by Blake Pierce
“Are you Colleen Wuttke?” Bill asked.
“Yeah. Who wants to know?”
Bill displayed his badge through the narrow opening.
“I’m FBI Agent Bill Jeffreys. I’d like to talk to you.”
Colleen Wuttke seemed undecided whether to open the door or slam it in his face. Bill moved his foot into the opening.
“Is your daughter here? Sandy?”
“Not a chance.”
“Were you expecting her just now?” he asked.
“Nope. Hoping for someone else. And I don’t want to talk to you. If you try to come in here, I’ll scream. Some big guys live around here, and they don’t like cops.”
Bill certainly wasn’t afraid of the guys, but it wouldn’t help if she started screaming.
“I’m not here to arrest anyone,” he said. “I just need some information.”
Suddenly she let go of the door and backed away. She grumbled, “Hell, who am I kidding? Nobody’d pay attention if I did scream.”
Bill pushed the door gently and it creaked open. The woman standing inside was dressed in a housecoat. She looked gaunt and weak, and her face was heavily pockmarked. Bill immediately recognized the signs of longtime meth addiction.
He studied her face. He didn’t see much resemblance to the girl in the picture. But he figured she would be a blonde if she ever washed her hair.
He saw a room with a beat-up couch that obviously doubled as a bed, a rickety table, a hot plate, and a sink. A curtain hanging in a doorway was open enough to show a ratty bathroom beyond. A single bed in an alcove to one side was littered with clothes.
The woman watched him look around. “This is all there is,” she said.
She plopped down on the couch and sat facing him.
Bill said, “Your daughter was staying in one of the city shelters for girls.”
“Was she?”
“Yes, but she ran away.”
“Did she?”
As the woman talked, Bill realized that she wasn’t as old as he had first thought. Meth had ruined her appearance, but she was probably just about thirty. She must have been very young when she had her daughter.
“When did you last see your daughter?”
The woman’s face went blank. Finally she said, “I have no idea when that was.”
With one hand she played with the edge of her robe, pulling it open to show scrawny legs. Bill realized that she was trying to flirt with him, and he felt revolted.
“So she hasn’t contacted you recently?”
“Why would she do that, anyhow?”
Bill didn’t know what to say in reply.
“Sandy won’t never be coming home,” Colleen Wuttke said.
She picked up a pair of cheap-looking metal earrings from a table beside the sofa.
“I had a bunch of these once, pretty things, all gold-toned and shaped like flowers. I got them cheap from a guy and sold them sometimes for a little extra cash. She took a ton of them right out of my collection. I guess she’s sold them all by now. They ain’t worth nothing much, but she shouldn’t have stole it. Is that why you’re looking for her? Did she steal something else?”
Bill was about to tell her the truth—that Sandy might be in the clutches of a killer. But he was seized by a gnawing sense of futility. There was no point in it. The woman wouldn’t even care that her own daughter’s life was in danger.
He handed her a card.
“If she ever contacts you, call me,” he said.
“Oh, I’ll be sure to do that,” the woman said. Bill heard a note of sarcasm in her voice.
Bill’s spirits continued to sink as he walked down the apartment building’s stairs. He was used to ugliness, and he was used to murder. But he was also used to being able to keep count of the victims involved. Right now, the world seemed to be positively littered with victims—if not of the killer, then of countless other tormentors and abusers.
But now was no time to let his feelings get the best of him. Riley would be back soon. And if Bill’s hunch was correct, they’d be wrapping up this case this very night.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Riley hurried down the hallway of the Phoenix FBI building. It was almost eight, and Bill had said he’d meet her here. She remembered what he had said on the phone when she was still on the plane.
“Riley, I’ve got an idea.”
She wished he’d told her what his idea was. She’d been in suspense about it for hours. Was it possible that this horrible case was going to be wrapped up soon—maybe even in the next few minutes?
She wished she could dare to hope. But she’d slept only fitfully during the plane flight back. And the truth was, she hadn’t gotten properly rested since she’d been awakened at three in the morning last Friday back in Fredericksburg. She was too tired to hope.
When she arrived at the office, she was surprised to see that Bill wasn’t alone.
Garrett Holbrook was sitting there, his arms crossed, staring off into space. Riley’s whole body was jolted with surprise. Now she understood. Now she knew exactly what Bill had been thinking.
Sounding as stiff and aloof as ever, Holbrook said, “Can we get started now? Can you please tell me what this is all about?”
Bill looked up at Riley. She nodded. It was high time for some questions.
“Let me get right to the point,” Bill said. “Agent Paige and I need to know when you last saw your sister alive.”
“I told you back when you first got here,” he said in a slow, sullen voice. “It was years ago. I can’t remember how long exactly.”
Riley’s senses quickened. It was a lie. She knew it. She could hear it in his words. He could remember. He could remember the exact date, the precise time of day.
She stepped toward him.
“We need the truth, Agent Holbrook,” she said.
