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CHAPTER SIX

Jenn followed Chief Brennan into the building and up the stairwell to the second floor. Riley and Bill followed behind as they walked down the hall toward Duane Scoville’s apartment.

Jenn’s ears perked up as she heard the sound wafting from some nearby room.

That music again.

This time she was sure she’d heard it before, but it had been a long time ago, and she wasn’t sure where or when. It was a classical piece—something slow, soft, and incredibly sad.

They arrived at Scoville’s apartment, and Chief Brennan rapped on the door.

A voice called out, “Come in.”

As she and her colleagues walked inside, Jenn was startled by the appearance of the apartment. The place was a mess, all scattered with beer cans and food wrappers.

About ten guitars were in view, some of them on stands, others in open cases, still others lying about in the open. Some were acoustic, some electric. There were also amplifiers, speakers, and miscellaneous electronic equipment scattered about.

Duane Scoville himself sat in a battered beanbag chair. He had long hair and a beard and wore jeans, a tie-dye shirt, a peace symbol on a cord around his neck, and round-framed “granny glasses.”

Jenn had to suppress a giggle. Scoville looked like he was in his twenties, but he was trying his best to look like a sixties-style hippie. The room’s decor included beads, cheap tapestries, faux-Persian throw rugs, lighted candles, and general disorderliness. Some of the posters on the wall were psychedelic images, others promoting rock music groups and performers that had been popular long before Jenn’s time.

There was a strong odor in the air—of incense and …

Something else, Jenn realized.

Duane Scoville sat staring blearily into space as if no one had arrived. He was obviously quite stoned, although Jenn saw no signs of drugs anywhere.

Chief Brennan said to him, “Duane, these are FBI Agents Paige, Jeffreys, and Roston. Like I just said, they’ve got a few more questions for you.”

Duane said nothing, and he didn’t offer his visitors a place to sit in the crowded little room.

Jenn felt perplexed as she remembered how immaculately neat the victim’s little home had been. She could hardly believe Robin Scoville had ever known this man, much less been married to him.

And then there was the music …

Instead of the Doors or Jefferson Airplane or Jimi Hendrix or something else more appropriate to these surroundings, Duane was listening to soft Baroque chamber music with a haunting woodwind solo like a high-pitched, mournful birdsong.

Suddenly recognizing the piece, Jenn said to Duane, “That’s Vivaldi, isn’t it? The slow movement of a piccolo concerto.”

Still without looking at Jenn or her companions, Duane asked, “How did you know?”

Jenn felt jolted by the question. She remembered vividly where she’d heard the music before.

It had been back in Aunt Cora’s foster home, where she’d grown up.

Aunt Cora had always kept classical music playing in the background when she’d been teaching her kids how to be master criminals.

Jenn shivered a little. She found it eerie and unsettling to hear this melancholy melody again after so many years. It brought back strange, disturbing memories of days Jenn had tried hard to put behind her.

But she knew she mustn’t let it distract her.

Keep your head in the game, Jenn told herself sternly.

Instead of answering Duane’s question, she said …

“You don’t strike me as a Vivaldi kind of guy, Duane.”

Duane finally looked at her and met her gaze.

He said in a dull voice, “Why not?”

Jenn didn’t reply. From studying at the academy and her experiences working with Riley and Bill, she knew she’d accomplished a little something just by getting him to look at her. Now they had at least a tentative connection. Jenn decided to wait and let Duane speak next.

But he said nothing right away.

The slow, sad movement came to an end and a sparkling fast movement started.

Duane clicked his player so the same slow movement began to play again.

Finally he said, “Robin really liked this piece. It was her favorite movement. She couldn’t get enough of it.”

Then with a trace of a sneer he added …

“I hope they play it at her funeral.”

Jenn was chilled by a telltale note of anger and bitterness in his voice. She wondered—what was behind those dark emotions?

She glanced at Bill and Riley. They gave her slight nods, silently encouraging her to keep following her instincts.

She took a step closer to Duane and asked, “Are you going to Robin’s funeral?”

Duane said, “No, I don’t even know when or where it’s going to be. Over in Missouri, I guess. That’s where Robin grew up, where her family still lives. St. Louis, Missouri. I don’t guess I’ll be invited.”

Then with a barely audible chuckle he added, “And I don’t guess I’d be welcome if I did go.”

“Why not?” Jenn asked.

Duane shrugged. “Why do you think? Her folks don’t like me very much.”

“Why don’t they like you?”

Duane abruptly switched off the music. His face twisted a little with what appeared to be disgust.

Then he said spoke directly to the three agents. “Look, let’s get right to the point, OK? You folks want to know if I killed her. I didn’t. I went through all this earlier with Chief Brennan here. It’s like I told him, I was over in Rhode Island, playing a gig with my band. We stayed the night.”

