Kitabı oku: «Once Gone», sayfa 4
Chapter 8
Riley drove down the two-lane highway, sipping on her energy drink. It was a sunny, warm morning, the car windows were down, and the warm smell of freshly baled hay filled the air. The surrounding modest-sized pastures were dotted with cattle, and mountains edged both sides of the valley. She liked it out here.
But she reminded herself she hadn’t come here to feel good. She had some hard work to do.
Riley turned off onto a well-worn gravel road, and after a minute or two, she reached a crossroads. She turned into the national park, drove a short distance, and stopped her car on the sloping shoulder of the road.
She got out and walked across an open area to a tall, sturdy oak that stood on the northeast corner.
This was the place. This was where Eileen Rogers’s body had been found – posed rather clumsily against this tree. She and Bill had been here together six months ago. Riley started to recreate the scene in her mind.
The biggest difference was the weather. Back then it had been mid-December, and bitterly cold. A thin blanket of snow covered the ground.
Go back, she told herself. Go back and feel it.
She breathed deeply, in and out, until she imagined she could feel a searing coldness passing through her windpipe. She could almost see thick clouds of frost forming with her every breath.
The naked corpse had been frozen solid. It wasn’t easy to tell which of the many bodily lesions were knife wounds, and which were cracks and fissures caused by the icy cold.
Riley summoned back the scene, down to every last detail. The wig. The painted smile. The eyes stitched open. The artificial rose lying in the snow between the corpse’s splayed legs.
The picture in her mind was now sufficiently vivid. Now she had to do what she’d done yesterday – get a sense of the killer’s experience.
Once again, she closed her eyes, relaxed, and stepped off into the abyss. She welcomed that lightheaded, giddy feeling as she slipped into the killer’s mind. Pretty soon, she was with him, inside him, seeing exactly what he saw, feeling what he felt.
He was driving here at night, anything but confident. He watched the road anxiously, worried about the ice under his wheels. What if he lost control, skidded into a ditch? He had a corpse on board. He’d be caught for sure. He had to drive carefully. He’d hoped his second murder would be easier than the first, but he was still a nervous wreck.
He stopped the vehicle right here. He hauled the woman’s body – already naked, Riley guessed – out into the open. But it was already stiffened from rigor mortis. He hadn’t reckoned on that. It frustrated him, shook his confidence. To make matters worse, he couldn’t see what he was doing at all well, not even in the glare of the headlights which he directed at the tree. The night was much too dark. He made a mental note to do this in daylight next time if he possibly could.
He dragged the body to the tree and tried to put it into the pose that he’d envisioned. It didn’t go at all well. The woman’s head was tilted to the left, frozen there by rigor mortis. He yanked and twisted it. Even after breaking its neck, he still couldn’t set it staring straight forward.
And how was he to splay the legs properly? One of the legs was hopelessly crooked. He had no choice but to get a tire iron out of his trunk and break the thigh and kneecap. Then he twisted the leg as well as he could, but not to his satisfaction.
Finally, he dutifully left the ribbon around her neck, the wig on her head, and the rose in the snow. Then he got into his car and drove away. He was disappointed and disheartened. He was also scared. In all his clumsiness, had he left any fatal clues behind? He obsessively replayed his every action in his mind, but he couldn’t be sure.
He knew that he had to do better next time. He promised himself to do better.
Riley opened her eyes. She let the killer’s presence fade away. She was pleased with herself now. She hadn’t let herself be shaken and overwhelmed. And she’d gotten some valuable perspective. She’d gotten a sense of how the killer was learning his craft.
She only wished she knew something – anything – about his first murder. She was more certain than ever that he had killed one earlier time. This had been the work of an apprentice, but not a rank beginner.
Just as Riley was about to turn and walk back toward her car, something in the tree caught her eye. It was a tiny dash of yellow peeking out from where the trunk divided in half a little above her head.
She walked around to the far side of the tree and looked up.
“He’s been back here!” Riley gasped aloud. Chills surged through her body and she glanced around nervously. Nobody seemed to be nearby now.
Nestled up in the branch of a tree staring down at Riley was a naked female doll with blond hair, posed precisely the way the killer had intended the victim to be.
