by Blake Pierce
Riley glanced around at the rather shabby office area. It was furnished with battered-up desks, chairs, and filing cabinets that she guessed had come from demolition sites. A woman with horn-rimmed glasses was sitting at another desk. Apparently some sort of secretary, she was reading a tabloid newspaper with big sensational headlines and seemed to be barely aware of the visitors’ arrival.
The man said, “I’m Mitch Brown, and I own this place. What can I do for you folks?”
Riley and Crivaro produced their badges and introduced themselves.
Mitch’s eyes widened.
“FBI,” he said. “This sounds serious. What brings you around here?”
Before Crivaro could reply, Mitch said, “Wait a minute. This must have something to do with those two girls getting murdered—the one in Brattledale, the other in Dalhart. An awful business. Folks are starting to think there’s a serial killer in these parts. That would make it FBI business, wouldn’t it? But what has that have to do with us here?”
Crivaro said, “We’d just like to ask you about some business you’ve had in this area. We understand you removed asbestos from the high schools in Dalhart and Brattledale, and also the Catholic school in Boneau.”
Mitch nodded and said, “That we did. I can’t imagine why that’s of any interest to you, though. But have a seat, the both of you, and let’s talk about it.”
Riley and Crivaro sat down in two beat-up stuffed chairs, and Mitch resumed his seat behind the desk. There were several photos on the desk. It looked like Mitch had a large family that included several children and more than a few grandchildren. Riley was a bit surprised to see a picture of a small yacht. She wondered if it actually belonged to the owner of this company.
Mitch said, “You just mentioned Boneau. Did something bad happen at the Catholic school there as well?”
“I’m afraid we can’t talk about that,” Crivaro said.
“That’s understandable,” Mitch replied amiably.
Then he turned to his secretary and said, “Opal why don’t you bring our guests some coffee?”
Looking markedly more interested in the visitors now that she knew who they were, Opal put down her newspaper and got up to rustle around a counter in the back of the room. She quickly brought cups of stale-smelling coffee to Crivaro and Riley. Riley took a sip, but it tasted too terrible to drink. From the face he made at his first sip, she could tell that Crivaro’s coffee was from the same stale pot.
Setting his cup down, Crivaro asked Mitch, “Did you personally supervise any of the work that was done in those places?”
Mitch chuckled again.
“Lord, no,” he said. “I haven’t done any of the hands-on work for years. I leave it to my boys.”
Crivaro asked, “Did the same crew work on the three jobs?”
Mitch scratched his chin and said, “I’m not sure about that. Lately the boys have been taking on different kinds of work, switching teams from time to time.”
Opal piped in, “Shawn Lutz is the man you want to talk to.”
Mitch nodded and said, “That’s right, Shawn’s our asbestos specialist. He’s due here any minute now, if you don’t mind waiting. You’ll find him an interesting character, I’m sure. Quite a sense of humor.”
Mitch laughed and pointed to the suit and said, “When he puts on one of these outfits, it’s like he thinks he’s Darth Vader—you know, that character from the Star Wars flicks. He breathes hard through the respirator and does the deep voice thing. That’s always good for a laugh.
“Sounds like an odd character,” Crivaro commented.
“Right,” Mitch agreed. “But he’s also got kind of a philosophical turn of mind. When he’s not working, he’s always got his nose in a book of some sort. Persuasive, too, about all sorts of things.”
Riley thought she heard a scoffing sound from Opal, but when she glanced that way the secretary had turned her attention to her tabloid again.
Mitch leaned across the desk toward Riley and Crivaro and said, “For example—did you know that God’s dead? Not that I’ve ever been much of a religious man, but talking to Shawn about it convinced me once and for all. Don’t guess I’ll ever set foot in a church again, no matter how much my wife tries to drag me there.”
Riley felt a tingle of interest. She remembered what she had told Crivaro and Quayle yesterday about the murders.
“It’s about religion.”
Crivaro hadn’t believed her then, and judging from his expression, Mitch’s words didn’t seem to make an impression on him right now. But Riley wondered if maybe her theory was going to prove correct after all. She was very curious to meet this Shawn Lutz character.
Crivaro said to Mitch, “Tell me a little about your business.”
Mitch beamed with pride.
“Don’t let this ramshackle outfit fool you. We’re a prosperous enterprise.”
Patting the picture of the yacht, he said, “Hazardous waste has been good to me.”
Then he pointed to framed certificates hanging on the walls. “We’re fully accredited, too, and my boys really know what they’re doing. They’re specialists, fully trained and licensed.”
“How did you happen to get into this kind of work?” Crivaro asked.
Mitch said, “Years ago I started out in regular construction, but I came to realize there was good money to be made in this kind of business.”
He leaned back in his swivel chair and folded his hands together and continued.
“You see, this whole part of the country has fallen into disrepair. Old buildings are full of nasty problems—mold, lead, inadequate wiring, and construction that doesn’t meet today’s standards.”
Crivaro said, “I take it you work as subcontractors.”