He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and offered it to Jenn.

“Do I need to show this again?” he said. “It’s our motel bill.”

Jenn crossed her arms and let him hold the paper in his hand.

Whatever was written there, she doubted she’d find it convincing. It might only mean that some members of the band had stayed there that night.

She said, “Can your bandmates vouch that you were with them all night?”

He didn’t reply. But he did look uncomfortable with the question. Jenn’s suspicions were thoroughly piqued now.

She said to him, “Could you tell us how to get in touch with them?”

“I guess,” Duane said. “But I’d rather not.”

“Why not?”

“We weren’t on the best of terms. They’d just kicked me out of the group. They might not exactly cooperate.”

Jenn began to pace a little.

“It might be a good idea for you to cooperate,” she said.

Duane said, “Yeah? Is that what a lawyer would tell me? Do I need a lawyer?”

Jenn didn’t reply right away. But as she walked past a closed living room closet, she noticed that Duane sat up uneasily. She looked at the door and walked closer to it, then turned and noticed that Duane’s anxiety seemed to be mounting.

She said, “I don’t know, Duane. Do you need a lawyer?”

Duane settled back down and tried to appear relaxed again.

He said, “Look, I’d really like for you guys to leave now. This is kind of a tough time for me, you know? You’re not making it any easier. And I’ve got rights. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to answer your questions.”

Jenn stood there looking back and forth between Duane and the closet. She felt really close to finding out whatever it was Duane didn’t want her to know.

She reached over and touched the closet doorknob, and Duane winced sharply.

Jenn saw Riley shaking her head sharply, silently warning her not to open the closet.

Of course, Jenn didn’t need a warning. She knew better than to open the closet without a warrant. Her move was only a bluff, an attempt to get more of a reaction out of the man who lived here.

And she was definitely succeeding.

Duane lifted a hand toward the closet and said in a shaky voice …

“Don’t do that. I’ve got rights.”

Jenn smiled at him, but she didn’t move away from the closet door.

She was about to ask the retrograde musician to come to the police station to answer more questions when Riley said, “Thanks for your time, Mr. Scoville. We’ll leave now.”

Jenn’s smile disappeared.

She felt dumfounded. But she saw that Riley, Bill, and the police chief were all headed for the door.

Obediently, Jenn followed them out of the room.

As they headed back down the hallway and down the stairs, Riley said to Jenn …

“What did you think you were doing back there? You can’t go poking around like that without a warrant.”

Jenn said, “I know that, Riley. I wasn’t going to open the closet.”

Riley said, “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Aren’t we going to take him in for questioning?” Jenn asked.

“No,” Riley said.

“Why not?”

Riley sighed and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat. We can talk about it then.”

The discussion went on hold as Chief Brennan drove them to a nearby fast food place. Jenn and her colleagues ordered their generic burgers and sat down at a table together.

Then Riley said to Jenn, “Now tell me your thoughts about Duane Scoville.”

Jenn sensed that Riley was about to give her a little question-and-answer lesson in police work.

Don’t get defensive, Jenn told herself sternly. After all, she was probably going to learn something, whether she liked it or not.

She thought about Riley’s question.

What are my thoughts about Duane Scoville?

She thought back to the interview and replayed bits of it in her mind.

She remembered his sneer when he’d mentioned that the Vivaldi piece had been Robin’s favorite …

“I hope they play it at her funeral.”

Why would a rocker like him even be listening to Vivaldi, apparently the same movement over and over again?

Except maybe to gloat.

Then she remembered his look of disgust when he’d switched the music off.

Self-disgust.

Jenn could think of one good reason for him to feel that way.

“I think he’s guilty,” Jenn said.

Riley smiled a little and said, “I think so too.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Riley could see the shock in Jenn’s face at what she’d just said. The younger agent’s mouth hung open for a moment.

Jenn took a quick glance at Bill and Captain Brennan, who were listening attentively, then stared back at Riley.

Riley suppressed a smile and waited for Jenn to say something.

Finally Jenn asked, “You think he’s guilty too? Guilty of murder?”

“I didn’t say that,” Riley said.

“Then what do you mean?”

Riley saw that Bill was now grinning broadly and Brennan just looked mystified. But she didn’t want to say exactly what she meant, at least not outright. She wanted to draw her young protégé out with questions. After all, Jenn still had some things to learn about thinking like a BAU agent. And maybe Riley could coax Jenn into seeing things Riley’s way regarding Duane Scoville.

Riley asked, “What were your first impressions when you walked into the apartment?”

Jenn squinted in thought. “Well, it was weird. I mean, the music was weird enough, for a rock musician. But the way the place looked … Robin’s little house wasn’t anything like that. Everything there was so neat. And conservative.”