It couldn’t have been there long – three or four days at most. It hadn’t been shifted by the wind or tarnished by rain. The murderer had returned here when he’d been preparing himself for the Reba Frye murder. Much as Riley had done, he had come back here to reflect on his work, to examine his mistakes critically.
She took pictures with her cell phone. She’d send those to the Bureau right away.
Riley knew why he’d left the doll.
It’s an apology for past sloppiness, she realized.
It was also a promise of better work to come.
Chapter 9
Riley drove toward Senator Mitch Newbrough’s manor house, and her heart filled with dread as it came into view. Situated at the end of a long, tree-lined drive, it was huge, formal, and daunting. She always found the rich and powerful harder to deal with than folks further down the social ladder.
She pulled up and parked in a well-manicured circle in front of the stone mansion. Yes, this family was very rich indeed.
She got out of the car and walked up to the enormous front doors. After ringing the doorbell, she was greeted by a clean-cut man of about thirty.
“I’m Robert,” he said. “The Senator’s son. And you must be Special Agent Riley. Come on in. Mother and Father are expecting you.”
Robert Newbrough led Riley on into the house, which immediately reminded her how much she disliked ostentatious homes. The Newbrough house was especially cavernous, and the walk to wherever the Senator and his wife were waiting was disagreeably long. Riley was sure that making guests walk such an inconvenient distance was a sort of intimidation tactic, a way of communicating that the inhabitants of this house were far too powerful to tangle with. Riley also found the ubiquitous Colonial furniture and decor to be really quite ugly.
More than anything else, she dreaded what was coming next. To her, talking to victims’ families was simply awful – much worse than dealing with murder scenes or even corpses. She found it all too easy to get caught up in people’s grief, anger, and confusion. Such intense emotions wrecked her concentration and distracted her from her work.
As they walked, Robert Newbrough said, “Father’s been home from Richmond ever since…”
He choked a little in mid-sentence. Riley could feel the intensity of his loss.
“Since we heard about Reba,” he continued. “It’s been terrible. Mother’s especially shaken up. Try not to upset her too much.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Riley said.
Robert ignored her, and led Riley into a spacious living room. Senator Mitch Newbrough and his wife were sitting together on a huge couch holding each other’s hands.
“Agent Paige,” Robert said, introducing her. “Agent Paige, let me introduce my parents, the Senator and his wife, Annabeth.”
Robert offered Reba a seat, then sat down himself.
“First of all,” Riley said quietly, “my deepest condolences for your loss.”
Annabeth Newbrough replied with a silent nod of acknowledgment. The Senator just sat staring forward.
In the brief silence that followed, Riley made a quick assessment of their faces. She’d seen Newbrough on television many times, always wearing a politician’s ingratiating smile. He wasn’t smiling now. Riley hadn’t seen so much of Mrs. Newbrough, who seemed to possess the typical docility of a politician’s wife.
Both of them were in their early sixties. Riley detected that they’d both gone to painful and expensive lengths to look younger – hair implants, hair dye, facelifts, makeup. As far as Riley was concerned, their efforts had left them looking vaguely artificial.
Like dolls, Riley thought.
“I’ve got to ask you a few questions about your daughter,” Riley said, taking out her notebook. “Were you in close touch with Reba recently?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Newbrough said. “We are a very close family.”
Riley noted a slight stiffness in the woman’s voice. It sounded like something she said a little too often, a little too routinely. Riley felt pretty sure that family life in the Newbrough home had been far from ideal.
“Did Reba say anything recently about being threatened?” Riley asked.
“No,” Mrs. Newbrough said. “Not a word.”
Riley observed that the Senator hadn’t said a word so far. She wondered why he was being so quiet. She needed to draw him out, but how?
Now Robert spoke up.
“She’d been through a messy divorce recently. Things got ugly between her and Paul over custody of their two kids.”
“Oh, I never liked him,” Mrs. Newbrough said. “He had such a temper. Do you think that possibly—?” Her words trailed off.
Riley shook her head.
“Her ex-husband’s not a likely suspect,” she said.
“Why on earth not?” Mrs. Newbrough asked.
Riley weighed in her mind what she should and should not tell them.
“You may have read that the killer struck before,” she said. “There was a similar victim near Daggett.”
Mrs. Newbrough was becoming more agitated.
“What’s any of this supposed to mean to us?”
