Stalking

by Blake Pierce

  He asked, “How soon was Natalie’s body found after she left the youth meeting?”

  “Late the next day,” Quayle said.

  Crivaro looked at his notes and thumped his pencil eraser on the table.

  He said, “So it sounds like we’re looking at abductions that turned into murders. The van tracks at the crime scene are probably consistent with that. That kind of a vehicle would be useful for abducting a victim, then for transporting her after she was dead. Did either of the girls’ bodies show signs of sexual abuse?”

  “None whatsoever,” Quayle said.

  Crivaro sat silently for a few moments. Riley had some idea of what he might be thinking. The whole case might well hinge on what the perpetrator had been doing during the interval between the abductions and leaving the bodies. Had he intended to kill them from the start, or had something gone wrong to provoke him?

  Then Crivaro said, “I want to take a look at the crime photos from both locations.”

  Quayle opened up a folder and spread several pictures across the table.

  Riley felt an unexpected jolt of horror.

  She was shocked at her own reaction. She’d seen dead bodies before—in real life, not just in photographs. And she’d seen them in far more shocking conditions than these bodies, which showed no signs of violence except for strangulation marks on their necks.

  Why is this hitting me so hard? she wondered.

  Crivaro and Quayle kept talking, but Riley felt as though their voices were getting farther and farther away, and that she was all alone with these troubling images.

  Both girls were carefully laid out on the ground, perfectly straight and with their hands crossed on their chests.

  Almost like in a coffin, she thought.

  She remembered the impression she’d gotten of the killer at the crime scene—that he’d felt no anger or hostility toward his victims.

  What she saw now all but proved that impression. The killer had taken great care in how he’d treated these girls’ bodies, making sure that they’d be found in as dignified a condition as he could manage.

  Riley was flooded with alarm now.

  The air felt too thick to breathe.

  She leapt to her feet and blurted, “Excuse me.”

  Then she rushed out of the room and all the way outside the building. The cold air came as a sharp relief, and she could breathe again. But it was all she could do to keep from hyperventilating.

  What’s wrong with me? she thought.

  She closed her eyes, and an image came to her sharp and clear. It was Heidi Wright again, staring into that snowfall as her body lay crumpled and dying on the parking lot pavement. Blood was gushing out of her chest onto the fallen snow, and her mouth was working silently as she breathed her last breaths.

  Then she fell still, and her dead eyes kept staring into space with an expression of deep sadness.

  Riley was shaking all over now.

  Natalie and Kimberly had been slightly older than Heidi. But having lived more sheltered and innocent lives, they’d actually seemed younger. The three girls suddenly seemed very much alike. And a terrible question lurked at the edges of Riley’s mind.

  It was a crazy, preposterous question, and she tried to fight it down, to keep it from surfacing into her consciousness.

  But the question finally broke through, and Riley whispered it aloud.

  “Am I just like the killer?”

  Riley shuddered with a violent spasm.

  No, of course not!

  How could she even consider it? Heidi had been pointing a gun at Riley, threatening her life. If Riley hadn’t fired, she herself would be dead now. So why on earth was she likening herself to the killer, who had taken two perfectly innocent lives?

  Riley sat down on a cold, concrete bench outside the police station. She thought back to the photos she’d just seen of the two dead girls. Their expressions had been so different from Heidi’s when she had died—as calm and tranquil as if they were asleep, not dead.

  He took such care with them, Riley thought.

  He hadn’t just thrown them aside after he’d killed them, dumping them in a ditch somewhere. He’d treated their bodies with respect and even honor. But the last time Riley had seen Heidi, she’d still been crumpled grotesquely on that pavement. Riley had done nothing to change that.

  Riley struggled to bring her shaking under control.

  Crazy thoughts, she told herself.

  None of it made any sense and she knew it. What was she supposed to do after she’d shot and killed Heidi? Stretch her out nicely and cross her arms over her chest and close her eyes? She couldn’t have done those things even if she’d wanted to—not right there at the crime scene.

  And yet …

  But no, there was no “and yet” about it. Riley hadn’t done anything wrong. Everyone kept telling her that. She’d done everything by the book. She couldn’t have done it any other way.

  As her body and her nerves started to settle down and she began to breathe more easily, she remembered how she’d rushed out of the conference room just now. She felt a flush of embarrassment and shame.

  What must Sheriff Quayle think of me?

  For that matter, what must Crivaro have thought of her? In a fit of panic, she’d walked out on her partner without warning, right in the middle of an urgent meeting. How could she explain her behavior to him when she barely understood it herself? An apology seemed hardly sufficient.

  I’ve got to go back in there, she thought.

  But she couldn’t—not yet, not until she felt sure she wasn’t going to fall apart all over again. She decided to give herself a few more minutes to pull herself together.

  She sighed deeply as she remembered Crivaro’s warning over the phone.

  “You need to get some counseling under your belt before you come back to work.”

  But she’d ignored his warning and insisted on coming to work with him anyway. Had that been an awful mistake? Was she in any condition to solve a case like this one—a case in which the victims themselves reminded her of a girl she’d killed just yesterday? Riley’s confidence was badly shaken.

