by Blake Pierce
He also couldn’t let this cop bitch get the best of him. He hadn’t survived all these years by being weak or stupid.
“Could you please tell me what’s your business today?” he asked, straining to sound polite.
Still with that insufferable smile, the woman said, “We were wondering if you ever lived at 345 Bolingbroke Road near Greybull. It’s a lovely little farm.”
It was all he could do not to shudder with alarm.
Of course he recognized the address. He’d lived there during the time he committed the murders.
Why had the law caught up with him now, after all this time?
It wasn’t fair. He’d been living a decent life.
Was there some way to thwart these agents?
Surely not.
They probably had all the proof they needed already.
So why was the woman asking all these questions?
The answer was obviously to humiliate him. She was playing with him, toying with him.
How much more of this could he be expected to take?
It wasn’t reasonable.
*
Riley could see that she was getting to him. He was rubbing one hand against the other. Due to his pallor, his face looked unnaturally red.
Just a little more, Riley thought.
She thought that he was actually shaking a little.
“Mr. Tiller, are you familiar with the so-called Matchbook Killer? He murdered three women twenty-five years ago.”
Tiller gripped the arms of his chair.
“It doesn’t sound familiar,” he said. “But twenty-five years was a long time ago.”
“Yes, that’s true, isn’t it?” she sat.
Riley noticed the change in Celia’s expression. She was looking more and more confused—and more and more frightened.
She never imagined this, Riley thought. She still doesn’t understand.
Riley sat smiling at Tiller silently for a moment.
Then she said, “Mr. Tiller, I guess we should get right to the point. The FBI has reopened the Matchbook Killer case. And we’re eliminating suspects. I assure you, this interview is just routine. All we want to do is cross you off our list. And it will be easy to do.”
She held his gaze until he blinked.
He got up from his chair and stepped away from the others.
Then Riley said, “You see, we have the actual killer’s DNA. We got it from a drinking glass that he handled many years ago. And he’s been leaving flowers on one of the victims’ graves for years, so we were able to get both prints and DNA from the flower container. Now all we need from you are your fingerprints and a DNA sample. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand,” he said.
He was standing beside a desk now, opening a drawer.
Riley’s reflexes quickened. Her hand moved toward her weapon.
But Tiller moved with astonishing speed.
In an instant, he was standing behind his wife’s chair, holding a hunting knife to her throat.
Celia let out a hoarse cry of sheer terror.
Riley was on her feet now, and so were Bill and Jake. None of them had had time to draw their weapons.
Celia managed to gasp out the words, “What are you doing?”
“Shut up!” Tiller said. He pushed the tip of the blade into her soft skin.
She twitched slightly as a few drops of blood trickled down her neck.
“Keep still!” Tiller demanded.
The woman seemed stunned. She made neither movement nor sound.
He moved the tip of his blade to her carotid artery.
Riley knew that he could sever the artery in a fraction of a second.
Would they be able to save the poor woman then?
Riley doubted it.
Tiller snapped at Riley, Bill, and Jake.
“Put your guns on the sofa. Your phones too.”
All three of the agents did as they were told. They had no choice.
“Easy, easy,” Bill was saying in a soft voice. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” Tiller said.
“What are you going to do?” Jake asked.
Tiller didn’t reply immediately. He looked dazed for a few seconds.
“You’re all going to the basement,” he finally said. “You’ll stay there until …”
His voice trailed off. Riley knew that he had no idea what to do next.
He motioned with his head toward a door to his right.
“The basement’s right there,” he said. “Go. Get down there.”
Bill obediently walked toward the door, with Jake and Riley behind him. Bill opened the door and started down the stairs. Jake followed behind him.
Riley’s mind raced, desperately searching for options.
She could see that the latch on that door was set to lock when it closed behind them. They wouldn’t be able to get out of the basement—at least not quickly or quietly. Then what would happen to Celia? Would Tiller kill her instantly or take her hostage?
Riley couldn’t allow either of those things to happen.
Bill and Jake were on their way down the stairs. Just as she approached the doorway, Riley whirled around and launched herself at the killer.
With her attention focused on his hand with the knife, she dove across the intervening space and slammed into him. The weapon flew out of his hand.
But Riley’s momentum carried her into the frightened wife, and they both crashed to the floor. As Riley struggled to untangle herself from Celia and regain her footing, she heard the basement door slam shut. Then a blow to her own head disoriented her.
She knew the man had her by the hair, pulling her head back.
She thought she heard a crashing sound. She didn’t know what that was.
She struggled to get a grip on the hands that held her from behind with surprising strength.
Then she felt the point of the knife at her throat.
She heard his words: “Die, bitch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
As James Tiller gripped her from behind, Riley felt like a trapped animal.
The knife was sharp against her throat.
It’ll come any second now, she realized.