“We’re dealing with a serial killer,” Riley said. “There was nothing domestic about it. Your daughter may not have known the killer at all. There’s every likelihood that it wasn’t personal.”
Mrs. Newbrough was sobbing now. Riley immediately regretted her choice of words.
“Not personal?” Mrs. Newbrough almost shouted. “How could it be anything but personal?”
Senator Newbrough spoke to his son.
“Robert, please take your mother elsewhere and calm her down. I need to talk with Agent Paige alone.”
Robert Newbrough obediently led his mother away. Senator Newbrough said nothing for a moment. He looked Riley steadily in the eyes. She was sure that he was accustomed to intimidating people with that stare of his. But it didn’t work especially well on her. She simply returned his gaze.
At last, the Senator reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter-sized envelope. He walked over to her chair and handed it to her.
“Here,” he said. Then he walked back to the couch and sat down again.
“What’s this?” Riley asked.
The Senator turned his gaze on her again.
“Everything you need to know,” he said.
Riley was now completely baffled.
“May I open it?” she asked.
“By all means.”
Riley opened the envelope. It contained a single sheet of paper with two columns of names on it. She recognized some of them. Three or four were well-known reporters on the local TV news. Several others were prominent Virginia politicians. Riley was even more perplexed than before.
“Who are these people?” she asked.
“My enemies,” Senator Newbrough said in an even voice. “Probably not a comprehensive list. But those are the ones who matter. Somebody there is guilty.”
Riley was completely dumbfounded now. She sat there and said nothing.
“I’m not saying that anybody on that list killed my daughter directly, face to face,” he said. “But they sure as hell paid somebody to do it.”
Riley spoke slowly and cautiously.
“Senator, with all due respect, I believe I just said that your daughter’s killing probably wasn’t personal. There has already been one murder nearly identical to it.”
“Are you saying that my daughter was targeted purely by coincidence?” the Senator asked.
Yes, probably, Riley thought.
But she knew better than to say so aloud.
Before she could reply, he added, “Agent Paige, I’ve learned through hard experience not to believe in coincidences. I don’t know why or how, but my daughter’s death was political. And in politics, everything is personal. So don’t try to tell me it’s anything else but personal. It’s your job and the Bureau’s to find whoever is responsible and bring him to justice.”
Riley took a long, deep breath. She studied the man’s face in minute detail. She could see it now. Senator Newbrough was a thorough narcissist.
Not that I should be surprised, she thought.
Riley understood something else. The Senator found it inconceivable that anything in his life wasn’t specifically about him, and him alone. Even his daughter’s murder was about him. Reba had simply gotten caught between him and somebody who hated him. He probably really believed that.
“Sir,” Riley began, “with all due respect, I don’t think – ”
“I don’t want you to think,” Newbrough said. “You’ve got all the information you need right in front of you.”
They held each other’s gaze for several seconds.
“Agent Paige,” the Senator finally said, “I get the feeling we’re not on the same wavelength. That’s a shame. You may not know it, but I’ve got good friends in the upper echelons of the agency. Some of them owe me favors. I’m going to get in touch with them right away. I need somebody on this case who will get the job done.”
Riley sat there, shocked, not knowing what to say. Was this man really that delusional?
The Senator stood.
“I’ll send somebody to see you out, Agent Paige,” he said. “I’m sorry we didn’t see eye to eye.”
Senator Newbrough walked out of the room, leaving Riley sitting there alone. Her mouth hung open with shock. The man was narcissistic, all right. But she knew there was more to it than that.
There was something the Senator was hiding.
And no matter what it took, she would find out what it was.
Chapter 10
The first thing that caught Riley’s eye was the doll – the same naked doll she had found earlier that day in that tree near Daggett, in exactly the same pose. For a moment, she was startled to see it sitting there in the FBI forensics lab surrounded by an array of high-tech equipment. It looked weirdly out of place to Riley – like some kind of sick little shrine to a bygone non-digital age.
Now the doll was just another item of evidence, protected by a plastic bag. She knew that a team had been sent to retrieve it as soon as she’d called it in from the scene. Even so, it was a jarring sight.
Special Agent Meredith stepped forward to greet her.
“It’s been a long time, Agent Paige,” he said warmly. “Welcome back.”
“It’s good to be back, sir,” Riley said.
