Kitabı oku: «Once Bound», sayfa 4

CHAPTER SEVEN

Riley uneasily kept her eye on the door after Jenn left the room. As Bill kept asking the conductor and his assistant questions, she worried about how Jenn was going to deal with the engineer.

She was sure that the engineer was probably having a terrible time of it. She didn’t like the idea of waiting a lot longer for a railroad psychologist – possibly some official flunky who might be more concerned about the company’s well-being than the engineer’s. But what else were they supposed to do?

And might the young agent only make things worse for the man? Riley had never seen any sign that Jenn was especially skillful at dealing with people.

If Jenn did just upset the man further, how might that affect her own morale? She had already been contemplating leaving the FBI because of pressures from a criminal former foster mother.

Despite her concerns, Riley managed to listen to what was being said in the room.

Bill said to Stine, “You said you’ve seen this kind of thing before. Do you mean murders on railroad tracks?”

“Oh, no,” Stine said. “Actual murders like that are really rare. But people getting killed on the tracks – that’s a lot more common than you might think. There are several hundred victims a year, some of them just stupid thrill-seekers, but a lot of them suicides. In the business, we call them ‘trespassers.’”

The younger man twisted in his chair uncomfortably and said, “I sure don’t want to see anything like that again. But from what Arlo tells me … well, I guess it’s part of the job.”

Bill said to the conductor, “Are you sure there wasn’t anything the engineer could have done?”

Arlo Stine shook his head.

“Damned sure. He’d already slowed the train down to thirty-five miles per hour for the curve we were on. Even so, there was no way to stop a diesel locomotive with ten freight cars behind it anywhere near fast enough to save that woman. You can’t break the laws of physics and stop several thousand tons of moving steel on a dime. Let me explain it to you …”

The conductor started talking about the mechanics of braking. It was highly technical talk, and of no real interest or use to Riley or Bill. But Riley knew that it was best to let Stine just keep talking – for his own sake, if for no one else’s.

Meanwhile, Riley still found herself looking toward the door, wondering how Jenn was doing with the engineer.

*

Jenn stood next to the bed looking anxiously at Brock Putnam’s back as he stared silently at the wall.

Now that she was actually with the man, she found that she had no idea what to do or say next.

But from her research on the plane, she understood why he was incapable of looking at her or anyone else right now. He was traumatized by a single detail that often haunted “hoggers” who’d been through what he had just been through.

A few moments ago, the conductor had said that he and his assistant had only gotten a glimpse of the victim before she died.

But this man had gotten much more than a glimpse.

He’d seen something uniquely horrifying from his window in that cab – something that no innocent human being deserved to see.

Would it help for him to say it aloud?

I’m not a shrink, she reminded herself.

Even so, she felt more and more anxious to reach out to him.

Slowly and cautiously, Jenn said …

“I think I know what you saw,” she said. “You can talk to me about it if you like.”

After a pause, she added …

“But not if you don’t want to.”

A silence fell.

I guess he doesn’t want to, Jenn thought.

She almost got up to leave, but then the man said in a nearly inaudible whisper …

“I died back there.”

The words chilled Jenn to the bone.

Again, she wondered whether she had any business trying to do this.

She said nothing. She figured it was best to wait and see if he wanted to say more. She waited for many seconds, more than half-hoping the man would stay silent and she could leave quietly.

Then he said …

“I saw it happen. I was looking … in a mirror.”

He paused for a moment, then added …

“I saw myself die. So why … why am I here?”

Jenn gulped hard.

Yes, what had happened to him was exactly the sort of thing she’d read about on the plane. Hundreds of people died on railroad tracks every year. And all too often, the engineers endured an unimaginably horrifying moment.

They made eye contact with the person who was about to die.

The exact same thing had happened to Brock Putman. The reason he couldn’t make eye contact with anyone else was that it made him relive that moment all over again. And his identification with the poor woman was eating him up inside. He was trying to cope by denying that anyone else had been killed. Guiltily, he was trying to convince himself that he – and only he – was dead.

Jenn spoke even more cautiously than before.

“You didn’t die. You weren’t looking in a mirror. Someone else died. And it wasn’t your fault. There was no way on earth you could stop it from happening. You know that – even if you have trouble accepting it. It wasn’t your fault.”

The man still faced away from her. But a sob escaped from his throat.

Jenn was momentarily alarmed. Had she just pushed him over some kind of edge?

No, she thought.

She had a gut feeling that this was good, that it was necessary.

The man’s shoulders shook slightly as his quiet sobbing continued.