Her dazed mind wondered how it would feel to die. Then she heard another familiar voice.
“You don’t want to do that, pal.”
It was Jake’s voice. Or was she just imagining it?
“I’d love to pull the trigger,” she heard Jake say. “Just love to.”
Riley felt Tiller’s grip loosen, and the knife dropped from his hand.
She scrambled away from him and looked around.
Jake was standing there holding a small pistol to Tiller’s head.
Tiller looked terrified.
“Hands behind your back,” Jake said.
Tiller complied, and Jake cuffed him, reciting his rights as he did so.
Poor Celia was crouching on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking convulsively. A little blood was still trickling down her neck but Riley could see that the wound wasn’t dangerous. She knew the woman’s emotional wounds would be harder for her to deal with.
Bill was standing nearby talking on his cell phone.
“I need assistance,” he was saying. “Send a wagon to pick up a suspect. Whoever is closest. Local cops would be fine.” He hesitated a moment and looked at the crying wife. “And send an ambulance. I have a wounded victim here. Not life-threatening.”
Riley tried to get to her feet, but staggered. She felt Bill’s firm hand on one arm, steadying her.
“Hold it,” he said. “Sit down over here.”
He steered her to the sofa. Riley plopped down next to the guns and phones still scattered there, right where they’d put them.
Bill said, “You got a pretty bad blow to the head.”
“I think he kicked me,” Riley said. “But everything is clearing up now. How did you—”
“We smashed the door open.”
Now she realized what had caused the crashing sound she’d heard when she was nearly unconscious. Bill and Jake must have both thrown themselves against the door to break through it.
Bill crouched down beside Celia to calm her down. He said, “I’ve called for an ambulance. They’ll take care of you.”
He looked up at Riley and added, “And I want that medic to look at you.”
“I’m fine,” Riley said.
Bill smiled.
“No you’re not,” he said.
Riley reached up and touched her forehead and found that it was bleeding.
“Just stay right there,” Bill said. “We’ll take care of everything.”
For once, Riley did as she was told.
Jake had Tiller lying face down on the floor with his hands cuffed behind him. The man didn’t look like he would ever put up any more resistance.
Riley asked Jake, “Where did you get that gun?”
Jake grinned. “Come on, Riley. This is Jake you’re talking to.”
He tugged on his pants leg to show an ankle holster.
Riley smiled back at him.
How could she have forgotten that Jake always carried an extra weapon? She had even done that herself on some occasions.
As they all waited for help to arrive, Riley realized that she felt a little more stable.
She felt good enough to do something she’d scarcely ever hoped to do.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number for Paula Steen, Tilda Steen’s mother.
“Riley!” Paula said. “How lovely to hear from you! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Riley said, her voice croaking a little after all the stress and exertion.
“Are you sure, dear?” Paula asked with concern. “You sound a little … off.”
Riley chuckled a little.
“Really. I’m fine. And I’ve got good news.”
“What news?”
Riley took a long, slow breath. She remembered what Paula had said to her at least once every year.
“My daughter’s killer will never be brought to justice.”
How sweet it was to be able to tell her she was wrong.
“We’ve got him,” Riley said. “My partners and I. We’re arresting him right now.”
“Got who? You’re arresting who?”
“Him,” Riley said.
Riley paused to let the truth sink in. Then she heard Paula gasp.
“Oh, my heavens,” Paula said.
Riley thought she heard a sob.
“Are you OK?” Riley asked.
“Yes,” Paula said in a choked voice. “Oh, yes. And thank you. But how? How did it happen?”
“That’s a long story,” Riley said. “I’ll tell you soon.”
Paula was definitely crying now.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Is he alive?”
“We’re taking him into custody right now. The local cops will pick him up any minute now. I’m sure he’ll be held in the Cabot police station for the time being.”
“Cabot? You’re in Cabot? Why, that’s not far from here at all.”
For a moment Riley was surprised. But then she remembered—although she’d never met Paula Steen, she knew that she lived close to Richmond.
“I’m coming there,” Paula said. “To the police station.”
Riley suddenly felt a little uneasy.
“Paula, are you sure that’s a good idea? You won’t be able to talk to him.”
“I don’t care,” Paula said. “I just want to see him in custody.”
Riley understood. The woman certainly deserved that small satisfaction after all these years.
“OK,” Riley said. “I’ll meet you there in a little while.”
Riley heard sirens approaching. At the moment, it seemed like an oddly cheerful sound.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Awhile later, Riley stood in the police station looking through the two-way mirror into the interview room at James Reed Tiller. He was chained to the heavy, battleship-gray table, staring at the tabletop. He looked strangely catatonic, almost like a figure of wax.
But Riley sensed that there was a lot boiling inside him.
His murderous self, so long suppressed but always lurking deep inside, had finally risen again.
And now he was going to pay the consequences.