Mitch nodded and said, “That’s right. Renovation and demolition are both thriving businesses in these parts, but the companies that do those kinds of work can’t even get started until somebody gets all the hazardous stuff out of their way. That’s where we come in.”
Swiveling in his chair slightly, he added, “Asbestos is the worst of it. As you probably know, inhaling its dust and fibers can cause lung cancer and mesothelioma. Of course, nobody knew that until around 1970. It just seemed like handy, cheap, lightweight, flexible material, good for insulation and such. Old buildings everywhere are just full of the stuff.”
Then Mitch squinted at Riley and Crivaro.
“But I still don’t know what any of this has got to do with a murder investigation. Surely you don’t think …”
Mitch was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle pulling up to the front of the trailer.
“That would be Shawn right now,” Mitch said, getting up from his chair. “I’m sure he’ll be interested to meet you.”
The front door opened, and a ruggedly built man in his thirties came inside.
Mitch said to him, “Shawn, these FBI folks say they’d like a word for you.”
Riley and Crivaro produced their badges and were about to introduce themselves when Shawn let out a gasp. He whirled around and bolted back out the door.
Riley and Crivaro exchanged glances, then charged out the door after him. Running ahead of her partner, Riley heard a thud and a loud, cursing grunt behind her. She turned to see that Crivaro had stumbled off the stoop at the trailer’s entrance and was clutching his ankle.
Riley felt a flash of worry. Crivaro had hurt his ankle during another case about a month ago, and she knew that it still bothered him from time to times.
As she took a step toward Crivaro to offer him some help, he yelled at her, “Don’t mind me, damn it! Catch that guy!”
Riley turned and tore after the man, who was already on his way out through the front gate.
He’s fast, she realized.
She could only hope that she was faster.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Riley dashed through the gate. She could see Shawn Lutz farther down the road, looking back over his shoulder to see if she was still afte
r him. Then he turned away and kept running. Riley tore after him, but although she was keeping pace with him, she wasn’t catching up with him.
After her rigorous physical training at the FBI Academy, Riley was in tip-top physical condition. Of course she knew that this guy did physical labor for a living. He was likely to be as vigorous as she was but she thought that maybe he didn’t have her stamina.
If he stays on the road, I might catch up with him.
Almost as if he could read her thoughts, the man suddenly turned, leaped over a ditch, and fled into the surrounding woods.
Damn, Riley thought.
This was going to be harder than she’d hoped.
She wasted no time deciding what to do. Riley leaped the ditch herself and ran at an angle toward him through the woods, hoping to head him off. Fortunately, Lutz couldn’t easily disappear among the barren trees. He was still in clear view.
But he was moving fast, and the woods were full of obstacles. Riley found herself running across slippery ground, dodging fallen limbs and tree trunks and icy branches that lashed her face and body. She ignored the pain and hurried on.
Very quickly, she realized that she was gaining on him. Lutz was bulkier than he was, and not as agile, so the rough terrain hadn’t given him the advantage after all.
Then, to her surprise, she saw him stop in his tracks.
She slowed down, trotting toward him cautiously. She soon saw the reason for his pause. Lutz was standing on the edge of a steep drop-off. She couldn’t tell just how deep the ravine was, but the sight of it had stopped him in his tracks.
As she approached, he turned toward her with an insolent grin on his face.
“So what are you going to do now, FBI lady?” he said. “Arrest me? What if I don’t feel like getting arrested?”
Riley was startled by his brazenness. She’d made several arrests during her short time as an FBI agent, but usually with Crivaro’s help. And she’d never arrested anybody with an attitude quite like this man’s.
When she reached for her Glock, her hand froze.
Draw your weapon, she told herself.
But she just couldn’t. She felt like she had in her dream, when she couldn’t stoop down and pick up her fallen gun. Worse, Heidi Wright’s face flickered yet again in Riley’s mind, staring into her eyes as the life fled from her body …
Snap out of it, Riley thought.
“I knew it,” Lutz said. “I knew you didn’t have the guts …”
With that, he turned away and dropped out of view.
He jumped! she realized.
But as she stepped to the edge of the drop off, she saw that he was actually sliding and scrambling down a steep, rocky slope, deftly managing to stay on his feet.
Riley hesitated, calculating her risks. If she went after him and stumbled, she might get badly hurt. And even if they both managed to avoid falling, he’d reach the bottom first and make a make a mad dash beyond the boulders at the bottom.
There was another option …
It’s now or never.
She leaped, free-falling over the steep slope.
Her body crashed into his.
They fell together the rest of the way down, and when they hit the rocks at the bottom his body cushioned hers.
As Riley disentangled herself from Lutz, she realized that he wasn’t moving. She struggled to her feet and looked down at him.
He lay completely still.
My God—maybe I’ve killed him!
To her relief, he let out a loud groan. He was dazed from the fall, but still alive. He barely seemed aware of what she was doing as she straddled his body and handcuffed him behind his back. She hauled him onto his feet and saw that he’d taken a sharp blow to his forehead, but it didn’t look very serious.
“Can you hear what I’m saying?” Riley said.
He nodded mutely.
She said, “Good. Because you’re under arrest.”