Jenn touched him on the shoulder.

She said, “Brock, could you do something for me? I just want you to look at me.”

His shoulders stopped shaking, and his sobbing ebbed away.

Then, very slowly, he turned around on his bed and looked at Jenn.

His bright blue eyes were wide and pleading and brimming with tears – and they were gazing straight into Jenn’s own eyes.

Jenn had to fight back her own tears.

As blunt, brusque, and sometimes even tactless as she normally was, it dawned on her that she’d never had this kind of interaction with anybody before, at least not professionally.

She swallowed hard, then said, “You’re not looking into a mirror right now. You’re looking at me. You’re looking into my eyes. And you’re alive. You’ve got every right to be alive.”

Brock Putnam opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Instead, he nodded.

Jenn almost gasped with relief.

I did it, she thought. I drew him out.

Then she said, “But you deserve something more. You deserve to find out who did this terrible thing – not just to that poor woman, but to you. And you deserve justice. You deserve to know that he’ll never do anything like this again. I promise – you’ll get justice. I’ll make sure of it.”

He nodded again, with just a trace of a smile.

She smiled and said, “Now let’s get out of here. You’ve got two pals out there who are worried about you. Let’s go see them.”

She got up from the cot, and so did Brock. They walked outside the cell, where Chief Powell was still waiting. Powell looked astonished at the change in Putnam’s demeanor and behavior. They all walked back to the interview room and headed on inside. Riley, Bill, and Cullen were still there, and so were the two conductors.

Stine and Boynton sat gaping for a moment, then got up and exchanged emotional hugs with Brock Putnam. They all sat down at the table together and started talking quietly.

Jenn looked at the railroad deputy chief sternly and said, “Light a fire under somebody’s ass and get that railroad psychologist down here ASAP.”

Then, turning to the local police chief, she said, “Go get this man a cup of coffee.”

Powell nodded mutely and left the room.

Riley took Jenn aside and asked quietly, “Do you think he’ll ever be able to get back to work?”

Jenn thought for a moment and said, “I doubt it.”

Riley nodded and said, “He’ll probably be struggling for the rest of his life. It’s a horrible thing to have to live with.”

Riley smiled and added, “But you did some good work just now.”

Jenn felt flooded with warmth at Riley’s praise.

She remembered back to how her day had started – how her communication with Aunt Cora had left her feeling inadequate and unworthy.

Maybe I’m of some use after all, she thought.

After all, she’d always known that empathy was a quality she lacked and needed to cultivate. And now at last, she seemed to have taken at least a few steps toward being a more empathetic agent.

She also felt energized by the promise she’d just made to Brock Putnam:

“I promise – you’ll get justice. I’ll make sure of it.”

She was glad she’d said it. Now she was committed to it.

I won’t let him down, she thought.

Meanwhile, the two conductors and the engineer continued to talk quietly, commiserating about the awful experience they had all endured, but which had been especially awful for Putnam.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened and Chief Powell looked inside.

He said to Cullen and the FBI agents, “You’d better come with me. A witness just showed up.”

Jenn felt a jolt of excitement as she and the others followed Cullen down the hall.

Were they about to get the break they needed?

CHAPTER EIGHT

As Riley followed Powell down the hall along with the other FBI agents and Bull Cullen, she wondered …

A witness? Are we really going to get a break this fast?

Years of experience told her that it wasn’t likely.

Even so, she couldn’t help hoping that this time might be different. It would be wonderful to wrap this case up before anyone else was killed.

When the group arrived at a small meeting room, a stout woman in her fifties was pacing inside. She wore heavy makeup and her hair was an unnatural shade of blond.

She hurried toward them. “Oh, this is awful,” she said. “I saw her picture on the news a little while ago, and I recognized her right away. Such a horrible death. But I had a feeling about her – a bad feeling. A premonition, you might even call it.”

Riley’s hopes sank a little.

It usually wasn’t a good sign when witnesses started talking about “premonitions.”

Bill guided the woman to a chair.

“Sit down, ma’am,” he said. “Take it easy and let’s start from the beginning. What’s your name?”

The woman sat down, but she just fidgeted in her chair.

Bill sat in a nearby chair, turning it a little to talk with her. Riley, Jenn, and the others also took chairs around the meeting room table.

“Your name?” Bill asked again.

“Sarah Dillon,” she said, giving him a wide smile. “I live right here in Barnwell.”

Bill asked, “And how did you know the victim?”

The woman looked at him as if surprised at the question.

