by Blake Pierce
“I’m talking about that right there,” he said, pointing.
Riley saw a long, narrow white cloud.
“It’s a vapor trail from a jet,” she said.
“Yeah, and that’s how they’re doing it. My people call them ‘chemtrails.’ They keep changing the formula to target people with specific genes. They’ve got all of our DNA on file, so it’s easy to do. When I got sick, I knew they were after me. But then I got better, and I realized I’d been taken off the list. They changed the formula.”
Riley’s heart sank.
So that’s what the insulation sheets are for, she thought.
He was taking precautions in case “they” changed their minds.
She’d heard the chemtrails conspiracy theory before, but she’d never met anyone who took it seriously. It was right out there with other silly memes, such as the notion that Seattle’s Space Needle was actually a flying saucer parked there by aliens.
George Serbin was nothing but an exceptionally batty conspiracy theorist.
“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” Serbin asked.
“Yes, we do,” Riley said, trying to sound more patient than she felt. “You’ve told us all we need to know.”
“Thank you for your time,” Bill added.
Serbin started with alarm as Riley and Bill went to the door.
“But you can’t go back,” he said. “Not knowing what you know now. You won’t be safe. My people can take care of you. We’ll protect you. We’ll help you disappear. Just say the word, we’ll get right on it.”
Riley managed to suppress a smirk.
“We’ll just have to take our chances,” she said. “Our job, you know.”
Serbin looked crestfallen. He obviously sensed that he wasn’t being taken seriously. Before he could say more, Riley nudged Bill through the door and followed him out.
They walked in silence down the hall. Then, at the top of the stairs, Bill slouched and sat down.
He shook his head. “We’re not getting anywhere, Riley,” he said. “We couldn’t even prevent a new victim from being poisoned. Amanda Somers shouldn’t have had to die. And we’re not stopping this killer from taking whoever comes next.”
Riley understood what he meant. She squeezed his hand.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Although Riley and Bill had both ordered sandwiches in a sparkling little deli, they weren’t actually eating them. Riley had taken a few bites, and Bill hadn’t touched his at all. Now they both just sat staring at their food.
I guess neither one of us feels much like eating, Riley thought.
She gazed at her partner with deep concern.
“You’ve got to talk about it, Bill,” she said. “You’ve got to tell me what’s getting to you.”
He didn’t speak right away. Riley could see that he was struggling with himself.
“It happens every time I have to deal with a situation that involves the word ‘poison,’” he said.
It happens? Riley wondered for a moment. Then she realized what he meant.
“You mean flashbacks?”
Bill nodded.
“Mom was in so much pain,” he said. “She was crying so much from the pain. It was …”
He stopped for a moment.
“And here we are, getting nowhere fast,” Bill said. “We’ve only been here three days, and we’ve lost another victim. That’s three victims that we’re aware of, but you and I both know there have probably been others—earlier victims who were never spotted. We have no idea how many. And I’m too close to it to do my job. I’m not thinking straight.”
Riley understood perfectly. She felt a similar kind of stress, although for different reasons. For her it was a question of priorities—stopping an evil murderer here in Seattle, or taking care of dire problems at home. Knowing that she couldn’t have it both ways was nagging at her all the time.
“Maybe you should work this one without me,” Bill said. “Meredith can send Lucy Vargas to replace me. She’d do a great job. Right now I’m just dead weight.”
Riley was alarmed. A change like that could be disruptive. She was sure that it wouldn’t do any good. And she didn’t want Bill to quit on this case. She knew he would regret it later if he left.
She leaned across the table toward him and spoke in a gentle but firm voice.
“You’re not dead weight,” she said. “You’re never dead weight.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“Tell me the truth, Bill. Do you really want off this case?”
Bill shook his head no.
“So what do you really want?”
Bill’s face tightened with resolve.
“I want to solve this case so bad I can taste it,” he said.
Riley smiled and patted his hand.
“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s consider that question settled.”
Bill smiled a little and his whole body seemed to relax.
“OK,” he said. “Let’s get back to work. Do we have any leads at all?”
Riley fell silent. She remembered something that Solange Landis had said to her.
“The thing that most strikes me about evil is its sameness. It seems to me that monsters are pretty much alike.”
The more Riley thought about that statement, the more it struck her as very odd.
For one thing, she didn’t think it was true. She’d seen evil in all manners and forms over the years. And these recent murders seemed unique among all the cases she could remember.
Had Solange Landis even meant what she said?
Riley wondered about the nursing school director.
Landis had managed to cast suspicion upon Maxine Crowe, which proved to be a dead end. Had she just been getting back at an adversary, or was it something more sinister?
Was Landis deliberately misleading her?
Riley had a gut feeling that the woman wasn’t to be trusted. It was the kind of really strong feeling she’d long since learned not to ignore.
She told Bill, “I can’t help suspecting Solange Landis.”
“The head of that nursing school?”
“Right. Something is really off about that woman.”
