by Blake Pierce
“But he’s not a killer, and not a rapist either. Believe me, Riley, I really know what I’m talking about.”
Riley’s mouth had dropped open at what Jenn had been telling her.
She had no idea what to say.
And at the moment, she didn’t know what to think, either.
Was Jenn right about Alec Castle?
She looked at the house and again caught the slight motion of the heavy drapes in one window. She could picture the cadaverous man standing there peeking through the opening to see what they were doing.
Jenn’s words began to make sense to her. Castle would keep his students struggling to develop a skill most of them could never be good at. He would urge parents to buy expensive instruments and to keep paying for lessons. He would hold painful recitals and make parents feel they should appreciate his efforts. Ultimately, he would humiliate them all.
She thought that it was to Holly Struthers’s credit that she didn’t fall into this trap. When the music teacher had first humiliated her, she hadn’t returned for more pain. But that was not likely what led to her death.
It was clear that Castle took his revenge for his own miserable life out on his students. But not by murdering them.
Riley started the car.
She said, “We’d better check in with Chief Sinard at the police station.”
As she drove, Riley thought about the music teacher’s alibi. Of course they would have someone check it out. They would always take the correct procedural steps. The alibi would hold up. It might still leave questions and they would check those out too. But in the long run none of that would matter.
They hadn’t found the killer they were looking for. At least Jenn had prevented them from wasting more time on the wrong man.
Riley felt strangely impressed by what her new partner had just done.
Like Riley herself, Jenn seemed to possess keen powers of intuition. But Jenn’s methods were startlingly different from Riley’s—perhaps even more unconventional. She was perfectly willing to make herself emotionally vulnerable in order to find out whatever she needed to know.
But was that a good thing or a bad thing?
Riley didn’t know, and the question worried her. She still had a lot to learn about her new partner.
And she suspected that some of what she was going to learn would be very disturbing.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
As she drove toward the police station, Riley realized that she was getting increasingly unsettled by the town of Angier. She had the uneasy feeling that evil encroached on her from all sides of these perfectly ordinary-looking streets. She kept telling herself that was just because of the interview with the sadistic piano teacher.
Earlier she’d gotten used to thinking of Angier as a small rural community. But as she and Jenn drove past blocks and blocks of similar houses, she reminded herself that it wasn’t as small as it seemed. With a population of about 25,000, it was as large as Fredericksburg, where Riley lived. But this town had an overall sameness of style. It didn’t include well-preserved historic districts or modern malls. The only unkempt area she had seen was the music teacher’s yard.
It does have a lot of potential suspects, she reminded herself.
It didn’t help that so many people she met here seemed to be guilty of something, if only petty cruelty.
And she and Jenn couldn’t exactly go door-to-door interviewing everybody.
They had to narrow down their possible suspects.
After Riley parked at the police station, she and Jenn walked toward the imposing brick building. Like the nearby City Hall where she and Jenn had met with the mayor, it had columns on each side of the doorway. From her last visit for the questioning of the sleazy little drug dealer, she knew that Chief Sinard ran a surprisingly large and sophisticated operation with plenty of high-tech equipment. This wasn’t a stereotypical little sitcom small-town police station.
Once inside, she and Jenn headed straight for the chief’s office. Sinard looked up and leaned back in his desk chair, apparently eager to see them.
He asked, “Did you check out the piano teacher?”
Jenn said, “We talked to him. We don’t think he’s our killer. He’s got an alibi we can check out.”
Riley didn’t contradict her. By now, she felt pretty sure that Jenn’s instincts had been correct.
Chief Sinard shook his head wearily.
He said, “We’ve been looking into Trip Crozier’s alibi, and it seems to hold up. We tracked down the motel in Des Moines he had a receipt for, and we faxed his picture to the manager. A desk clerk there recognized him right away. He was definitely in Des Moines when Katy Philbin was killed. We’ve got him cold on drugs, though. At least he’ll be off the streets.”
Riley suppressed a sigh. They were now back at square one as far as suspects were concerned.
Jenn asked, “What about the girls’ laptops or cell phones?”
Sinard replied, “Nothing. Neither of their cell phones have been found. Our techs have gone over everything else, two laptops, and Holly Struthers also had a tablet. They found nothing useful. They’re still going through the emails but they haven’t come across anything useful so far.”
Sinard gestured toward a couple of chairs.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said.
Riley and Jenn sat down in front of his desk.
Sinard leaned on his elbows toward them.
He said, “Look, I’m new to this whole serial killer thing. I’m going to need input. And I hope you don’t mind if I ask a lot of questions. What kind of killer do you think we’re dealing with?”
Riley said, “Well, due to the state of decomposition of Holly Struthers’s body, it’s going to be hard to determine whether she was sexually assaulted. But we know that Katy Philbin was raped, so Holly probably was too.”
