said nothing. He looked at the heavy door separating them from Cahill.

  “So, you witnessed the interview—what’s your gut?” Mitch asked. “Does he know the copycat or not?”

  Reid wished he knew. He had hoped to see something in Joshua’s eyes when he viewed the photos. He’d expected some show of pride. If he was serving in the role of mentor to the second killer, Reid thought he might have seen that emotion. Unless Joshua was more in control of himself than anyone realized.

  “It’s still a possibility. Did you get the visitor list?”

  Mitch nodded. “There’s a minister from the Cahills’ church who comes every few weeks, but the guy’s in his seventies and half-crippled with arthritis. There’s also a couple of women who show up regularly for visitation. Sick, huh? I guess they’re erotic masochists who get off on the idea of Cahill torturing those women. Speaking of, he gets quite a bit of fan mail, which the warden is now screening. They’re watching any and all postal mail and internet correspondence—what comes in as well as what he sends out.”

  “What about prison guards in maximum security?” Reid asked.

  “We’ll look into it.”

  They began walking toward the exit, stopping at the desk where Mitch had checked his gun. Handing over their clearance badges, they waited for the guard to open the cage door and let them out.

  Maybe you got her to do some other things, too.

  As the late morning sunlight greeted them outside the penitentiary, Reid felt another flare of anger. He was being baited, he knew, but it didn’t keep him from seething inside.

  11

  At just before 1:00 p.m. on Wednesday, Farragut Square in downtown D.C. was bustling. Bicycle messengers congregated beneath the statue of the Union admiral, awaiting their next errand, while the business lunch crowd sat with brown bags on benches. Caitlyn traveled through the park, headed to a meeting for a nonprofit on whose board she still held a seat. It had turned out to be a beautiful fall afternoon, the air crisp and the sky bright blue, so she’d decided to walk instead of take a cab. She had arrived in town earlier that morning, checking into the nearby Montier Hotel in hopes of putting the past few days behind her.

  With all the activity inside the park, she was reminded of
the excitement of living in the nation’s capital. Men in power suits were most likely brokering deals for or against some federal legislation, while tourists studied maps and snapped photos. A tattooed man in a skullcap strummed guitar and sang for a crowd. For most of her life, Caitlyn had been a part of the District’s energy. She had been a senator’s daughter—well connected, on the inside of it all. It seemed strange now to experience it merely as a visitor.

  Although the stables were only an hour away, Caitlyn had opted to stay in the city for a day or two instead of driving back at the end of her meeting. Tomorrow morning she had an appointment with her financial advisor, and then afterward she would go to the adult care facility in Foggy Bottom, near George Washington University, to visit her mother. She also had a meeting about listing her family’s Georgetown home for sale. But Caitlyn couldn’t lie to herself; the overnight stay was about more than simple convenience. She considered it ironic that the District, the place from which she’d originally sought sanctuary, had become a temporary respite from her secluded life in the country.

  At the crosswalk, she waited for the light to change so she could get across busy Seventeenth Street to the postmodern office building where the board meeting was being held. It was then that she saw the man. Tall and pale, with a receding hairline, he seemed to be staring directly at her. Pretty certain she didn’t know him, she averted her gaze and crossed the street with the other pedestrians.

  Reaching the building, Caitlyn checked her wristwatch. She was early, and considering the gorgeous day there was little point in going inside too soon. She took a seat on the ledge of a splashing fountain outside the marble and glass lobby, intent on soaking up some sun.

  She spotted the man again.

  He stood on the other side of the street, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wrinkled trousers. His features were pinched, his gaze on her intense. A businessman bumped into him on the sidewalk, but he didn’t break his stare. Their eyes locked for several heartbeats, until one of the metro buses pulled in front of the building, blocking her view. When it drove away a short time later in a cloud of black smoke, the man was gone.