He continued staring into space, but he grew paler, and his eyes began to glaze.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long. Haven’t I been acting guilty enough?”
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a horrible sob rose out of his throat.
“Because I am guilty,” he said.
Sobs came pouring out now, one on top of another, and tears gushed from his eyes. His face was twisted with anguish. Riley could hardly believe it was the same man as before.
He calmed himself enough to speak haltingly.
“It was just two years ago. That’s when I saw Nancy last. She came to my house. She was down and out. She was doing drugs. She was selling her body. She wanted my help. She said she didn’t have anybody else to turn to. She wanted a place to stay. She said I could help her clean up.”
He choked on a horrible sob.
“I told her to go away.”
He wept for a few moments. Then he said, “Why? Why did I do that? What did I have to lose? I’ve never been married, I never had kids. I had room in my house, room in my life. I was selfish. I was feeling good about my career, my carefree bachelor life. She was only my half-sister, so much younger than me, I felt like I barely knew her. I didn’t want that responsibility. I didn’t want to be bothered.”
His sobs were quieting a little.
Riley said, “So that’s why you’ve been so distant with us. That’s why you’ve stayed on the sidelines.”
Holbrook nodded.
“Hell, I felt like I was hunting for myself. I killed her as surely as anybody did.”
Bill’s jaw had dropped open with shock. He stared at Riley.
She mouthed silently to him, “He’s telling the truth.”
Bill nodded in agreement, then patted Holbrook on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if you’d only told us this sooner …”
Holbrook brushed Bill’s hand aside.
“I’m going home now,” Holbrook said brokenly. He rose to his feet and stumbled toward the door. Then he turned back toward Riley and Bill.
With a dark chuckle
of self-loathing, he said, “Well, I guess you can eliminate me as a suspect. Maybe that’s progress.”
He left the office. Bill and Riley sat for a moment in dumbstruck silence.
“Damn,” Bill finally murmured. “I was sure. I was so sure.”
“I was suspicious of him too,” Riley said. “His behavior was always strange, and now we know why.”
But something was starting to dawn on Riley. Those words that Holbrook had said …
“I’ve never been married, I never had kids.”
Those words mattered somehow. But why?
Riley’s intuition was in full flood now, slamming together seemingly irrelevant details. They were snapping together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, forming some kind of coherent whole.
She remembered those words of Hatcher’s …
“You should listen to your daddy.”
And what had her father said that she should listen to? Oh, she remembered all the cynical, hateful talk about monsters and madness and what vile human specimens both she and he were. But there was something else. What was it?
Then the words hit her like a lightning bolt.
“Never trust a man whose kids don’t hate him.”
Suddenly she was fully in the killer’s mind. She was behind his eyes, staring at his next victim—a lost and terrified teenage girl. He was going to kill her. But she wasn’t like the others. There’d be no joy in it. The killing would give him no pleasure.
Still, he was going to do it. It had to be done. It had to be done right now. He’d put it off too long.
She heard Hatcher’s voice, repeating yet again …
“You’re getting warm.”
She sure didn’t feel like she was getting warm. She shook her head miserably.
“We’re spinning our wheels, Bill,” she said.
She thought for a moment.
“I want to check in with Dr. Gordy,” she said. “He only gave us one name from his list of drug-theft suspects. We need more names. Someone out of the box. I have a feeling it may be someone else on that list. Someone we wouldn’t suspect. This HIV lead is the only concrete lead we have. We need to exhaust it.”
She dialed the phone number she had for the doctor. An answering service began to deliver an official-sounding message. Riley turned off the message without leaving one of her own.
“We don’t have time to wait for him to get back to us,” she said. “Let’s go over to his house right now.”
Bill stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Jesus, Riley, it’s late. It sounds to me like you’re grasping at straws.”
That’s exactly what I’m doing, Riley thought.
But she didn’t say so to Bill. She charged out the door with her partner right behind her.
Chapter Thirty Nine
When they reached Dr. Poole’s front door, Riley rang the doorbell, but nobody answered for quite a long time. Riley rang again.
Finally the speaker next to the door rattled to life, and the doctor’s voice called out.
“Who is it?”
Bill replied, “Doctor Gordy, it’s Agents Jeffreys and Paige. Bill and Riley. We talked to you yesterday.”
The voice stammered a little in confusion.
“Gosh, I—I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “Did I forget an appointment? I don’t think I wrote anything down …”
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Dr. Gordy,” Riley said. “This is a bit of an emergency. We’ll make things as quick as we can.”
“An emergency! My goodness!” the doctor said. “Of course, come in.”
The door swung open, and Bill and Riley walked inside. Gordon Poole was fully dressed in casual clothes and sneakers.
“I’m sorry, did we disturb you? Were you going out?” Riley asked.
The doctor chuckled. “At this hour! Goodness, no! I’m not a night owl these days. In fact, it’s getting close to my bedtime.”
Riley sat down on the living room couch. Bill sat in a nearby chair. The doctor remained standing with his hands in his pockets.
