by Blake Pierce
Riley could see that Barb was getting visibly impatient now.
“I’ve moved on, OK? I’ve been through a couple of relationships since Maggie died. Sue me. Life goes on.”
Then Havens spoke up.
“Were you and your wife having marital problems, Ms. Bradley?”
Riley stifled a groan. This pompous guy really was a bull in a china shop. For one thing, it was a stupid question. The cops had already figured out that the couple had been having problems. Pressing Barb Bradley about it was only going to aggravate her.
Sure enough, Bradley’s eyes darkened with fury.
“Is that any of your business? Goddamn Feds.”
“Just answer the question, please,” Havens said.
“Why? I’m an American with rights. I don’t have to answer any questions from government stooges like you.”
Riley could see a change in Havens’ expression. She sensed exactly what he was thinking. He was sure that Barb Bradley was guilty and it was time to take her in.
Not only pompous, she thought. A moron as well.
Sure enough, Havens reached for the cuffs on the back of his belt. Riley could see that Barb had detected the movement. The woman moved closer to the cabinet that Riley had noticed. Her hand reached toward a drawer.
Riley knew the situation was about to get deadly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Split seconds were passing. But from Riley’s point of view, everything seemed to slow down. It was her ingrained reaction to life-threatening situations—especially when they involved a firearm.
Brandishing his cuffs, Havens said, “Barbara Bradley, you’re under arrest for the murder of Margaret Jewell.”
But before Havens could finish his sentence, Bradley had the drawer open. In an instant, the gun was in her hand. She swung around and aimed it straight at Havens.
From Havens’ deer-in-the-headlights expression, it was obvious that he had no idea what to do.
It’s up to me, Riley realized. As her mind snapped into action, time seemed to slow down even more.
After years of training and experience, the four steps of disarmament had become reflexive to Riley.
The first step was to clear.
Riley stepped right in front of Bradley. But the weapon was pointed at her only for a fleeting instant. She simultaneously snapped her body sideways and gripped Bradley by her hand, pushing the muzzle clear of any human target.
Time was crawling along in microseconds now.
The next step was to control.
Barb was about to try to point the gun toward her again. She reinforced her grip to keep that from happening.
The next step was to disarm.
Still holding Barb by one hand, she grabbed the muzzle by the other, twisting it loose from her grip.
The final step was to disable.
And this step happened almost on its own. Suddenly, Riley was facing the would-be shooter, pointing her own weapon at her. Bradley raised her arms in surrender.
Riley held Barb’s gaze for a moment. She looked thoroughly cowed now. She wasn’t going to be any further danger.
Without a word, Riley put the gun back into the open drawer and shut it.
“We’re through here,” Riley said.
Havens started to protest.
“Agent Paige—”
“I said we’re through here,” Riley said, locking eyes with Havens now.
Havens glared at her like she’d lost her mind. Wingert was standing there with his mouth hanging open.
Riley turned toward Barb Bradley again.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Bradley,” Riley said. “Like I said, we’re sorry for your loss.”
Bradley smirked broadly at Riley—an admiring smirk, she was sure.
Followed by Bill, Riley herded Havens and Wingert out the front door. She heard the door slam behind them as they walked toward the car. Before they got into the car, Havens turned to Riley.
“What did you think you were doing back there?”
He gave her a sharp shove in the chest.
Riley felt her mouth twist into a smirk.
Oh, how I hoped you’d do that! she thought.
She grabbed Havens’ arm and twisted it behind him, shoving him face first against the car.
“Hey!” Wingert cried out.
Holding Havens fast, Riley spoke in his ear with mock-sweetness.
“Agent Havens, please correct me if I’m wrong. Did you just make a threatening move against a superior?”
“No,” Havens said.
“Are you sure? Agent Jeffreys, what’s your opinion?”
Bill couldn’t contain a chuckle.
“Sure looked to me like a threatening move,” Bill said.
“Now that’s not nice,” Riley told Havens, speaking as if he were a naughty child. “I’m sure that Chief Sanderson would disapprove. And he doesn’t even like me.”
Havens grunted helplessly. Riley let go of his arm and looked at Wingert.
“Agent Wingert, get in the car and drive,” she said. “We’ve got more work to do today.”
The four agents got in the car, and Wingert started to drive.
After a few moments of tense silence, Havens spoke to Riley through clenched teeth.
“I still don’t know what you thought you were doing.”
“Beating the odds,” Riley said. “Agent Jeffreys, how often do disarming attempts end in the firing of a weapon?”
Bill chuckled a little.
“About ninety percent of the time,” he said.
“Really?” Riley said, feigning surprise. “Wow, those are some pretty steep odds. I’d say we got really lucky.”
Havens was trembling all over with fury and frustration.
“You made a mistake back there,” Havens said.
“Oh, really?” Riley said. “Tell me, Agent Havens, have you ever been in a gunfight? Because that’s what was about to happen. And that woman was probably an excellent shot. Agent Jeffreys, maybe you can talk him through it.”
There was a note of pleasure in Bill’s voice as he described what he’d observed.
