by Blake Pierce
The thing that had really scared Jenn was that Gerard hadn’t been having a meltdown.
He hadn’t seemed frantic or agonized or even angry.
He’d seemed cool and in perfect control of himself.
It had made Jenn wonder just how “disabled” Gerard had really been.
Had he been faking at least some of his autistic symptoms?
That was why she couldn’t help but wonder now—was the meltdown Wesley had the day before yesterday even real, or just feigned? And why did Riley seem to trust him so much?
Jenn turned away from the window.
Riley was on the room phone ordering sandwiches while Bill talked to Meredith on his cell phone.
Bill was sputtering over his phone, “I—I know, sir … I’m sorry, sir … Agent Paige seems to really think she’s got something—a break in the case, maybe … I’ll tell her that, sir.”
Bill ended the call, put the cell phone in his pocket, and said …
“Meredith is calling the plane back to Quantico without us. He said other BAU agents need to get to their assignments. And Riley, he, uh … made some rather colorful threats. He said we’d better get some results before the day’s over. All our asses are seriously on the line—especially yours.”
Riley said, “If we don’t get results before the day’s over, someone else is liable to wind up dead. I’m more worried about that than I am by Meredith’s threats. Sit down with me, both of you.”
Jenn knew this wasn’t the first time Riley’s job had been threatened. In fact, she’d been fired or suspended more than once. Jenn wondered if she herself would ever be so intent on her goals and so sure of her decisions that such threats wouldn’t stop her.
Jenn and Bill sat down at a table with Riley.
Bill said, “Riley, you’ve really left us in the dark. First there was that meeting you had with Dr. Bayle. When are you going to tell us what was up with that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Riley said.
“Well, what does matter?” Bill demanded.
Riley took a long deep breath and said, “What Wesley told me is what matters. He was finally able to talk about what he saw through the window that morning, when Robin Scoville was killed.”
Bill gasped with surprise.
“Was he able to describe the killer?” he asked.
Riley replied, “Somewhat. He said the man was taller than the victim. He had slicked-back brown hair parted on the right.”
Bill squinted skeptically and said, “Is that it? That’s hardly any kind of description at all. Thousands of guys could fit it.”
“I know,” Riley said. “But I’m sure it’s all he could make out, at least as far as a simple description goes. He was watching through the window from the street, quite a ways off.”
Jenn suddenly got a mental picture of Bruno Young, with his beard and his scraggly hair.
She said, “If his description is right, Bruno Young definitely isn’t the killer.”
Riley nodded and said, “Which is what I’ve been saying all along. But Wesley said something a whole lot more important.”
Riley leaned toward Bill and Jenn and added …
“He also said that the killer walked with a limp.”
“A limp?” Jenn asked.
“Yes, but only when he was creeping up on the victim from behind. After he killed her and walked away, the limp was gone.”
Jenn wondered …
Does that even make sense?
Bill apparently had the same reaction.
He said, “I don’t get it. Why would a killer, or anybody, limp and then not limp?”
“That’s what we’ve got to figure out,” Riley said. “But all along, I’ve been thinking …”
Riley paused, apparently searching for the right words.
“I think the killer is obsessed with imperfection. He picks out his victims because they have … flaws.”
Bill drummed his fingers on the table and said …
“Yeah, you said something like that when we were at looking at Ron Donovan’s body at Wickenburg Reef. Donovan had a birthmark on his hand and wrist. Robin Scoville was an amputee. And it’s like I told you before, the two things just don’t compare. They don’t add up to anything. Besides, Vincent Cranston doesn’t seem to have had any imperfections at all.”
Riley’s face was tightening with determination.
“It does add up,” she said. “I can feel it in my gut. And now we know that the killer himself is somehow … imperfect. He limps, at least some of the time.”
Jenn felt like she could no longer keep her doubts to herself.
She said, “You’re grasping at straws, Riley. For one thing, we don’t have any idea if what Wesley said is even true. He might be lying, or he might simply have imagined what he claims he saw. He’s mentally disabled. That makes him just about the most unreliable witness we’ve ever had to deal with.”
Riley stared straight at Jenn and said …
“He’s not unreliable. And he’s not lying.”
“How do you know?” Jenn asked.
“For one thing, he’s got a photographic memory,” Riley said. “For another thing … I just don’t think he’s capable of telling a lie. He just hasn’t got it in him. I’d be surprised if he’s ever told a lie in his entire life.”
Jenn rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, Riley, come on …”
“That’s enough, Jenn,” Bill said, interrupting her.
Jenn stared at him, startled by his sharp tone of voice.
Bill said to her, “When Riley says she’s sure of something, I’ve learned to trust her instincts. She knows what she’s talking about. And she’s right—we’ve got work to do, right here and now. So let’s get to it.”
Then there was a knock at the door.
Jenn took the opportunity to hide her confusion. She got up from the table, went to the door, and opened it. An inn employee had arrived with their sandwiches.
