Watching

by Blake Pierce

  But Jake also had more in mind than just this one case.

  He really had to find out whether her ability was real—and if so, what she could do with it.

  He looked around, wondering where to start the exercise.

  Near the dorm entrance, he thought.

  After all, the killer must have come in from there—whether in the victim’s company or not, Jake didn’t yet know.

  “Come with me,” he said to Riley.

  They walked down the hall to just inside the dorm’s front door. Through its window Jake could see the local cops and FBI agents milling around outside with nothing to do at the moment.

  They’ll find themselves back to work soon enough, he thought.

  As he and Riley Sweeney stood in the entryway, Jake said, “I want you to close your eyes.”

  The girl obeyed.

  Jake said in a low, steady, calming voice, “Now just breathe for a few moments, nice and slow. Pay close attention to your physical sensations—how the air feels around you, the floor under your feet, the smell of this place—things that you might not normally notice.”

  Riley Sweeney nodded and breathed. Jake could see that she was readily slipping into the state of mind he was hoping for.

  He said, “Now—I want you to think back to that experience you had when you walked across the campus that night, imagining how the killer felt following Rhea Thorson. Try to remember—how did it feel to be inside his mind, if only for a moment? What kind of thoughts did you share? Try to be him again.”

  The girl took a long breath, then shuddered slightly.

  It’s working, he thought.

  He said, “Now go back to last night. You just came inside. How did you get through the door?”

  Riley said nothing for a long moment. She seemed to be struggling with the question. Then her face tightened.

  “Trudy … let him … let me in,” she said.

  Jake was startled to hear her switch to first person.

  He hadn’t expected that. Was this exercise about to go too far?

  After all, she was just a college kid, not a seasoned profiler.

  Just let her follow her gut, he told himself. He’d stop her if the exercise got out of control.

  “Why did he let you in?” Jake asked.

  Riley shrugged a little.

  “Because I asked her to,” she said.

  After another hesitation, she added, “She knew who I was.”

  So the victim did know her killer, Jake thought. But he cautioned himself that in a setting like that, that was pretty likely. Was this girl just guessing or was she actually sensing something about the killer?

  “How well did she know you?” he asked.

  Riley’s brow wrinkled as if she were making a mental effort.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think … no, I’m just not sure.”

  “Breathe deeply,” Jake said. “Just say whatever comes to your mind.”

  The girl continued, “Not close friends, I don’t think. Well enough not to be afraid.”

  “And how does that make you feel?” Jake asked.

  A sinister smile formed on the girl’s face.

  Jake was startled. He’d never seen a novice get this deeply into the exercise so quickly.

  Then he cautioned himself again. Either that or she already knows more about this killer than she should.

  “It makes me feel good,” Riley said. “Everything’s going just the way I want it to.”

  Jake put his hand on her arm.

  “Just keep your eyes closed,” he said. “I’ll help you find your way. Just go where your instincts take you.”

  Jake kept his hand on Riley Sweeney’s arm as she walked through the hallway with her eyes still closed. When they were just outside the girl’s room, he tugged her to a halt, uncertain what to try next.

  The door was wide open, and Jake didn’t want her to open her eyes and see how the room looked right now. The body had been taken away, but blood was still everywhere, and a chalk outline showed the position of the corpse on the floor.

  But Riley was speaking again, and she seemed to be immersed even more deeply in the state of mind.

  “She unlocks the door to the room and invites me inside. I’m really delighted. I don’t even have to ask. She goes on in and I follow her …”

  Jake and the girl stepped inside the room. But now, she seemed a little bit uncertain.

  Riley said, “I think …”

  She hesitated. Jake wondered if maybe she was going to slip out of her experience.

  Then she said, “The phone rings.”

  Riley was becoming agitated, her hands shaking. Jake was about to break off the exercise when she blurted out, “That was his moment.”

  Jake noted the transition back to third person. He realized that whatever this girl was experiencing, it was getting to be too much for her.

  It’s time to stop now, he thought.

  Still holding her by the arm, Jake said gently, “Keep your eyes closed. Come with me.”

  But before he could lead her safely out of the room, the phone actually did ring.

  The girl’s eyes snapped open. Her head darted around as she took in the grisly scene, and she let out a horrified gasp.

  Too late, Jake realized.

  He rapidly pushed her out of the room and into the hallway. The girl leaned against a wall and started to sob.

  Jake put his arm around her comfortingly.

  “It’s OK,” he said. “It’s OK.”

  From the open door to the room, he heard an outgoing message—her roommate’s voice, not hers. After the beep he heard a male voice.

  “Hey, Riley—are you there? This is Ryan. Jesus, I just heard what happened. I can’t believe it. Are you there? Are you all right? Are you safe?”

  Stunned and confused and still sobbing, the girl nodded her head as if to tell the boy yes.

  After a pause, the voice continued.

  “Listen. Call me when you can. If there’s anything I can do … anything …”

  The voice faded away, and the caller hung up.

