Once Gone (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #1)

by Blake Pierce

  *

  The Miller Staffing Agency was a mile away on the other side of Shellysford. Housed in a brick storefront building, it looked like it had been in business for many years.

  As Riley went inside, she saw that it was a decidedly low-tech operation that hadn’t kept up with the times. There was only one nearly obsolete computer in sight. The place was pretty crowded, with several would-be workers filling out application forms at a long table.

  Three other people—clients, apparently—were crowded around the front desk. They were complaining loudly and all at once about problems they were having with the agency’s employees.

  Two longhaired men worked at the desk, fending off complainers and trying to keep up with phone calls. They looked like twenty-something slackers, and they didn’t appear to be managing things at all well.

  Riley managed to push her way to the front, where she caught one of the young men between phone calls. His nametag said “Melvin.”

  “I’m Agent Riley Paige, FBI,” she announced, hoping that in the confusion, Melvin wouldn’t ask to see her badge. “I’m here on a murder investigation. Are you the manager?”

  Melvin shrugged. “I guess.”

  From his vacant expression, Riley guessed that he was either stoned or not very bright, or possibly both. At least he didn’t seem to be worried about seeing any ID.

  “I’m looking for the man you’ve got working at Madeline’s,” she said. “A janitor. His first name is Dirk. Madeline doesn’t seem to know his last name.”

  Melvin muttered to himself, “Dirk, Dirk, Dirk … Oh, yeah. I remember him. ‘Dirk the Dick,’ we used to call him.” Calling out to the other young man, he asked, “Hey, Randy, whatever happened to Dirk the Dick?”

  “We fired him,” Randy replied. “He kept showing up late for jobs, when he bothered to show up at all. A real pain in the ass.”

  “That can’t be right,” Riley said. “Madeline says he’s still working for her. He was just there this morning.”

  Melvin looked puzzled now.

  “I’m sure we fired him,” he said. He sat down at the old computer and began some kind of a search. “Yeah, we sure did fire him, about three weeks ago.”

  Melvin squinted at the screen, more puzzled than before.

  “Hey, this is weird,” he said. “Madeline keeps sending us checks, even though he’s not working anymore. Somebody should tell her to stop doing that. She’s blowing a lot of money.”

  The situation was becoming clearer to Riley. Despite being fired and no longer getting paid, Dirk still kept going to work at Madeline’s. He had his own reasons for wanting to work there—sinister reasons.

  “What’s his last name?” Riley asked.

  Melvin’s eyes roamed about the computer screen. He was apparently looking at Dirk’s defunct employee records.

  “It’s Monroe,” Melvin said. “What else do you want to know?”

  Riley was relieved that Melvin wasn’t being too scrupulous about sharing what ought to be confidential information.

  “I need his address and phone number,” Riley said.

  “He didn’t give us a phone number,” Melvin said, still looking at the screen. “I’ve got an address, though. Fifteen-twenty Lynn Street.”

  By now, Randy had taken interest in the conversation. He was looking over Melvin’s shoulder at the computer screen.

  “Hold it,” Randy said. “That address is completely bogus. The house numbers on Lynn Street don’t go anywhere near that high.”

  Riley wasn’t surprised. Dirk Monroe obviously didn’t want anyone to know where he lived.

  “What about a Social Security number?” she asked.

  “I’ve got it,” Melvin said. He wrote the number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Riley.

  “Thanks,” Riley said. She took the paper and walked away. As soon as she set foot outside, she called Bill.

  “Hey, Riley,” Bill said when he answered. “I wish I could give you some good news But our psychologist interviewed Cosgrove, and he’s convinced that the man is not capable of killing anyone, let alone four women. He said—”

  “Bill,” she interrupted. “I’ve got a name—Dirk Monroe. He’s our guy, I’m sure of it. I don’t know where he lives. Can you run his Social? Now?”

  Bill took the number and put Riley on hold. Riley paced up and down the sidewalk anxiously as she waited. Finally Bill came back on the line.

  “I’ve got the address. It’s a farm about thirty miles west of Shellysford. A rural road.”

  Bill read her the address.

  “I’m going,” Riley said.

  Bill sputtered.

  “Riley, what are you talking about? Let me get some backup there. This guy’s dangerous.”

  Riley felt her whole body tingle with an adrenaline rush.

  “Don’t argue with me, Bill,” she said. “You ought to know better by now.”

  Riley ended the call without saying goodbye. Already, she was driving.