Riley looked all around as she read him his rights.
How the hell am I going to get the both of us out of here? she wondered.
But she saw that the slope tapered off, and that the ground was level some twenty or thirty yards away. She prodded him along in that direction, then through the woods all the way back to the road.
As they headed back down the road toward Mitch’s Solutions, Riley saw a welcome sight. Their borrowed car was approaching, with Crivaro driving. When he spotted them, he stopped the car and got out.
Limping toward them, he called out, “Don’t worry, kid. I’m in hot pursuit.”
Riley laughed, glad to see that he hadn’t hurt himself very badly.
As Riley and Lutz approached, Crivaro chuckled.
“My, you two look like you’ve been through the wringer,” he said.
“Oh, it was no trouble at all,” Riley said, laughing again.
Crivaro patted Riley on the back.
“Nicely done, kid,” he said.
Riley felt a pang of guilt at the compliment. What would Crivaro have said if he’d seen her freeze when she’d reached for her weapon?
I can’t let that happen again, she thought.
She knew she was going to have to get over killing Heidi Wright.
She just didn’t know when or how.
*
As Jake Crivaro drove their borrowed police vehicle back to Dalhart, he wondered about the suspect who was riding in the back seat. Shawn Lutz was being very quiet.
I guess he takes his right to remain silent seriously, Jake thought.
Riley had securely shackled Lutz to a metal brace back there before she’d gotten into the passenger seat beside Jake. So far their prisoner hadn’t said a word during the drive.
Of course, Lutz had looked pretty beat up when Riley brought him in. He might not feel much like talking. Or maybe he was just embarrassed at being captured by a young woman.
Jake smiled as he remembered what Riley had told him about the arrest—how she’d taken a wild leap after Lutz as he was scrambling down a steep slope.
Actually, Riley looked the somewhat worse for the wear herself.
Guess it’s lucky both of them survived the fall, Jake thought.
Riley was a tough kid, as Jake knew perfectly well. She was also full of youthful energy, strength and resilience. Jake could remember being like that himself back in his prime. But those years seemed far behind him now. He was finding it hard to remember how it had felt to take off after a suspect like that. Today, he’d fallen down before the chase even got going.
Jake frowned as he remembered his tumble off the stoop back at the trailer.
I really let Riley down.
He glanced over at his partner.
“Hey, Riley,” he said in an unsteady voice. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Riley asked.
Jake grunted and said, “You know.”
Riley looked at him for a moment, then it seemed to dawn on her what he meant.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It worked out okay, didn’t it? I’m just hoping you didn’t hurt yourself too badly. I know your ankle has been bothering you lately.”
“It’s getting better,” Jake said.
That wasn’t completely true, although he didn’t think the tumble had made his ankle much worse than it had been already. It had been smashed up a little over a month ago in Utah, when Riley had very effectively stopped an escaping killer by driving their RV into the path of his larger vehicle. His damaged ankle had slowed him down then, and now this was the second time it had kept him from helping her when she’d needed it.
I’m getting old, he reminded himself.
But it wasn’t much of an excuse. If he’d just retire, maybe Riley could partner with a younger agent who could keep up with her better. And maybe one who was just as smart as she was.
He grunted under his breath.
There’s only one BAU agent as smart as Riley, he reminded himself.
And that’s me.
He knew it w
asn’t mere ego for him to think so. He had a long record of brilliant successes and a reputation for often-uncanny intelligence. But he sensed that his mind was also starting to slow down.
The recent Larry Mullins case had left him feeling especially insecure. He and Riley had caught the baby-faced, child-murdering monster, but they still didn’t know what a jury would finally decide—whether they’d find him guilty or not guilty.
Crivaro knew that on that case, Riley had done the best work she’d known how to do.
But surely I could have wrapped that one up better, he thought.
He’d been racking his mind about it, and he couldn’t imagine what he should have done differently. But he couldn’t help thinking his younger, sharper self wouldn’t have left any loose ends to confuse a jury.
He stifled a sigh as he kept on driving. Maybe their current case was going to turn out better, and that the suspect sitting in the back seat would prove guilty beyond any reasonable doubt.
They’d been able to arrest Shawn Lutz for resisting arrest. The fact that he’d tried to flee more than hinted at his guilt. But as of right now, Jake had no idea how they were going to build a murder case against him. Was this guy smart or stupid, and how wily an adversary was he going to prove to be? Would he have pre-prepared alibis for the killings? Would he be as cunning as Larry Mullins when it came to escaping justice?
And of course, there was always a direr possibility
Maybe we’ve got the wrong guy.
Jake told himself to be patient. He wouldn’t know anything until he and Riley had a chance to interrogate Lutz at the Dalhart police station. He’d called ahead to alert Sheriff Quayle that they were bringing in a suspect. He’d also asked the sheriff to try to get search warrants, both for the utility van they’d seen parked in front of Mitch’s Solutions and for Shawn Lutz’s apartment. After Lutz’s attempted escape, Jake didn’t figure it would be hard to get a judge to sign off on a warrant.
With luck, maybe they’d wrap up this case tomorrow or even later today.