  Riley was still breathing hard, but the sobs were coming to a stop.

  Jake patted her on the shoulder.

  “You did good,” he said. “You did real good.”

  He realized that he meant it. He no longer thought she might be faking, simply reporting something she already knew.

  Then Jake heard the front door to the dorm clatter open and the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned to see a member of his own team approaching.

  Jake snapped at him, “Walton, what did I tell you?”

  Special Agent Tyler Walton said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I thought I’d better come tell you. We got a call from the station. It sounds like the suspect they’re holding is ready to talk.”

  “Has he lawyered up?” Jake asked.

  “Not yet,” Walton said. “He’s pretty cocksure of himself, and he doesn’t seem to care about getting a lawyer.”

  Jake looked into Riley Sweeney’s eyes and said, “Listen. I think you could be of help to us there, too. Will you come with us down to the station?”

  Riley nodded and followed him down the hallway.

  As they headed out of the building, Jake remembered how deeply the girl seemed to have slipped into the killer’s mind.

  She’s good at this, he thought.

  But had he done her any favors, bringing this ability out in her?

  Jake shuddered as his mind was flooded with horrors he’d seen during his career—internally as well as physically.

  He had no idea what kind of future Riley Sweeney might have in mind for herself, but he was pretty sure of one thing …

  A normal life isn’t in the cards for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Riley’s head was reeling as Agent Crivaro led her outside among the cops and agents. The experience she’d just had was much, much more intense than her earlier moments of connection with the killer—and muc
h more terrifying.

  Some of it was hard to remember. She knew there had been a feeling of satisfaction that belonged to someone else, not to her. She knew she’d spoken words that weren’t hers.

  “It makes me feel good,” she’d said, although it wasn’t herself she was talking about. “Everything’s going just the way I want it to,” she’d added. Or somebody had added.

  As she walked along with Crivaro, Riley saw Dr. Zimmerman standing some distance away among the cops watching her.

  She wished he’d come over and talk to her, help her understand what had just happened.

  But he kept his distance, as if he didn’t want to interfere with …

  What? Riley wondered.

  What’s going on? What am I doing here?

  Crivaro led her toward the nearest street. Police vehicles with flashing lights were parked there.

  Riley asked, “What just happened?”

  Crivaro hesitated for a moment.

  Then he said, “I guess you’ve talked about this kind of thing with Dr. Zimmerman. What did he tell you?”

  Riley thought back again to that conversation in Zimmerman’s office.

  She said, “He told me I had exceptional intuition for … this sort of thing.”

  “I’d say he was right,” Crivaro said.

  Crivaro helped her into the back seat of a waiting police car and sat beside her.

  Another agent, Walton, had followed them from the dorm. He got into the passenger seat up front and the local cop drove them away.

  Riley still wanted an explanation from Crivaro.

  “It was so vivid,” she said. “How did I know that stuff?”

  “Well, strictly speaking, you didn’t know any of it. It’s not like being a psychic or anything paranormal. You were following your hunches and intuition, and they’re just a lot more powerful and vivid for you than they are for most people—and maybe more accurate as well. Actually, what you’re doing most of all is using your imagination, exercising a rare kind of creativity.”

  He paused for a moment, then said, “For example, you imagined the phone ringing when Trudy and the killer went into the room. I doubt that that really happened—I didn’t see any messages on your answering machine. Still, something made Trudy turn away from the killer. The killer took advantage of that moment and pulled his knife and grabbed her from behind and …”

  Riley was glad he didn’t finish the sentence. She’d imagined that moment much too vividly just a few minutes ago. She leaned back against the headrest, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Walton had said a suspect was in custody and ready to talk.

  Crivaro had said …

  “I think you could be of help to us there, too.”

  What did he expect from her now?

  When the car pulled up to the police station they all got out and headed inside. The first person they ran into was Chief Hintz, the tall, lean, vigorous-looking older man who had interviewed her and four other girls—including Trudy herself—after Rhea’s death. He hadn’t been very sympathetic, which had made an already awful night even worse.

  Hintz nodded toward Agents Crivaro and Walton.

  “You must be a couple of the FBI guys,” he said.

  As they introduced themselves, Riley could see that Chief Hintz seemed to be badly shaken.

  The chief confirmed her impression, saying, “I can’t believe it. I just can’t get it through my head.”

  Can’t believe what? Riley wondered. Another murder or something more?

  Chief Hintz led them through the station to the interview room. They all stood outside looking through the two-way mirror.

  Riley immediately recognized the young man who was sitting handcuffed at the table inside.

  It was Harry Rampling.

  Now she began to understand why Chief Hintz seemed so troubled. She remembered Hintz’s look of disapproval when she’d mentioned brushing off Harry on the night of Rhea’s death.

  Gazing sadly through the window at the young jock, Hintz said, “I always thought the best of that kid. I took him to be a real hero. I didn’t think he had a bad bone in his body. Well, you never can tell, I suppose …”

  Hintz’s voice trailed off.