  But I’ve got to try, she thought.

  More than that, she knew she had to succeed.

  Other innocent lives might yet be at stake.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jake Crivaro sat staring at the open doorway.

  What got into Riley? he wondered. Jake’s young partner had just rushed out into the hall in the middle of their examination of photos from two murders. He glanced at Sheriff Quayle and saw that the local lawman looked as puzzled as Jake felt.

  Quayle got up from his chair and walked over to the open door. He peered out into the hallway, then shook his head.

  As he pulled the door shut, Quayle asked Jake, “What was that all about?”

  Jake felt stymied. He didn’t want the sheriff to think Riley got squeamish at the sight of corpses—and just photos of corpses at that. Jake himself knew Riley much too well to think any such thing, but at the moment he wasn’t sure what was going on.

  “She’ll be all right,” Jake replied, trying to sound more certain than he felt..

  It seemed like a lame answer, but Jake figured it would have to do. He just hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake bringing Riley along on this case so soon after the last one. If necessary, he’d send her back to Quantico, but he knew that wouldn’t look good on her records. Besides, Lehl might send him some other partner who’d turn out to be a pain in the ass.

  With a skeptical look, Sheriff Quayle took his seat again.

  When Jake turned back to the photos on the table, he suddenly felt as though he understood. The faces of these young murdered girls had reminded Riley of Heidi Wright.

  Jake’s heart went out to Riley.

  The poor kid. It must have come as a shock.

  She’d probably just had to go outside to get some fresh air. But how could he explain to Quayle what Riley was going through?


  Jake looked at his watch and said, “If I’m going to talk to Kimberly’s friend, I’d better do it right now.”

  Sheriff Quayle nodded and said, “I’ll see if they’re at home.”

  Quayle punched in the number on the desk phone. Then from what Quayle was saying, the girl’s mother must have answered.

  “Jean, this is Ed Quayle, over at the police station. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. But a couple of FBI agents flew in from Quantico to help on—you know, the awful things that have happened. One of the agents wants to talk to Goldie. I was wondering … we could come right on over …”

  He fell quiet as he listened to the mother’s reply. Jake immediately sensed that she was putting up some resistance.

  Then Quayle said, “I understand, Jean. But Agent Crivaro thinks she might be able to help. He’d like to talk to her right away if he possibly can. I’m sure you can understand how urgent this is. We’ve got to move as quickly as we can.”

  Quayle paused again, then said, “Thanks, Jean.”

  When he turned to back to Jake, his previous demeanor kicked back in. “Okay, let’s get on over there. But don’t you guys go making things any worse than you have to. These are good people.”

  Jake just nodded. He was becoming a little amused by the sheriff’s shifting attitudes.

  As he followed Quayle through the hallway, he looked for Riley, but didn’t see her anywhere. He thought maybe he should have someone check the ladies’ room, but Quayle was moving toward the front door, obviously not waiting for anyone.

  As they stepped out the door, he was about to ask Quayle to hold up for a minute. Then, to his relief, he saw Riley right there outside, standing in front of the building. He thought she looked less queasy than when she’d rushed out of the room

  Jake said to her, “Quayle has set up a meeting with Kimberly’s friend. We’re going there now”

  Riley nodded and followed along behind them. Without a word, she climbed into the back of Quayle’s police car and Jake took the passenger’s seat.

  It was just a short drive to the Dowlings’ house, a simple bungalow that looked much like all the others on the streets they passed through. A woman in her forties let them inside, looking anxious and worried.

  After they were all in the living room, the mother called out, “Goldie, the people I told you about are here.”

  The teenager came slowly into the room. Her hair, clearly the source of her nickname, was in disarray, and her eyes were red.

  Quayle said, “Hey, Goldie. How are you holding up?”

  “Okay I guess, Sheriff Ed,” she replied, managing a weak smile.

  Jake was rather intrigued.

  Sheriff Ed?

  That must be what kids called him here in Dalhart.

  The girl sat down on one end of a well-used sofa and the sheriff sat beside her.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s rough, kid,” Quayle said. “It’s hard on all of us, but I know it’s especially hard on you. But you keep hanging in there, okay? Someday all this will seem like it happened a long, long time ago.”

  Goldie glanced over at Jake and Riley, who were still standing.

  “Listen, Goldie,” Quayle said, “your mom may have told you I’ve got a couple of BAU agents from the FBI here on this case. We really need their help to find whoever did this to Kimberly. The agents want to talk to you right now, if that’s okay. Their names are Agents Crivaro and Sweeney. Agent Sweeney is a nice young lady.”

  Jake still wasn’t used to this gentler side of Quayle but he realized that the lawman must have a remarkable rapport with the kids in town.

  I guess that’s one good reason he’s sheriff, he thought.

  Although Quayle worked in law enforcement like Jake did, their jobs couldn’t be more different. Jake wondered how it might feel to serve a single community instead of darting around the country all the time.

  Very comfortable for the right kind of guy, he thought. Jake somehow doubted that he himself was temperamentally suited for it.