“Well, I didn’t actually know her. We exchanged words on occasion.”

Bill asked, “Did you see her this morning – before she was killed?”

Sarah Dillon seemed more surprised than before.

“No. It’s been a couple of weeks or more since I last saw her. Why does that matter?”

Riley exchanged glances with Bill and Jenn. She knew they were all thinking the same thing.

A couple of weeks or more?

Of course it mattered a great deal.

When Powell had said a witness had shown up, Riley had imagined someone who either knew the victim personally or had seen something truly material to the case – the actual abduction, perhaps. Still, she knew that they needed to follow up on every possible lead. So far, they had nothing else to go on.

Riley said, “Tell us about your interactions with the victim.”

Sarah Dillon scratched her chin.

“Well, I’ve seen her around town. Occasionally, I mean. In stores, on the streets. Also at the train stations, both here and in Chicago. I take the train to Chicago every week or so, to see my sister and her family there. I’ve seen her getting on or off the train, either here or in Chicago. Sometimes we’ve been in the same car together.”

Sarah Dillon’s eyes darted about for a moment.

Then she asked in a near-whisper, “Do you think I’m in any danger right now?”

The woman was striking Riley as less coherent by the moment. She didn’t know how to answer her question. Why did the woman imagine she might be in danger? Did she have any good reason to worry at all?

Offhand, Riley doubted it. For one thing, she’d gotten a good look at the corpse at the crime scene, and she’d seen a photo online of the other victim. Both women were slight of build and dark-haired. Their faces were somewhat similar. If the killer was obsessed with a particular type of victim, this much more robust woman certainly didn’t fit it.

Riley asked, “What information do you have?”

Sarah Dillon squinted.

“Information? Well, maybe not information exactly. But a strong feeling – really, really strong. Something was very wrong about that woman. I’ve known it for a while now.”

“How so?” Jenn asked.

“Once, on the train up to Chicago, I tried to strike up a conversation with her. Just small talk, the weather, the kind of day I’d had, my sister in Chicago and her family. She seemed friendly enough at first. But she started getting standoffish when I asked her about herself. I asked her, ‘What do you do in Chicago?’ She said she went there to visit her mother, who was in a nursing home.”

Sarah Dillon fingered her purse nervously.

“Then I started asking questions about her mother – what her health was like, how long she’d been in a home, that kind of thing. She started getting defensive, and in a few minutes she didn’t want to talk to me at all. She got out a book and pretended to read it, like I wasn’t even there. Whenever I’ve seen her on the train since then, she does the same thing – acts like she’s never met me. I just thought she was rude, standoffish. But now … well, I’m sure it was something else.”

“Like what?” Jenn asked.

The woman let out a grunt of disapproval.

“Well, you’re the people in law enforcement. You tell me. But she was hiding something. I’ll bet she was mixed up in something illegal. Something that got her killed. And now …”

She shivered all over.

“Do you think I’m in any danger?” she asked again, peering nervously around the room.

“Why would you think that?” Bill asked.

Sarah Dillon looked like she could hardly believe the question.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? There were other people on that train. Lots of people. None of them are exactly friendly these days. And ever since I talked to her, I’ve noticed some of them looking at me strangely. Any one of them might have been the killer. She didn’t tell me what she was mixed up in, I don’t know anything about it. But the killer doesn’t know that. He might think she actually told me something – something he doesn’t want me to know.”

Riley suppressed a sigh of impatience.

She said, “I really doubt that you’re in any danger, Ms. Dillon.”

The fact was, Riley was quite sure of it. The woman was paranoid, pure and simple.

“But you don’t know that,” the woman said, her voice growing more shrill. “You can’t know for sure. And I’ve got such a terrible feeling. You’ve got to do something. You’ve got to protect me.”

Chief Powell got up and patted her gently on the shoulder.

“You wait here for just a moment, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The woman nodded, then sat silently. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

The police chief quickly returned with a uniformed policeman.

He said to the woman, “This is Officer Ring. He’ll watch after you for a while. Right now, you should just go home. Officer Ring will make sure you get there safely.”

The woman let out a gasp of relief. She got up from her chair and left the room with the policeman, gazing happily up at him as he held the door for her.

Bill shook his head and said to Chief Powell, “What are you going to do? Give her round-the-clock protection? Because that’s just going to be a waste of time and resources.”

Powell chuckled slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Landry Ring has got a calming effect on people. He’s almost uncanny that way. That’s why I picked him to take her home. By the time they get there, I’ll bet Landry will have her convinced that she’s in no danger at all.”