“You went for your cuffs, she went for her gun. She’d have shot you dead before any of us got our weapons out. Then it would have been up to the rest of us to bring her down.”
Riley nodded in agreement.
“There’d be at least one officer down,” she said. “And probably one innocent civilian as well.”
“Innocent?” Havens barked in disbelief. “She drew a weapon! The woman was ready to kill us!”
“She was,” Riley said. “Your information was right about that. She has a terrible temper.”
Havens was sputtering with outraged confusion.
“She hated her wife. She acted happy that Maggie had died.”
Riley summoned up her patience so she could explain.
“No, Barb didn’t act happy to see Maggie die,” Riley said. “She didn’t act anything. She was happy to see her wife die. Sincerely and truly. She considers it a lucky break, and she doesn’t care if we know it.”
“So what?” Havens asked. “She wanted her wife dead, she killed her, and now she’s happy.”
Riley groaned aloud. But she knew that she wasn’t being persuasive. She had a much more precise reason for knowing that Barb Bradley didn’t kill her wife. But how could she put it in words that this dolt could understand?
She knew that Bill was thinking along the same lines. And fortunately, Bill knew exactly how to say it.
“The woman’s an asshole,” Bill said. “We can’t arrest her for being an asshole. Life is unfair that way. There ought to be a law against assholes, but there isn’t.”
If there were, there’d be one fewer people in this car, Riley thought.
Bill continued, “Serial killers are seldom assholes. They’re vicious, sadistic, pathological, unable to feel empathy, sometimes crazy, often charming, always manipulative. But your basic garden-variety assholes? Practically never. That
woman might get mad enough to kill, but she’s not a serial. My guess is she’s never killed anybody in her life. That might have changed today. She might have made her first kill.”
Riley smiled. Her partner had nailed what had been on her mind.
But Havens didn’t seem to be the least bit swayed.
“We should have hauled her in for resisting arrest,” Havens said.
Riley had had enough of Havens’ stupidity. It was time to shut him up.
“Wingert, stop the car,” she said.
Wingert said, “Huh?”
“Just pull over and stop.”
Wingert obediently pulled over to the curb and stopped.
Riley said to Havens, “If you want to arrest her, be my guest. It’s a pretty short walk from here. You can book her and go to her trial and even visit her in jail. But don’t waste the rest of our time. We’ve got a serial poisoner to catch.”
Havens stared at her in silent disbelief.
“OK, Wingert, let’s go,” Riley said.
Wingert started driving again.
Riley doubted that this was the end of her difficulties with this pair. She was pretty sure that Havens would complain to Chief Sanderson. And Sanderson would almost certainly take his side.
It’s going to be a pain in the ass, she thought.
Any hopes she had of solving this case quickly were dashed. And the local help was going to be worse than useless.
A clever killer was still out there somewhere, as shifty as the Seattle fog.
It was going to be up to her to figure out who it was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At the next morning’s meeting, Riley found Division Chief Sean Rigby to be a daunting and weirdly demoralizing presence. She thought that Rigby, who outranked even Team Chief Sanderson, looked like an undertaker presiding over a funeral.
Or maybe more like a vulture, Riley thought.
Yes, that was more like it. He looked like a vulture hunched and looming high in a tree, looking down and waiting for someone to die so that he could dine on dead flesh.
For one thing, the black-clad, rail-thin, cadaverous man refused to sit down. He managed to dominate the room by leaning against a wall while everybody else sat around the FBI conference table. Riley was next to Bill. On the other side of the big table sat Maynard Sanderson along with Wingert and Havens, all looking unhappy.
As far as Riley was concerned, this case was going to be tough enough without rivalries and infighting. But the room reeked with unspoken hostilities.
For his part, Sanderson looked sullen, brooding, and palpably resentful—hardly the blustering blowhard he’d been yesterday. He barely made eye contact with anybody, least of all Rigby.
The only person who didn’t look intimidated by Rigby was Van Roff, an overweight, socially inept technical analyst. He was at the end of the table, busy on his laptop computer, and he seemed oblivious to all that was going on around him.
After the meeting got underway, Rigby spoke to Sanderson.
“I understand that your team interviewed Barbara Bradley yesterday.”
“They did, sir,” Sanderson replied. “I’ll let Agent Havens report on that.”
Despite his own nervousness, Havens managed to maintain that clipped, pseudo-military delivery of his.
“Our team concluded that Margaret Jewell and Barbara Bradley, a married lesbian couple, were having marital troubles before Margaret was killed,” he said. “During the interview Barb Bradley was aggressive and belligerent and not cooperative. Nevertheless, we came to the conclusion that she doesn’t fit the profile of a murderer, especially not a serial.”
“Oh?” asked Rigby in a low, ominous purr. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
Havens exchanged looks with Sanderson. Riley was sure that Havens had already told Sanderson about her actions at Jewell’s house.
Sanderson nodded, obviously cuing Havens to continue.
Riley braced herself for trouble.
“Sir, I came to a different conclusion during the interview,” Havens said. “I was placing Bradley under arrest. She resisted. She drew a weapon. A semiautomatic pistol.”