“It makes sense. It seems unlikely that anyone outside the healthcare profession had access to all three victims. We should follow up on her. What kind of information have you got so far?”
Riley thought for a moment.
“I asked Van Roff, the tech analyst, to find out whatever he could about her. He gave me a file of stuff. I read through it and didn’t see anything odd. He didn’t find any connections between Landis and the three victims.”
“Sounds to me like you’d better take another look,” Bill said.
Riley opened her laptop. She clicked open the file and skimmed through it.
“It’s mostly routine stuff,” she said. “Date of birth, Social Security number, home address, phone number. She’d been married and divorced and has always used her maiden name.”
Riley scrolled through more records.
“She got her nursing degree from Rosin Medical College in Dover, Delaware—a really prestigious school. After that she worked as a nurse for years and got glowing reports and recommendations. About ten years ago, she was hired to be the director of a small nursing school in Cincinnati. She did great work there, building up the nursing program and developing a sterling reputation.”
Then Riley came to some news stories about how Landis had gotten her current job.
“When the Tate School of Nursing here in Seattle started looking for a new director, they were delighted to find her. They hired her in a heartbeat. And her reputation just keeps getting better and better.”
Riley squinted at the records uncertainly.
“Maybe my hunch is wrong,” she said. “She’s got a perfect record.”
Bill looked over the information thoughtfully.
“M
aybe too perfect,” he said.
Riley felt a tingle of understanding.
“That’s it,” she said. “That’s what’s been bothering me. It’s all too perfect. She’s just a bit too good to be true.”
“So we look for what’s wrong,” Bill said.
“Where should we start?”
Bill shrugged.
“At the beginning,” he said.
Riley immediately understood his meaning. She got online and found a phone number for Rosin Medical College. She dialed the number on her cell phone and put the call on speakerphone so both she and Bill could listen and talk.
When the female receptionist answered, Riley said, “This is Special Agent Riley Paige, FBI. My partner, Bill Jeffreys, is also on the line. We need for you to look through your records for information about a past student. Her name is Solange Landis.”
Riley told the receptionist the year when Landis graduated.
“That was more than twenty years ago,” the receptionist said. “We don’t have electronic records going back that far. It’s all on paper. But I can check on it and get back to you tomorrow.”
Riley held back a groan of frustration.
“We really need it today,” she said. “This for a murder investigation.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the receptionist said, sounding quite irritated.
Bill leaned toward the phone.
“Then make it possible,” he said. “Find the records right now, or we’ll send a team there. We’ll put your whole office on lockdown and turn everything upside down until we can go through everything.”
Riley almost laughed. Bill was acting like his old self again.
“Okay,” the receptionist said. “I’ll call you back shortly.”
“Make that very shortly,” Bill said.
The call ended. Bill and Riley smiled at each other. It felt good to be getting something done. Now they both started in on their sandwiches with much more appetite than before.
Only a few minutes passed before the receptionist called. She sounded flustered and anxious.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, OK? But I can’t find any record at all of a student by that name. No evidence that she enrolled, much less graduated. Are you sure you’ve called the right school?”
For a moment, Riley wondered if she had made a mistake. She looked again through the documents in the file that Van Roff had given her. Sure enough, it included a diploma, a nursing certification, and a sterling academic transcript—all from Rosin Medical College.
Riley looked closely at the document in front of her.
“Her middle name is Alexandra,” Riley said. “Might her records have been filed with that as a first name?”
“No,” the woman said. “We’ve had some students named Landis, but not a Solange or an Alexandra. Sorry.”
“Thank you for your time,” Riley said. “You’ve been a great help.”
Riley and Bill stared at each other in stunned silence.
“Forged,” Riley said. “Her whole academic record was forged. It’s really rather brilliant. She went to incredible lengths.”
“Everybody who hired her just assumed the records were real,” Bill said. “Nobody inquired directly with the school.”
“They sure look authentic,” Riley said. “It’s hardly any wonder that she hasn’t been found out.”
“Until now,” Bill added.
They sat looking at each other for a moment.
Is this the break we’ve been hoping for? she wondered.
“I think we should give Solange Landis a call,” Riley commented.
“I agree,” Bill said.
Riley dialed the number for Landis’s office and put the phone on speakerphone again. Landis’s secretary quickly connected them to the director herself.
“Agent Paige,” Landis said pleasantly. “I was wondering if I was going to hear from you again.”
“My partner, Agent Bill Jeffreys, is also on the line.”
“Hello, Agent Jeffreys. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. But how is the case going? Did you check out Maxine Crowe?”
Riley paused before replying.
“I interviewed her,” she said. “I believe we can eliminate her as a suspect.”
“Oh.”
A brief silence fell.
Then Landis said, “Well, I know that’s not good for you. But I must admit I feel a little relieved. I’d hate to think that one of my own students had become a coldblooded killer.”