She walked over to the table to sit with Bill and the lab tech Flores. Whatever qualms and uncertainties she might be feeling, it really did feel good to see Meredith again. She liked his gruff, no-nonsense style, and he’d always treated her with respect and consideration.
“How did things go with the Senator?” Meredith asked.
“Not good, sir,” she replied.
Riley noticed a twitch of annoyance in her boss’s face.
“Do you think he’s going to give us any trouble?”
“I’m almost sure of it. I’m sorry, sir.”
Meredith nodded sympathetically.
“I’m sure it’s not your fault,” he said.
Riley guessed that he had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Senator Newbrough’s behavior was undoubtedly typical of narcissistic politicians. Meredith was probably all too used to it.
Flores typed rapidly, and as he did, images of grisly photographs, official reports, and news stories came up on large monitors around the room.
“We did some digging, and it turns out you were right, Agent Paige,” Flores said. “The same killer did strike earlier, way before the Daggett murder.”
Riley heard Bill’s grunt of satisfaction, and for a second, Riley felt vindicated, felt her belief in herself returning.
But then her spirits sank. Another woman had died a terrible death. That was no cause for celebration. She had wished, actually, that she had not been right.
Why can’t I enjoy being right once in a while? she wondered.
A gigantic map of Virginia spread out over the main flat-screen monitor, then narrowed to the northern half of the state. Flores tagged a spot high up on the map, near the Maryland border.
“The first victim was Margaret Geraty, thirty-six years old,” Flores said. “Her body was found dumped in farmland, about thirteen miles outside of Belding. She was killed on June twenty-fifth, nearly two years ago. The FBI wasn’t called in for that one. The locals let the case go cold.”
Riley peered at the crime scene photos Flores brought up on another monitor. The killer obviously hadn’t tried to pose the body. He’d just dumped her in a hurry and left.
“Two years ago,” she said, thinking, taking it all in. A part of her was surprised he had been at this for so long. Yet another part of her knew that these sick killers could operate for years. They could have an uncanny patience.
She examined the photos.
“I see that he hadn’t developed his style,” she observed.
“Right,” Flores said. “There’s a wig there, and the hair was cropped short, but he didn’t leave a rose. However, she was choked to death with a pink ribbon.”
“He rushed through the set-up,” Riley said. “His nerves got the best of him. It was his first time, and he lacked self-confidence. He did a little better with Eileen Rogers, but it wasn’t until the Reba Frye killing that he really hit his stride.”
She remembered something that she’d wanted to ask.
“Did you find any connections between the victims? Or between the kids of the two mothers?”
“Not a thing,” Flores said. “The check of parenting groups came up empty. None of them seemed to know each other.”
That discouraged Riley, but didn’t altogether surprise her.
“What about the first woman?” Riley asked. “She was a mother, I take it.”
“Nope,” Flores said quickly, as though he’d been waiting for that question. “She was married, but childless.”
Riley was startled. She was sure that the killer was singling out mothers. How could she have gotten that wrong?
She could feel her rising self-confidence suddenly deflate.
As Riley hesitated, Bill asked, “Then how close are we to identifying a suspect? Were you able to get anything off of those burrs from Mosby Park?”
“No such luck,” Flores said. “We found traces of leather instead of blood. The killer wore gloves. He seems to be fastidious. Even at the first scene, he didn’t leave any prints or DNA.”
Riley sighed. She had been so hopeful that she’d found something that others had overlooked. But now she felt she was striking out. They were back to the drawing board.
“Obsessive about details,” she commented.
“Even so, I think we’re closing in on him,” Flores added.
He used an electronic pointer to indicate locations, drawing lines between them.
“Now that we know about this earlier killing, we’ve got the order and a better idea of his territory,” Flores said. “We’ve got number one, Margaret Geraty, at Belding to the north here, number two, Eileen Rogers, over to the west at Mosby Park, and number three, Reba Frye, near Daggett, farther south.”
As Riley looked, she saw that the three locations formed a triangle on the map.
“We’re looking at an area of about a thousand square miles,” Flores said. “But that’s not as bad as it sounds. We’re talking mostly rural areas with a few small towns. In the north you get into some big estates like the Senator’s. Lots of open country.”