Havens paused, apparently trying to decide how to best spin what came next.
“Agent Paige successfully disarmed Bradley. Then we left.”
Rigby’s heavy black eyebrows jerked upward.
“Oh?” he said. “You didn’t apprehend Bradley?”
“No, sir. That was my intention, but Agent Paige was the ranking agent. She overruled my wishes.”
“Your wishes,” Rigby said, with just a trace of mockery in his voice. “Tell me, Agent Havens. Did Bradley have any other guns in her possession?”
Havens gulped.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“How many, do you think?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
“And was your team prepared to confiscate all of those weapons?”
Havens’ face twitched.
“Probably not, sir.”
“Do you have any reason to assume that she didn’t have a permit for her guns?”
“Not really, sir.”
Rigby’s mouth shaped into a smirk.
“Not really, eh?”
A chilly silence fell over the room.
Rigby said, “Agent Havens, I take it that Agents Paige and Jeffreys were the ones who decided that Barbara Bradley didn’t fit the profile.”
“They were, sir.”
“And they decided not to clutter up our investigation by bringing the woman in?”
“They did sir.”
“And are you in agreement?”
Haven winced all over.
“I am, sir.”
“Well, then.”
Rigby then turned his silent, withering gaze on Riley.
I may not be out of the woods yet, she thought.
Riley knew that it had been Rigby’s idea for her and Bill to come in from Quantico. He clearly didn’t have much confidence in Maynard Sanderson and his team. But how much confidence did he have in Riley and Bill at this point? Although she was independent of his authority, she didn’t want to get on his bad side.
And she still didn’t understand what kind of politics were at work here.
It’s like we got dropped into a jungle without a map, she thought.
She figured she’d better start finding out what was going on. But who could she ask? She doubted that anybody here was likely to be forthcoming.
“So we can eliminate Margaret Jewell’s spouse,” Rigby finally said. “What did we find out about the other victim—Cody Woods?”
Rigby nodded toward Bill, who hadn’t spoken yet.
Bill said, “After we interviewed Bradley, we talked to everyone we could find who knew Woods. His grown-up son and daughter are both married with kids. They’ve been pretty much estranged from Woods for years. Nothing rancorous, it’s just that Cody Woods got to be pretty solitary over the years. His first wife died, his second wife was unfaithful, and he had a heart attack, and he sort of pulled back from any and all relationships. People who worked with him said he was something of a loner—likeable but sad, a harmless loser.”
“So,” Sean Rigby added, “you didn’t find anybody with reason to want him dead.”
“We did not,” Bill agreed.
Rigby scanned everybody’s faces ominously.
“Sounds more and more like we’re dealing with a serial who is quite ordinary in one sense,” he said. “This is someone who is killing for the sake of killing. The question is, has he killed anybody else? For all we know, he’s been committing murders for years, and these are just the first ones we’ve noticed.”
Riley spoke up. “Barb Bradley said that Margaret had been in a rehab facility. Although she died at home, she was most likely poisoned earlier, possibly at that facility. Are we seeing any indication that we’re looking for a healthcare worker?”
Havens said, “Cody Woods had been in a hospital and then he returned to the same h
ospital and died there. He must have been poisoned in between his hospital stays. That could have happened at home or anywhere else that he went.”
“Have you checked out Natrona Physical Rehabilitation?”
“Of course we have! We found nothing unusual about Jewell’s treatment there.”
Rigby turned toward the technical analyst, who was gripping a candy bar in one hand and typing with the other.
Rigby said, “Mr. Roff, I wonder if you could run a search—”
“Already on it,” Roff interrupted. He apparently hadn’t been as oblivious as he’d seemed. “And I think maybe I’ve got something. About a year and a half ago, a woman named Arlis Gannon complained that her husband, Keith, was trying to poison her. He was working as a hospital orderly at the time. The cops couldn’t find any evidence and decided that Arlis was just paranoid. The couple separated and divorced. Keith got booted from his hospital job because of his temper, and he recently did time for assault. Now he’s working in a convenience store.”
Rigby stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Interesting,” he said. “And he worked at a hospital. Can you find anything to suggest he may have had access to either Cody Woods or Margaret Jewell?”
Van Roff rattled away at his keyboard for a few moments.
“Not that I can see,” he finally said. “He worked at Nazareth Hospital. Cody Woods got surgery at South Hills Hospital, died there too. It doesn’t look like Keith Gannon ever worked there. Margaret Jewell got treatment at Natrona, and it doesn’t look like Gannon worked there either.”
“Any overlap of personnel between South Hospital and Natrona Rehab?” Rigby asked.
“Already looking,” Roff said, typing. “No, I don’t see any.”
Rigby thought for a moment.
“Check him out anyway,” he said.
Riley spoke up again. “I think it’s more likely that the killer is a woman.”
Rigby gave her a sharp look. “But almost all serial killers are male. Right?”
“Yes, but I’m getting a different sense of this one. And poison is more of a woman’s weapon.”
“You’ve developed a profile?”
“I can’t say that yet,” Riley replied. She wasn’t ready to explain her gut feelings to this group.