Sinard asked, “So how typical is this case, as far as sexual killers go?”
Riley knew that Jenn had a good command of this information. She glanced at her, cluing her to fill Sinard in.
Jenn shook her head.
“I’m afraid it’s not very typical. Most victims of serial sexual killers are prostitutes. That’s clearly not the case here. We’ve got to consider other identifiers.”
“Such as?” Sinard asked.
Jenn thought for a moment.
“Well, I can give you some general information. They’re usually white males between the ages of twenty-four and forty-three. Most have jobs and education beyond high school.”
Sinard drummed his fingers on his desk.
He asked, “Do you think maybe these murders were the work of some drifter—a guy who came through town for a week or so, killed twice, and went away?”
“It’s always possible,” Jenn said. “Sexually motivated serial killers generally use a ruse or a con to get to their victims and a clever stranger could do that. But BAU has found that in most cases the victim and the killer already knew each other. So the con played on some prior relationship—a level of trust or friendship. These killers usually contact victims in familiar places, often in their own homes.”
Riley spoke up.
“We’ll keep asking whether anyone has noticed strangers hanging about. But what would really help is if we could find any connection between Katy and Holly, especially someone that both of them knew. But we haven’t been able to find anything. They went to separate schools, and Holly’s parents don’t think they even met.”
Sinard shook his head.
“How are we ever going to home in on a suspect?” he asked.
Jenn said, “I can think of one way. Most of the type of killer we’re looking for have prior records, criminal histories. I suggest that we look over reports covering, say, a hundred miles during the last ten years.”
Sinard nodded and got up from his desk.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to our records room.”
*
Later that evening, Riley and Je
nn were eating hamburgers in a cheap restaurant within walking distance of the motel where they were staying. They were both discouraged after a long, tedious day of poring over records.
“Do you think we got anything useful done today?” Jenn asked.
Riley finished chewing a bite of her hamburger and took a sip of beer.
She said, “Well, we confirmed Alec Castle’s alibi, so we can eliminate him. We’ve got the names of a couple of registered sex offenders we can run down tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
She doubted it, and judging from Jenn’s silence, Riley guessed that she doubted it as well.
Riley thought a bit more and added, “We know that Katy’s friends last saw her at a place called the Burger Shanty. We should find out whether Holly ever went there as well.”
Jenn was jotting down some notes.
“Let’s check that out,” Jenn said. “And let’s get pictures of both girls out to the public, see if anybody ever saw them together.”
“That’s a good idea,” Riley said.
Jenn put down her pencil and said, “I don’t know how you do it, Riley. I mean, this job is tough enough all by itself. But you’re raising—what?—three kids these days. How do you do this and have a family and any kind of a personal life?”
Riley chuckled dourly.
She said, “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”
Jenn put down her hamburger and yawned.
“I’m too worn out to finish eating,” she said. “I need to turn in for the night.”
“Go on back,” Riley said. “I just want to sit here and snack for a little while.”
Jenn left the restaurant, and Riley sat there finishing her meal. She found herself wondering about Jenn’s future, and what kind of example she might be setting for her younger partner. After watching Riley struggle with her conflicting priorities, would Jenn avoid relationship commitments altogether?
Riley hated to think that she might have that effect on Jenn.
But she reminded herself that what Jenn did with her own life was up to her in the long run. She had already seemed completely dedicated to her job when they first met.
Riley finished up her burger, paid the restaurant bill, and left. On her way back to the motel, she walked by a liquor store. She paused, then went inside and bought a bottle of bourbon. She took the bottle back to her room, took a hot shower, and got ready for bed.
Then she poured herself a glass of bourbon and sat down on her bed.
She hesitated before starting to drink. This was a familiar point in her investigations. Too familiar, and usually nonproductive.
She was feeling discouraged, and knew that one drink would be followed by another.
Was she going to give in to that temptation tonight?
Just then her cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw that she had a text message from April.
Hey Mom, how’re U doing?
Riley typed back …
OK I guess. Miss you. Is everything OK there?
April replied …
We’re fine. How close are U to solving the case?
Riley sighed and typed …
I wish I knew. I’ll let U know when I do. Give my love to everybody.
April replied …
I’ll do that. Love U, Mom.
Riley felt better as she put down her cell phone. She sat up against her bed pillows and sipped her bourbon, which felt good going down her throat. But the temptation to down one glass after another had disappeared.
Not surprisingly, though, she found herself thinking about Shane Hatcher and the threat he had made against her family.
How seriously had he meant it?
She knew he had been angry at the time. Maybe his anger had faded and he had simply wandered off somewhere. He was wealthy, after all. Wouldn’t he want to enjoy his freedom somewhere comfortable? Why would he risk everything just to get back at Riley?
The truth was, Riley didn’t know.