“Now what may I help you with?” he asked.
Riley said, “Dr. Gordy, our killer is holding a teenage girl. A runaway, just a kid. He’s had her since yesterday morning. We’d hoped to find her by now. And we’re worried. We don’t have any time to lose. I’m afraid we’re getting a bit desperate.”
“Oh, dear!” the doctor said, looking back and forth at Riley and Bill with concern.
Riley continued, “As we said when we were here before, we think the killer may be HIV positive, so he might be stealing medications. But the name you gave us didn’t pan out. The man is on vacation in Mexico. We need the names you didn’t give us. And any others that you think are even slight possibilities. Please don’t hold back any information out of concern for a possible suspect. A girl’s life is at stake.”
The doctor sighed and sat down on the sofa with Riley. He said, “I really can’t stand the idea of pointing an incriminating finger at innocent men.”
“We need to check out all possibilities as fast as we can,” Riley replied with real urgency in her voice. “That’s why we’re disturbing you here at home so late at night.”
Dr. Gordy knitted his brow in thought for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “If the killer is actually connected to the thefts, there are a limited number of people who could have access to the medications.”
Riley fought down her growing sense of futility. “A limited number of people” sounded woefully unspecific.
“Do you know whether any of those people are HIV positive?”
“I’m not sure how I would be able to tell. As you probably know, HIV is a virus that attacks the immune system. When immune system cells begin to fail, the body is susceptible to a variety of infections and diseases. Generally, flu-like symptoms will turn up in the first month or two. Fatigue can be another symptom. A rash or sore throat or headaches can be signs.”
Riley and Bill looked at each other with discouragement. They both knew that they couldn’t go around accusing just anybody who had those symptoms.
The doctor added, “Besides, he might not have any symptoms. We’re talking about a man who is stealing the medication he needs, who is surely taking care of himself. With someone like that, there may be no visible symptoms at all for years.”
“At least you can help us narrow it down,” Riley said. “If you know anyone who has those symptoms and had access to the stolen medications, that could steer us in the right direction. There can’t be a lot of those.”
“All right,” Dr. Gordy said reluctantly. “Just let me think for a moment.”
During the silence that followed, Riley sat looking around the room. She focused on the family pictures on a nearby wall. She had admired those the last time they had visited Dr. Gordy. There were a lot of photos hung in rows, all showing happy children and the parks or beaches they were enjoying, the fish they had caught, the prizes they had won.
Dr. Gordy finally said, “I can give you two names. Their duties allow them access to the medicine, and I’ve noticed some telltale symptoms. But I have to warn you, I find it very hard to believe that these people are guilty.”
“We’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Bill said firmly.
Riley’s attention wandered as Dr. Gordy shared names and contact information with Bill, who took notes. She couldn’t help looking again at the pictures on the wall. The children looked so happy. Riley wondered why their mother had left and moved them so far away.
Then, for some reason, her father’s words echoed in her mind.
“You’re dealing with what folks call normal.”
That was it. The photos kept drawing her attention because everything in them looked so very normal.
She realized that both Bill and Dr. Gordy were looking at her, expecting some comment on whatever they’d been discussing.
“I’m so sorry,” Riley said, “I’ve spent too many hours on a plane
today. I’m afraid I’m just tired and a little unfocused.”
Bill said, “We have two more names to look into now. I’ve assured Dr. Gordy that we’ll be very careful about making accusations.”
“Oh, thank you,” Riley said.
When she looked at the genial doctor, she felt as if his appearance was changing before her eyes. She started to wonder, and her heart began to beast faster.
Could this be the killer, seated before her? This perfectly normal, eloquent doctor? In this perfectly normal house and suburb? With his perfectly normal family? Could evil be so disguised?
Or was she losing her mind now for good?
She had to find out.
She tried to keep her voice steady as she chose her words carefully.
“I couldn’t help admiring your photos again,” she said. “Your children look so happy with you. Do you get to see them often?”
Despite herself, she heard her own voice trembling.
She watched very carefully, and her heart dropped as she caught a quick flash of anger on the doctor’s face before he broke into a smile and said, “Not as often as I’d like, of course. But life doesn’t always go exactly as we’ve planned, does it?”
Now Riley was studying the man with all her powers of observation. She didn’t quite know why, but she was starting to sense that something was very wrong with this sweet-looking man sitting before her.
“I hope that my bit of professional advice was worth your driving here at this hour,” Dr. Gordy said, with a tone of wanting to wrap things up.
“Of course it was,” Riley said. “And thank you so much. We’re sorry to have put you to any trouble,” she said, her heart slamming, trying to figure out how to stall. “We’ll go now, and let you get back to your evening.”
She then wracked her brain for something, anything to say, as he began to sit up.
“But do you mind if I use your bathroom first?” she added.
He hesitated, then smiled reluctantly.
“Of course not,” he said. Pointing down the hallway. “The guest bath is the first door on the right just down the hall.”