As she and her colleagues set the table for both work and lunch, Jenn thought about what Bill had just said …
“I’ve learned to trust her instincts. She knows what she’s talking about.”
She found herself amazed and touched that Bill trusted Riley so much. And she knew that Riley felt the same way about him. And …
I feel that way about both of them.
They were, after all, the best friends she had ever had. If it weren’t for Riley especially, Jenn surely would have fallen back into Aunt Cora’s clutches well before now. But she hadn’t. These two great people had been her salvation …
And now I’m free of Aunt Cora for good.
At the realization, a lump formed in Jenn’s throat
She told herself sternly …
Don’t cry, damn it.
She opened up her laptop computer on the table next to her sandwich and said to Bill and Riley …
“OK, what do you want me to do?”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Dawn Bowen sat curled up on a velvety blue sofa gazing out a huge glass window at the carefully tended grounds outside. She was half-wondering …
Is this a dream?
No, she was sure it wasn’t. She’d been asking herself that question over and over again since this whole thing started, and she was perfectly sure it couldn’t be a dream. But there was definitely another word for it …
An adventure.
Yes, that’s exactly what this must be.
Dawn wasn’t used to adventures. She didn’t really know how this sort of thing was supposed to go.
She had to admit that this one was off to a thrilling start. It was also just a bit scary, which only made things more delicious as far as she was concerned.
She could still hardly believe she’d invited herself to sit down with a strange man in that outdoor café back in Holloway. She’d never have dared do such a thing just a few short months ago, before she’d had all the work done on her body and face. But now she felt like a new woman.
So I might as well act like one.
She heard him call out to her from the kitchen, “What would you like to drink?”
“A whiskey sour,” she said.
“My favorite as well,” he said. “I’ll make them for both of us. I’ll fix us a snack too.”
“Thanks, Scott,” she said.
She’d sensed from the moment she’d met him that Scott wasn’t his real name. That, too, helped make things exciting. She almost wished she hadn’t told him her own real name …
Dawn!
God, what a boring name!
Why hadn’t she adopted some exotic, foreign name—something Eastern European, maybe …
Irina, Katya, Magda, Masha …
She grinned as she imagined faking a foreign accent, inventing some wild story about her life before coming to America.
It was a silly fantasy, of course. She could never have carried it off.
But this man who called himself Scott—she found him to be the very stuff of fantasies.
As she listened to him working in the kitchen, she remembered how they’d talked for over an hour at the café—almost entirely about her, a subject she couldn’t imagine why he’d find so interesting. What could possibly be interesting about the life of a small-town real estate agent, a single woman with few friends who scarcely thought about anything but work?
Nevertheless, he’d coaxed her along her with considerate questions, and she’d wound up telling him everything …
Or almost everything.
She certainly didn’t tell him about the surgery, or what life had been like when she’d been plain and overweight. He might have been put off to know all that, and she was glad that he didn’t seem to have guessed it, at least not so far.
After lunch, things had gotten really strange and exciting. He’d told her that he wanted to take her home with him—straight from the café, right at that moment.
It had been a scary proposal—almost too scary.
She remembered how they’d left the café and walked a block or so to where his expensive SUV was parked. Before they’d gotten into the vehicle, he’d offered her a large, black silk handkerchief.
“What’s this for?” she’d asked him.
With a debonair grin he’d replied …
“A blindfold. Let me help you put it on.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to see where we’re going.”
She’d definitely been taken aback by that. But when she’d hesitated, he’d gently, teasingly taken back the handkerchief and started putting it back in his pocket.
“Too bad,” he’d said, still smiling. “I had such a lovely afternoon in mind.”
Dawn had changed her mind right then and there.
She’d turned around so he could tie the handkerchief around her head. Then he’d helped her gallantly into a back seat of the SUV. She’d already noticed that the vehicle had tinted windows, so probably nobody would see that she was riding around blindfolded with this handsome stranger. She’d figured that was just as well. If she’d been seen by anyone she knew, sooner or later she’d wind up having to make awkward and embarrassing explanations.
Anyway, it had seemed silly to be scared of him. He was well dressed and handsome and had perfect manners. She was sure he couldn’t possibly mean her any harm. But he certainly knew how to create a feeling of romantic intrigue.
And she liked that about him.
She liked it a lot.
The drive had been surprisingly long, and she’d had no idea where he might be taking her. Finally the SUV had stopped, and he’d helped her out and taken off the blindfold. She’d gasped with delight when she found herself facing a perfectly charming little house, like something out of a fairytale.
And here she was right now, looking out the window at the surrounding grounds. Even at this time of year, gold and orange mums were still blooming in the little garden just outside the windows. Rows of tall hedges and a grove of trees concealed much of what lay beyond, and she thought the grounds seemed unusually spacious for such a small house.