Riley saw a look of professional satisfaction on Flores’s face. He obviously loved his work.
“What I’m going to do is bring up all the registered sex offenders who live in this area,” Flores said. He typed in a command, and the triangle was dotted with about two dozen little red tags.
“Now let’s eliminate the pederasts,” he said. “We can be sure that our killer’s not one of them.”
Flores typed another command, and about half of the dots disappeared.
“Now let’s narrow it down to just the hardcore cases – guys who’ve been in prison for rape or murder or both.”
“No,” Riley said abruptly. “That’s wrong.”
All three men stared at her with surprise.
“We’re not looking for a violent criminal,” she said.
Flores grunted.
“Like hell we’re not!” he protested.
A silence fell. Riley felt an insight forming, but it hadn’t quite taken shape in her mind. She stared at the doll, which was still sitting grotesquely on the table, looking as out of place as ever.
If only you could talk, she thought.
Then she slowly began to state her thoughts.
“I mean, not obviously violent. Margaret Geraty wasn’t raped. We already knew that Rogers and Frye weren’t either.”
“They were all tortured and killed,” Flores grumbled.
A tension filled the room, as Brent Meredith looked worried, while Bill was staring fixedly at one of the monitors.
Riley pointed to close-up pictures of Margaret Geraty’s hideously mutilated corpse.
“His first killing was his most violent,” she said. “These wounds are deep and ugly – worse even than his next two victims. I’ll bet your technicians have already determined that he inflicted these wounds really rapidly, one right after another.”
Flores nodded with admiration.
“You’re right.”
Meredith looked at Riley with curiosity.
“What does that tell you?” Meredith asked.
Riley took a deep breath. She found herself slipping into the killer’s mind again.
“I’m pretty sure of something,” she said. “He’s never had sex with another human being in his life. He’s probably never even been on a date. He’s homely and unattractive. Women have always rejected him.”
Riley paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
“One day he finally snapped,” she said. “He abducted Margaret Geraty, bound her, stripped her, and tried to rape her.”
Flores gasped with sudden comprehension.
“But he couldn’t do it!” Flores said.
“Right, he’s completely impotent,” Riley said. “And when he couldn’t rape her, he went into a rage. He started stabbing – the closest he could get to sexual penetration. It was the first act of violence he’d ever committed in his life. My guess is he didn’t even bother to keep her alive for long.”
Flores pointed to a paragraph in the official report.
“Your guess is right,” he said. “Geraty’s body was found just a couple of days after she disappeared.”
Riley felt a deepening terror at her own words.
“And he liked it,” she said. “He liked Geraty’s terror and pain. He liked all the cutting and stabbing. So he’s made it his ritual ever since. And he’s learned to take his time about it, to enjoy every minute of it. With Reba Frye, the fear and torture went on for more than a week.”
A chill of silence settled over the room.
“What about the doll connection?” Meredith asked. “Why are you so sure he’s creating a doll?”
“The bodies sure look like dolls,” Bill said. “At least the last two. Riley’s right about that.”
“It is about dolls,” Riley said quietly. “But I don’t know exactly why. There’s probably some sort of revenge element here.”
Finally Flores asked, “So do you think we’re looking for a registered offender at all?”
“Could be,” Riley said. “But not a rapist, not a violent predator. It would be somebody more innocuous, less threatening – a Peeping Tom, or a flasher, or somebody who masturbates in public.”
Flores typed vigorously.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get rid of the violent offenders.”
The number of red dots on the map lessened to a handful.
“So who have we got left?” Riley asked Flores.
Flores glanced at a few records, then gasped.
“I think I’ve got him,” Flores said. “I think I’ve got your man. His name’s Ross Blackwell. And get this. He was working in a toy store when he got caught posing dolls in kinky positions. Like they were having all kinds of weird sex. The owner called the police. Blackwell got probation, but the authorities have had their eye on him ever since.”
Meredith stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Could be our guy,” he said.
“Should Agent Paige and I go check on him right now?” Bill asked.
“We don’t have enough to bring him in,” Meredith said. “Or to get a warrant for any kind of a search. We’d better not alarm him. If he’s our guy and he’s as smart as we think he is, he’s liable to slip through our fingers. Pay him a little visit tomorrow. Find out what he’s got to say about himself. Handle him carefully.”