She could only be sure of one thing—that he was out there somewhere.
And she remembered the last message she had gotten from him.
You’re a long way from home.
She sighed. She certainly felt a long way from home—too far away to look out for her family. But she reminded herself that her house was well guarded by agents of the FBI.
It was a comforting thought.
It was also comforting to have heard from April just now. For the moment, Riley knew that her loved ones were all safe and sound.
She finished the glass of bourbon, feeling much more relaxed and ready to sleep.
*
Riley found herself roaming through a wax museum full of grizzly exhibits.
Here were the rooms where Lizzy Borden’s parents lay, brutally axed to death.
Then came a small Victorian room with a disemboweled woman—one of Jack the Ripper’s victims.
After that came a torn-up floor revealing corpses wrapped in plastic bags—boys raped and killed by John Wayne Gacy.
Then came a partially devoured corpse—a victim of Jeffrey Dahmer.
Riley’s skin crawled.
She hated these fake settings and wax effigies even more than she did real murder scenes.
She wasn’t sure just why.
Next came an outdoor scene with a naked woman stiffly posed and made up to look like a doll …
… followed by a woman’s corpse hanging by chains from a lamp post …
… followed by a man lying dead with a cup of tea overturned beside him …
… followed by an emaciated woman’s corpse whose arms were pointed in weird directions …
… followed by a dead soldier slouched next to a barracks with a single bullet hole in his forehead.
It took Riley only a moment to realize that the scenes were all images from her own cases, the acts of murderers she had hunted down herself.
Her heart jumped up in her throat when she came to the last exhibit.
In a large, darkened room lay a young woman with a bleeding chest wound.
It was Lucy Vargas, Riley’s brilliant partner who had been killed much too young.
Riley was suddenly filled with terrible sorrow. The loss of Lucy was almost more than she could bear.
She tried to remind herself …
It’s not real. It’s just a wax exhibit.
But suddenly, Lucy’s lips moved and she gasped aloud.
“Help me!”
Lucy wasn’t wax anymore. She was real—and still barely alive.
Riley wanted to rush toward her and try to stop the bleeding. But then she heard a chorus of voices behind her crying out …
“Help me!”
She turned and gasped with horror at what she saw.
The victims she’d just passed by were all alive and on their feet, stretching their arms toward her in desperate appeal, all of them calling out in unison …
“Help me!”
Riley’s eyes snapped open; she was shaking all over from her nightmare.
She sat up in the motel bed and groaned aloud.
Nightmares like this weren’t new to her. Her subconscious mind seemed to have some terrible need to make her feel guilty about people she hadn’t been able to save from vicious monsters.
But this was the first nightmare in which Lucy had appeared.
Was Lucy going to keep haunting her nightmares from now on? The thought filled Riley with dread.
As she sat rubbing her eyes, she heard her cell phone ring.
She picked it up and saw that it was a message from Bill.
She read it with a shudder of horror.
Just so you know. Been sitting here with a gun in my mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Riley stared at the message in stunned horror.
Sitting here with a gun in my mouth.
Was Bill about to shoot himself?
Had he done it already?
She was fully awake now, shock surging through her body. She pu
nched Bill’s number into the cell phone.
The phone rang for a moment, then went to Bill’s voice mail.
Under the circumstances, the outgoing message sounded bizarrely cheerful.
Riley screamed into the phone at the sound of the beep.
“Bill! Pick up, damn it! This is Riley! Don’t play games with me! Pick up now!”
No one answered.
Riley’s hands were shaking so much that she could barely hold onto the phone.
Her mind raged with the image of Bill sitting alone with a loaded gun, thinking about swallowing a bullet.
Has he done it already?
She punched in the number again.
This time Bill answered. His voice sounded low and muted.
“Hey, Riley. What’s up?”
Riley couldn’t stop screaming.
“What’s up? What do you think is up? I got your message. What the hell is going on, Bill?”
Bill let out a forced, awkward chuckle.
“Oh, yeah, that. Pretty embarrassing, huh? I didn’t mean to send that. Really, I didn’t. I was just half-asleep and fooling around, hit ‘send’ by mistake. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Riley was shocked at how lamely Bill was trying to disguise his action. She was on her feet now.
“Well, I am alarmed. Where is your gun?”
Bill didn’t answer for a moment.
“Where is your gun?” she repeated.
“In a safe place,” Bill muttered.
She knew he was lying.
“Where is it, Bill?”
A silence fell.
Then Bill said, “Right here on the kitchen table in front of me.”
Riley’s heart was beating so hard she could hear it between her ears.
“Is it loaded?” Riley asked.
“Don’t worry about it, Riley.”
“Is it loaded?”
Bill let out a groan of despair.
“Yeah, it’s loaded.”
Riley took a long, slow breath, but it didn’t make her feel any calmer.