Jenn was frowning.

“That sure was a waste of time,” she said.

Maybe, Riley thought.

But she had a nagging gut feeling about what the “witness” had just said …

“Something was very wrong about that woman.”

… and …

“She was hiding something.”

Riley sensed that Sarah Dillon might not be altogether wrong.

She asked Powell and Cullen, “Did Reese Fisher have any family members living here in Barnwell?”

Powell said, “Just her husband, Chase. A local chiropractor.”

“And has he been interviewed?”

“Of course,” Bull Cullen said. “Chief Powell here and I both talked to him. He’s got a clean alibi – he was in his office this morning when it happened.”

“I want to talk to him again,” Riley said.

Cullen and Powell glanced at each other with surprise.

Powell said, “I’m not sure what good that will do. He’s pretty shaken up about all this.”

Riley wasn’t sure what she expected to find out. But if Reese Fisher was harboring some sort of secret, her husband might be able to tell them what it was.

“I want to see him,” Riley insisted. “Right now.”

CHAPTER NINE

The railroad’s deputy police chief looked thoroughly annoyed by Riley’s request to re-interview Reese Fisher’s husband. But Riley was in no mood to back down.

Bull Cullen said, “When I asked you FBI guys to come out here, I didn’t expect you to waste my time.”

Feeling her temper escalate, Riley pressed her lips together to prevent snapping back at the man. She heard Bill let out a low grumble beside her.

Before Riley could think of a civil response, Jenn spoke up. The young agent sounded just as condescending and patronizing as Cullen had been toward her back at the crime scene.

“Oh, we won’t interfere with your excellent work, sir. Just give us a car and we’ll go see Mr. Fisher on our own. We’ll get out of your way for a while. You and your team can keep right on doing the really important stuff. You might start by booking a comfortable place for those three men back in the interview room to stay the night.”

Cullen grimaced at Jenn’s obvious contempt for him.

“I’ll do that,” he said, puffing up his considerable physique in an attempt to exert male authority. “And I’ll book a place for the three of you as well. Meanwhile, Chief Powell here will show you to a vehicle.”

Powell’s heavy, bloodhound-like jowls hung in an expression of bewilderment as he watched Cullen stalk away. Riley knew what Powell must be thinking. Surely he was worried that an FBI team and the railroad police were starting to look like a bad mix, and he was going to get caught in the middle of an ugly situation.

Finally Powell shook his head and led Riley and her team outside to a parked vehicle. He gave them the keys and directions to the Fisher home.

As Riley drove, she said, “Jenn, I don’t blame you for not liking Deputy Chief Cullen, but – ”

Jenn interrupted, “Huh-uh, that’s not it. I don’t like having hangovers or bronchitis. I don’t like it when my car won’t start. I don’t like TV commercials. I don’t like anchovies on my pizza. But that guy …”

She let out a slight growl, then added, “He’s a whole special kind of unlikable, if you ask me. He practically stinks of testosterone.”

Bill let out a hearty laugh, but he made no comment.

Riley couldn’t help but be impressed by how vividly Jenn expressed her dislike.

But still …

Riley said, “Well, you’re going to have to work with him. We all will. So get used to him – for as long as it takes to solve this case, anyway.”

In her rearview mirror, Riley saw Jenn cross her arms in a gesture of silent annoyance.

Riley hoped Jenn was listening to what she’d just said and would take it seriously. On the other hand, she guessed that there might be an upside to Jenn’s hostility toward Cullen. Maybe it would give her something to think about besides whatever might be going on between her and the mysterious Aunt Cora.

Anyway, Riley couldn’t complain about Jenn’s work so far today. In the past, she’d always felt that Jenn could be like the proverbial bull in the china shop. But she’d handled the situation with the engineer – the “hogger” – surprisingly well.

And it was no small accomplishment as far as Riley concerned. The ability to show empathy toward victims really was an important item in a BAU agent’s toolbox. That didn’t seem to come naturally to Jenn, but she was learning it well.

It was only a short drive across town to the address they were looking for. As Riley parked in front of the place, she noticed that it was of a familiar design – a cluster of clean new apartment buildings with pitched roofs, arched windows, and balconies. Based on similar places she’d seen before, she felt pretty sure the buildings surrounded an open area that included a large swimming pool.

Riley, Bill, and Jenn took the elevator to the third floor, then knocked on the apartment door.

Riley was startled when the door first opened. Due to some trick of the light, she almost mistook the man inside for Ryan. They were of similar height and build and complexion. His blond hair was barely touched with gray.