  Then he looked at Crivaro and Walton and said, “I guess you guys had better take it from here. Me and my guys are really out of our depth.”

  Hintz turned and walked away.

  Crivaro said to his colleague, “Walton, I want you to go in there and question the suspect.”

  The younger agent looked surprised.

  “Are you sure I’m ready for that?” he asked.

  Crivaro said, “You learn as you go in this line of work. Go ahead, get started.”

  As Walton walked through the door into the interview room, Crivaro said to Riley, “I want you to listen carefully to whatever gets said in there.”

  “Listen?” Riley asked. “Listen for what?”

  “You’ll know when you hear it—or if you hear it.”

  Riley could hear sounds over a speaker as Walton scooted a chair and sat down at the table.

  Walton said to Harry, “Tell me your name, please.”

  Harry seemed to be bored and amused at the same time.

  “Again?” he said. “I feel like I’ve already said it a hundred times.”

  “Yeah, again.”

  “Harry Rampling. Actually, my full name is Henry Wallace Rampling III. You know, you guys are making a big mistake treating me like this. My dad’s the mayor of Baxter.”

  Walton smirked slightly.

  “Baxter?” he said. “Where’s that? A big town, is it?”

  Riley couldn’t help feeling momentary amusement at Harry’s deflated expression. She knew perfectly well that Baxter was about a hundred miles away from Lanton—and considerably smaller. Walton seemed appropriately unimpressed, and Harry was visibly stung by that.

  Walton said to Harry, “I take it you’ve been told your rights.”

  “Yeah,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

  “Do you want a lawyer?”

  “This is so stupid.”

  “Should I take that as a no?” Walton asked.

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

  Walton began to question Harry about what he’d been doing at specific hours last night.

  Harry stretched his legs under the table.

  “I was in my room asleep,” he said.

  Walton looked at some notes and said, “Your room in Gettier Hall? Upstairs from where the murder happened?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can your roommate confirm that?”

  Harry yawned—trying a little too hard to look bored, Riley thought.

  “Naw, Larry was out all night. He told me he wouldn’t be coming in. He had a date with a hot chick with her own place. Which suited me fine.”

  “Why was that?” Walton asked.

  Harry shrugged as if the answer ought to be obvious.

  “Larry and I try to coordinate our activities. He told me his plans so I’d know I’d have the room all to myself—and for any company I might want to entertain, if you know what I mean.”

  “Company?” Walton said. “You mean like Trudy Lanier?”

  Harry winced at the mention of Trudy’s name.

  He said, “Terrible what happened to her. Nice chick.”

  “So you knew her really well?” Walton asked.

  “No, but we’d spent some time together earlier that night. But I guess you already know that. I mean, that’s why I’m here, right?”

  Walton held Harry’s gaze for a moment.

  During the silence, Riley remembered Trudy sitting in that booth across the table from Harry, practically swooning over his every word and gesture.

  Did Harry really kill her? she wondered.

  Right now it seemed like a distinct possibility.

  She wished more than ever she’d simply dragged Trudy out of that booth and walked her home.

  Finally Walton
said to Harry, “Tell me about the whole thing with Trudy. I mean, what happened between the two of you last night.”

  Riley’s curiosity quickened.

  Harry said, “I’d just arrived at the Centaur’s Den and wandered out onto the patio to see what was going on out there when this girl dances right up to me—”

  “Trudy Lanier?” Walton asked.

  “Yeah, her. And she doesn’t say a word, but she makes it real clear that she’s not going to leave me alone. So …”

  He shrugged again.

  “She wouldn’t go away and I didn’t really feel like dancing, so I said let’s go get a couple of drinks.”

  Riley felt a knot of anger in her chest.

  He makes it sound like she was being a pest, she thought.

  Then she remembered again Trudy’s expression as she sat gazing at him.

  Maybe Trudy had approached him, and not the other way around.

  Not that Harry hadn’t been on the make. She’d seen him move in on way too many girls—including herself—to believe otherwise.

  Harry said, “I hadn’t gotten myself a drink yet, so I told her maybe we could head on over to the bar and I’d buy drinks for both of us. That sounded good to her, she said. So I bought a vodka Collins for her and a double bourbon for me.”

  Harry paused, then said, “Well, I wasn’t sure where things were going just yet…”

  Riley bristled. It was the first thing Harry had said so far that she was sure wasn’t true. When it came to girls, Harry always knew where things were going—or at least where he wanted them to go.

  Harry continued, “Then she kind of dragged me downstairs, and we found a booth and sat down and talked for a real long time, and I kept going to the bar to get us drinks now and then.”

  Riley wondered …

  How much did Trudy drink? How clearly was she thinking?

  Harry said, “After a while, she said maybe it was about time to leave, and I asked her if she wanted me to walk her back to the dorm.”

  Walton said, “With perfectly innocent intentions, I suppose.”

  Harry smirked and said, “Well, I’m not sure I’d put it that way. Let’s just say I was keeping my possibilities open.”