Riley heard footsteps to her left, then a woman’s voice.
“Riley? Are you Riley?”
Riley smiled. She recognized that voice at once. It was Paula Steen. She turned and saw her. Paula was every bit the sweet little grandmotherly figure Riley had always imagined when talking to her on the phone.
“They told me I’d find you here,” Paula said, walking toward her, smiling.
Then she touched the bandage on Riley’s head.
“But you’ve been hurt!” she said.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
Riley laughed.
“I’ve had worse, Paula. Believe me, it’s nothing.”
It was true. The medic had checked her back at Tiller’s house, and she had no apparent concussion. Her head was going to ache for a good while, though. She didn’t want to start taking the prescribed painkillers yet. She still had too much to think about.
Riley and Paula rather shyly hugged each other.
Then Paula looked through the window.
“Is that him?” she asked.
“Yes,” Riley said.
“Has he confessed?”
“No, but we’ve got plenty to convict him. And Virginia has the death penalty. If he’s sentenced to death, he’ll get a choice between electrocution and lethal injection.”
Paula just stared at him for a moment.
Then she stammered, “He doesn’t look … I guess I expected …”
Her voice trailed off, but Riley understood. To family members of murder victims, the killer always looks strangely ordinary. That was true even of James Tiller, with his strange pale appearance.
Paula turned toward Riley and asked, “Can I … talk to him?”
Riley had been expecting this. And it worried her.
But how could she say no?
She looked at the guard standing next to the door. He’d heard their whole conversation. He nodded at Riley, then quietly opened the door.
“Stay in the doorway,” Riley told Paula. “Don’t go all the way into the room.”
Paula obediently stepped into the doorframe, and Riley stood right behind her.
In a quavering voice, Paula told him, “I’m Tilda Steen’s mother.”
The man looked up at her with a strangely blank expression.
Paula drew herself up, gathering quiet determination.
“Every year … on the day she died … I left flowers on her grave.”
A tiny smirk crossed Tiller’s face.
“So did I,” he said.
Paula recoiled a little. Riley realized that she’d never known about this.
But then Paula’s nerves seemed to settle.
She said, “If I’m still here, still alive … after you’re gone … I’ll leave flowers on your grave too.”
The man looked shocked. Riley felt the same way. She could hardly believe her ears.
But then Paula added with a fierce hiss.
“Dead ones. Dead flowers.”
Paula turned around and said to the guard, “I’m through.”
The guard closed the door, and Paula collapsed in tears into Riley’s arms.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Paula murmured between sobs.
“It’s over,” Riley said.
“Thanks to you,” Paula said.
Riley felt a flash of guilt. She wished she’d reopened this cold case a long time ago and finished it for Paula.
Paula kissed Riley on the cheek and left the building.
*
When Bill was driving Riley and Jake back to Quantico, they didn’t say much during the driv
e. Riley felt exhausted, and she knew that Jake and Bill did as well. But the feeling of satisfaction among them was palpable.
Finally Riley asked Jake, “Do you feel ready to retire now?”
Jake chuckled a little.
“I dunno,” he said. “I don’t feel like I did that much on this case really.”
Riley smiled. She understood how he felt. It was a common feeling after wrapping up a case—a feeling of not having done much of anything at all.
But it certainly wasn’t true of Jake. It had been wonderful to have him back just this one final time as a partner and also a mentor. As skilled as Riley had always been at entering the mind of a killer, on this case Jake had inspired her to go farther and deeper than she ever had. And of course, there was something else.
“You saved my life,” Riley said.
Jake laughed again.
“Yeah, there’s that. A pretty good life’s work, I guess. Sure, I’m ready to retire. But only from the field. I’ll always have lots of work to do.”
Riley knew what he meant. Jake would always be able to do his armchair work on cold cases, just like he’d been doing for many years now. Riley hoped that he’d be able to do that right up until he died.
*
By the time Riley got home, Jilly and April were already home from school. When she walked into the house, Gabriela and the girls all fussed over her bandaged head, demanding to know if she was OK. As if she were an invalid, they guided her toward the couch and sat her down.
“I’m fine,” Riley told them. “Really, fine.”
“Did you catch the bad guy?” Jilly asked.
“I didn’t,” Riley said. “All of us did. Me, Bill, Jake, and others too, like Sam Flores, our chief technician.”
Jilly was hopping up and down with excitement.
“Tell us! Tell us the whole story!”
Riley sighed deeply.
“Not right now,” she said. “Give me just a little time to catch my breath.”
The girls noisily objected, but Gabriela calmed them down.
“Give Señora Riley some time to herself,” she said.
Riley thanked Gabriela and went up to her office. As soon as she sat down at her desk, something strange happened.
All the satisfaction she’d felt at solving the Matchbook Killer case evaporated in mere seconds.