But the resemblance quickly faded, at least somewhat, and Riley felt herself relax a little.

“May I help you?” the man asked.

“Are you Chase Fisher?” Riley asked.

“I am.”

Riley and her colleagues showed their badges and introduced themselves.

The man looked somewhat distressed.

“The police were here this morning,” he said. “I answered a lot of questions. This is a really hard time for me.”

“I know, and I’m very sorry,” Riley said. “But we’ve just joined the case, and we’re looking for a fresh perspective. We’re extremely anxious to catch your wife’s killer. We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

She recognized that this man was of a different temperament from Ryan. Her ex-husband would be annoyed, but Chase Fisher just sounded tired.

He nodded and led them inside. It was a fair-sized apartment with lush rugs and a balcony. Riley guessed that it had three bedrooms, and that at least one of them was used as an office. She remembered hearing that Chase Fisher was a chiropractor, and his wife had been a librarian. Riley guessed that his practice must be elsewhere. And it must have been a reasonably prosperous practice for him and his wife to live in a place like this.

There were no family portraits, and Riley sensed right away that the couple had had no children. There were a few tasteful paintings on the wall, and a glass case was filled with golf and bowling trophies.

Overall, the place seemed studiously respectable and pleasant. Even so, Riley caught a scent of melancholy in the air. Her instincts told her that this hadn’t been an entirely happy household even before Reese Fisher’s murder.

The group sat down on the comfortable furniture.

Riley said, “Mr. Fisher, I know you’ve been asked this before. But where were you at the time of your wife’s murder?”

“I was in my office in town,” Fisher said.

“And can anyone account for your whereabouts?”

“Certainly. My receptionist, and at least a couple of my morning patients. I guess you already know that I’m a chiropractor.”

Riley was still paying close attention to his demeanor. She was sure that that his alibi checked out. Bull Cullen might be obnoxious, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have overlooked a detail like that. But at this point, Riley was more interested in how Fisher answered her questions than in what he actually said.

“Did you see your wife at all this morning?” Riley asked.

“No,” he said. “She’d spent the night in Chicago, visiting her mother who is in a nursing home there. She came in on the morning train. As far as I know, she never got home.”

Riley felt an odd tingle, a feeling that Fisher was leaving something important unsaid.

Probe gently, she told herself.

She asked, “Has her mother been told what happened?”

Fisher shifted slightly in his chair.

“Yes, I talked to Nadine as soon as I could. The poor woman – she’s not very coherent anymore, and she had a hard time grasping it. She was very upset, and the call didn’t go well. I hope the people who take care of her can help her understand and cope with it. She’s in no condition to come down for the funeral. I’ll have to pay her a visit soon.”

A silence fell. Riley let it settle for a moment.

Then she nodded toward the trophies and said, “I see you’re a golfer. And a bowler too.”

He looked surprised at the comment. Of course, Riley knew that it seemed like a strange thing for a detective to mention at such a moment. But Riley had her reasons.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Just an amateur at both. I do OK, I guess. A pretty good golfer. I’m not the best bowler in our local team, but we do pretty well.”

Riley noticed an odd shift in his tone. He was being modest, of course, judging by the trophies. But she also sensed something else.

Shame? she wondered.

Why would anybody be ashamed of playing recreational sports? Especially somebody who was pretty good at them? Ryan bragged about his golfing scores at every opportunity.

She said slowly, “Did your wife like golf and bowling, Mr. Fisher?”

Fisher looked at her with a curious expression.

“Well, she didn’t play, but …”

Riley added, “I mean, was she at all interested in the games? As a spectator or a fan or anything? Or in how well you were doing?”

Fisher shook his head.

“No,” he said. “She wasn’t interested in sports at all. Why do you ask?”

Riley didn’t reply. But she knew that this little fact was more important than it seemed. After all, sports trophies were the most prominent objects in this living room. And yet Reese Fisher had had no interest in sports.

Riley asked gently, “Mr. Fisher, were you and your wife happy together?”

Fisher looked into Riley’s eyes and blinked a few times.

“Of course we were,” he said.

Again, Riley let a silence settle in the room.

She was sure that either Bull Cullen or Chief Powell had asked that same question, and Fisher had given them the same answer. But Cullen and Powell had brushed it aside too easily.

Riley held Fisher’s gaze.

She didn’t say so aloud, but with her eyes she said to him …

You’re lying.

He nodded ever so slightly in reply to her unspoken observation.

She sat waiting for him to tell her the truth.