As she continued to wait for him to return from the kitchen, she wondered what these grounds would look in a few weeks, when the leaves changed colors. And what would they look like in the winter? How would it feel to sit here looking out this window at the snow while a fire roared in the fireplace?
She was starting to entertain a new fantasy—that he’d soon tell her his real name and all about himself, and their relationship would blossom into something more than a brief adventure, and …
Maybe I’ll never have to leave this place.
Her fantasy was interrupted by the sound of Scott’s footsteps coming from the kitchen. She turned and saw him carrying a silver tray with two drinks and a plate of sliced cheese, olives, crackers, and other treats.
As he walked into the room, she was startled to notice that he was limping.
She asked with concern, “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, why?” he asked.
“Well, it’s just that …”
She shrugged and nodded toward his leg.
His smile widened, and he said, “Oh, that. Just an old … problem that bothers me now and then.”
He set the tray on the coffee table in front of her chair and added …
“It will go away very soon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Riley breathed a sigh of relief. Both of her partners were willing to take the risk of backing her up in spite of the case supposedly being closed. Of course, now the pressure was on Riley herself.
She had to prove that she was right.
If she couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t be the only one to face Meredith’s wrath. She didn’t want Bill and Jenn to wind up regretting their loyalty to her.
Meanwhile, both Jenn and Bill were staring at her expectantly. Jenn had just now asked Riley …
“OK, what do you want me to do?”
Jenn’s laptop was open on the table in front of her, but Riley had no idea what to tell her to do with it.
She thought for a moment, then said …
“Look, we all know about one big flaw in my theory. Robin Scoville was an amputee, Ronald Donovan had a birthmark. But as far as we know, Vincent Cranston had no physical flaws at all.”
Jenn drummed her fingers on the table and muttered …
“As far as we know. How closely has anybody checked?”
Bill shrugged and said, “Well, the medical examiner and his team must have gone over his body pretty carefully.”
Jenn asked, “Yeah, but are we talking about something they’d bother to notice? Remember, none of us were exactly impressed when Riley pointed out the birthmark on Donovan’s hand and wrist—including the chief medical examiner. But if she’s on the right track, we’d better start thinking differently.”
Riley couldn’t help but smile.
That’s what I want to hear.
She thought back to the photos that had been taken of Vincent Cranston when his body had still been at the crime scene. She remembered noticing a certain detail that had fleetingly caught her attention. What had it been?
Riley got a tingling feeling when she realized …
Oh, yeah. His mouth.
His eyes had been open, and his lips had been shaped into an expression that resembled a slightly smirk. It had struck Riley as slightly odd at the time, because facial muscles usually relaxed after someone died. But she’d barely given the matter a moment’s thought since then.
She pulled out her cell phone and said to her partners …
“I want to call the chief ME. Maybe he can tell me something. Jenn, find the phone number of the ME’s office in Farmington.”
Jenn went to work on her laptop and found the number within seconds. Riley made the call and put it on speakerphone so her colleagues could listen in. They all soon heard Alex Kinkaid’s familiar gruff but jovial voice.
“Well, if it isn’t Special Agent Riley Paige. Calling from Quantico, are
you?”
“No,” Riley said, “my partners are still right here in Wilburton. Agents Roston and Jeffreys are also on the line.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting. I thought I’d heard the last of you folks. Didn’t you wrap up that ice pick killer case? Don’t you have a surefire suspect in custody?”
“We don’t think we’ve got the right man for this one,” Riley told him. “We need your help.”
Kinkaid chuckled and said, “Just when I was thinking again about retirement. Well, I do like to stay busy. What kind of help do you have in mind?”
Riley thought for a moment, then asked, “Did you happen to notice any physical imperfections on Vincent Cranston’s body?”
“Do you mean a birthmark, like the one the fisherman had? I still don’t know why you got all excited about that.”
“Not exactly,” Riley said. “I mean … something about his face, especially his lips.”
“Huh! Now that you mention it …”
She could hear Kinkaid thumbing through a file.
Then he said, “I wonder if I could send you folks an autopsy photo attached to an email.”
Jenn spoke loudly so Kinkaid could hear her.
“That would be great. I’ll give you my email address.”
Jenn told him the address, and the three of them ate their sandwiches while they waited. The email with the image came in just a couple of minutes. Jenn turned her computer so they all could look at it.
It was an autopsy close-up of the victim’s face. Riley noticed that odd expression again. But as she looked closer she said …
“Chief Kinkaid, are you still on your phone?”
“Right here,” came the reply.
“Isn’t that a slight scar I see over his upper lip?”
“Yep,” Kinkaid said. “He was born with a cleft lip.”
Bill asked, “Do you mean a harelip?”
Kinkaid said, “Well, that’s an old colloquial term that we prefer to avoid these days, but yes, that’s what it is. A cleft lip develops during early pregnancy, when the upper lip fails to fuse properly. In Cranston’s case, the cleft was unilateral, a single rift under one nostril. He was lucky. A bilateral cleft is harder to fix.”