  Goldie glanced up at Jake and Riley again, then muttered, “Okay.”

  Quayle said “Thanks, Goldie.”

  He got up from the sofa, and Riley sat down in his place. Jake sat in a chair facing Riley and Goldie.

  Sheriff Quayle walked to the other side of the small room, where Goldie’s mother was standing, looking agitated. Jake was pleased when he saw the sheriff engage the woman in conversation and lead her a little farther away from the interview.

  Trying to sound unofficial and unintimidating, Jake said, “I’m sorry to have to bother you at such a terrible time.”

  “It’s okay,” the girl said in a shaky voice.

  Jake said, “I understand that you were the last person to see Kimberly last night.”

  “Yeah, she was visiting me at my house.”

  “Did she visit you often at night?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, kind of a lot, I guess.”

  Goldie choked slightly and added, “She was my best friend.”

  Jake could see that his young partner was looking almost as distressed as the teenager he was questioning.

  “I’m sorry,” Jake told Goldie again. “Did other people know you spent evenings together?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. We talked about it with friends, I guess. It wasn’t like it was a secret or anything. Lots of kids do the same thing—just hanging out at night, you know?”

  “I understand,” Jake said. “Was there anything different about last night’s visit?”

  “She stayed later than usual, I guess. She left around midnight, I think.”

  Then the girl added in a choked voice, “I keep thinking this was maybe my fault. Should I have walked home with her? Would that have made a difference?”

  Jake fought down a discouraged sigh. Comforting interviewees in their guilt wasn’t one of his strong points.

  He was relieved when Riley spoke up with a fairly steady voice.

  “Goldie, it’s normal to feel this way, but you’ve got to believe this wasn’t your fault. You and Kimberly had no reason to think last night was different from any other night. There’s only one person whose fault this is, and my partner and I are going to do everything we can to bring him to justice.”

  “Okay,” Goldie whispered.

  Jake thought for a moment, then said, “Goldie, maybe you heard about something similar happening to a girl in Brattledale. Her name was Natalie Booker. Did you and Kimberly happen to know her?”

  Goldie said, “I didn’t, and I don’t think Kimberly did either. Actually, I don’t remember hearing her name until … what happened to her. Kimberly and I didn’t spend any time over in Brattledale.”

  Jake shifted restlessly in his chair. It might make it a lot easier to solve the case if the two victims had been connected in some way. But so far, he had no reason to think they knew each other at all.

  He said, “Do you know anybody who might have meant Kimberly any harm?”

  “Oh, no. Everybody liked her.”

  “Are you sure?” Jake asked. “Was there anybody she wasn’t getting along with during the last week or so, even if it wasn’t about anything important?”

  Goldie fell silent for a moment.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Goldie said.

  Jake felt a tingle of suspicion.

  She’s not telling the truth, he thought.

  Riley apparently felt the same way. She said, “Goldie, you’ve got to tell us everything.”

  Another silence fell.

  Sheriff Quayle stepped back from across the room and spoke up, sounding warmer and kinder than even before.

  “Goldie, you and I have known each other all your life. You know you can trust me. And you know you can believe me when I say you can trust Agents Crivaro and Sweeney. We’re not trying to pry. We only care about one thing, and that’s finding whoever did this to Kimberly. If you know anything, you really have to tell us.”

  Yet another silence fell.

  Quayle sat
down on the sofa again, taking the space between Riley and Goldie. He just waited quietly.

  Then Goldie said, “Kimberly really didn’t want her parents to find out. You’ve got to promise not to tell them.”

  Quayle shook his head. “I’m sorry, Goldie, but I can’t promise anything like that. All I can say is that the time for keeping secrets from anybody is over. Think about Kimberly’s parents. Do you really think they’d be angry with her now about whatever it is she didn’t want them to know?”

  There was another pause.

  Then Goldie said, “Kimberly’s parents were really strict with her—about boys and dating and all that kind of thing. They were very old-fashioned. I thought it was kind of weird. It was like, if a guy so much as kissed her, they might think she should get married or at least engaged or something. So she didn’t want them to know that she was going out with somebody.”

  “Who was it, Goldie?” Quayle asked.

  “Jay Napier,” Goldie said.

  Quayle nodded. Jake could tell the name was familiar to him.

  Quayle asked, “Was she having any troubles with Jay recently?”

  “Kind of,” Goldie said. “Jay broke up with her. And he was being kind of a jerk about it.”

  “How so?” Riley asked.

  “Well, he was going around bad-mouthing her—to other boys at school, anyway. He started telling them …”

  Her voice faded for a moment, then she said, “Look, Jay got kind of pushy with her. He wanted … well, let’s just say Kimberly didn’t feel ready for—what he wanted. So he broke up with her, and started telling all the guys why he’d broken up with her. It really upset her.”

  Riley asked, “Did Jay do anything else that upset her?”

  “He started following her around a lot, pestering her.”

  “Stalking her, you mean?” Riley asked.

  “Kind of, yeah. Or maybe not stalking exactly … Look, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t think it was all that serious. I mean, I don’t think Jay would really have done anything like …”