Again, neither Riley nor Bill said anything. They wanted Solange Landis to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she’d say something to give herself away.
“Well,” Landis said at last, “how can I help you?”
“We’ve got a few more questions we’d like to ask,” Riley said.
“Of course. I’m in my office right now. Why don’t you drop on by?”
Riley remembered Maxine Crowe’s description of Landis’s home.
“She’s got images of death everywhere …”
Riley said, “We’d like to talk with you at home.”
Now Landis sounded distinctly uneasy.
“May I ask why?”
“We’ll explain when we see you.”
Riley and Bill waited for a few seconds.
“I’m working into this evening,” Landis finally said. “Could you come by at around eight o’clock?”
“That would be fine,” Riley said.
Solange Landis gave them an address, and the call ended.
Bill and Riley looked at each other.
“I think we just got really lucky,” Bill said.
I hope so, Riley thought.
And yet it was hard to believe. True, Solange Landis had based her whole career on forged records. But it had been a fine career even so, and she’d taught many people in the healing arts. She’d done a lot of good in the world.
Was she really a murderer?
Riley remembered something else that Landis had said.
“Cruel demons reside in all of us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Nightfall couldn’t come early enough for Riley. Solange Landis had said they could come to her house about eight o’clock. She and Bill spent the rest of the afternoon preparing themselves for their visit.
Riley thought that maybe they were about to make an arrest in this awful case. Of course, they didn’t know for sure yet, but if this really was their lucky break, she didn’t want to leave any loose ends. She double-checked with Van Roff, going over details of Landis’s forged documents. Bill researched the legal penalties for using forged records.
As eight o’clock finally approached, Riley and Bill drove into a cheerful, well-lighted neighborhood in northern Seattle. Even after dark there was a fair amount of activity. Some people were jogging, others were walking their dogs.
The area was lush with trees and plants, and older traditional houses were mixed with occasional townhouse complexes. Since Riley had been in Seattle, she had noticed that some of the local townhouses were very modern in design. But this row of narrow homes with pitched roofs was more traditional looking, rather like her own home back in Virginia.
They parked in front of Landis’s townhouse, went to the front door, and rang the doorbell. Solange Landis greeted them, wearing a business suit and high-heeled shoes.
Landis seemed cheerful and relaxed, betraying none of the uneasiness Riley thought she’d detected on the phone earlier. She invited Riley and Bill inside.
Riley was immediately taken aback by how ordinary everything looked. The living room was similar to Riley’s, except that this one had newer, more stylish furniture.
Where was all the macabre decor that Maxine Crowe had hinted at—the images of death, the human skulls?
Had Maxine Crowe been lying?
Had Riley written her off as a suspect prematurely?
On the wall were some photographs of a girl at different stages of her life, from a toddler discovering a swing set to a tee
nager graduating from high school. Solange Landis appeared in most of those photos, beaming happily over the girl. The pictures seemed affectionate. Nothing about this room was at all disturbing.
Landis noticed Riley’s interest.
“That’s my daughter, Chloe,” she said with a trace of melancholy. “She’s away, in her first year of college. The place feels so empty without her. Her father, my husband, left years ago. I live alone now.”
An absent father, Riley thought.
Of course it reminded her of how Ryan had been over the years until recently. But Riley couldn’t help but wonder whether the disappearance of Landis’s husband might have a more sinister cause.
Landis said, “But you said on the phone that you had some more questions for me. What can I help you with?”
Bill said, “First of all, we’d like to know if you ever had any contact with Margaret Jewell, Cody Woods, or Amanda Somers.”
Landis glanced back and forth between Bill and Riley.
“Those names don’t sound familiar—except of course Amanda Somers. I’ve read her book but I never saw her professionally. Didn’t she die very recently?”
Then her eyes widened.
“Wait a minute. Those are the names of the poisoning victims, aren’t they?”
She added with a wry smile, “Oh, dear. Am I a suspect?”
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Bill said.
Landis emitted a short chuckle and clapped her hands.
“I am a suspect, aren’t I? And I thought you were here because of my expertise. But then, in a way you are, aren’t you? Well, this is a new experience for me. I must say, I feel oddly flattered. Come on downstairs where we can talk more comfortably.”
Riley and Bill followed her downstairs to a room with dark wallpaper. Heavy curtains hung on the windows and the room was lit by thickly shaded lamps. It wasn’t a large room, but it was well-furnished so that a small group of people—perhaps six or eight—could sit together and talk.
This was obviously the place that Maxine Crowe had spoken of—a lair where dark stories and thoughts were shared. Maxine had claimed that she stopped coming to see Solange Landis because the setting and the conversations held there too weird for her.
They are pretty weird, Riley thought, as she looked over the macabre touches and decor. There were a few real human skulls here and there. The walls were hung with engravings of monsters, ghouls, and chimeras. Amongst them were many antique photographs. Some of those showed corpses resting in coffins. Others looked like really old family portraits, although there was something strangely morbid about them.