“Hard to believe they were ever married, huh?” Riley said.

Jenn shrugged a little and said, “Not happily, anyway.”

Riley smiled a little.

“It’s not so hard for me to believe,” Riley said. “I’ve got some idea what it’s like to get married when you’re young and stupid. It’s pretty much the story of my life. Robin and Duane were probably crazy in love and happy for a while. Their marriage might not have even lasted long enough for them to realize how little they really had in common.”

Jenn sputtered, “But—but he acted so …”

Riley said, “Guilty. Yes, I know. He had his reasons. Why do you think their marriage broke up? Aside from those differences that would probably have broken them up eventually anyhow?”

Jenn stared down at her untouched hamburger, obviously trying to think of an answer.

Riley said, “Well, it’s not too hard to figure out. What do you know about Robin’s recent past?”

Jenn said, “She was in a car accident last year, and she lost a leg and …”

Riley could see a light coming on in Jenn’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” Jenn said. “Duane couldn’t deal with it. He’d married a gorgeous young woman, married her because she was beautiful, but suddenly she was … well, mutilated. He just didn’t find her attractive anymore.”

Riley nodded. “In short, he was a shallow little prick.”

Jenn nodded slowly and said, “And he knows it, too. That he was a prick, I mean. He felt guilty about it as soon as he dumped her. But now that she’s dead …”

Jenn paused for a moment, then continued.

“He keeps thinking, if only he’d been a better husband, a better human being, Robin would still be alive today. And he might well be right. So his guilt is eating him up right now.”

Jenn shook her head and added, “Small wonder he acted the way he did. But … what about the closet? Why did he get so nervous when I acted like I was going to open it?”

Riley chuckled and said, “You’d be nervous, too, if you had two FBI agents and a police chief in your room, and you had a bong hidden in your closet.”

Jenn rolled her eyes. “Of course. I should have known.”

Riley didn’t say anything. The truth was …

We don’t really know anything.

For all Riley really knew, Duane Scoville might have killed his wife after all. Maybe killing her was a desperate attempt to put his shame at abandoning her behind him—an attempt that had failed miserably.

Riley didn’t think that was likely to be the case, but she couldn’t be sure. They really had nothing to go on so far and she was just keeping Jenn from jumping to rash conclusions. And she was glad that Jenn wasn’t getting angry and defensive like she had when they’d been in Mississippi.

At that moment, Chief Brennan’s cell phone rang. He took the call, then quickly cupped the phone with his hand to tell Riley and her colleagues …

“This is Agent Sturman on the phone. He says his people got in touch with the Copelands in Europe. They said their camera was set up to record continuously, and to save everything it recorded during their absence. Sturman says they understand the urgency of the situation, and they’ve given us a permission to look at their security feed. They’ve also turned over all the information we need to view it.”

Riley saw Bill’s face light up.

“That means we won’t have to go scrambling after a warrant, then deal with the security company,” he said.

Riley, too, was excited. She asked, “How do we access the feed?”

Jenn suggested, “From what I know about these systems, we ought to be able to connect online, from any computer or even cell phone.”

“I’ll find out,” Chief Brennan said.

He spoke again with Sturman on the phone and jotted down some notes. Then he ended the call and showed the group his notes.

He said, “Sturman gave me a link, a sign-in name, and a password. We should be able to check it out right here and now.”

Riley looked at Jenn, who obviously understood these systems better than she or Bill. She said to Jenn, “Go ahead, see what you can do.”

Chief Brennan handed his notes to Jenn, who took her laptop out of her bag and opened it up on the table. It took just a few seconds for her to make the connection. Everybody at the table crowded around the laptop so they could see the image on the screen.

The picture wasn’t at all sharp or clear. But it was exactly what Riley had expected, based on the position of the camera.

She pointed and said, “Look, this is the street right in front of the Copeland house. Although you can’t see it, Robin Scoville’s house is out of frame, right across the street.”

“So what are we looking for?” Chief Brennan asked.

Riley stifled a sigh.

That’s a good question, she thought.

She thought back to her attempt to connect with the killer’s mind back at Robin Scoville’s house. She remembered imagining how the killer found Robin staring out her front window, then creeping up behind her and taking her by surprise.

Robin had been looking at something outside. Riley was sure of it.

She said to the others, “We’re looking for anything going on in the very early hours of that morning. We’re not likely to see the actual killer out on the street, but we could get lucky. It seemed that Robin was looking out her front window when she was attacked. Maybe we can get a clue what she saw out there. I don’t know what it might be. I hope we know it if we see it ourselves.”

Then she said to Chief Brennan, “You said the time of Robin’s death was around four a.m., right?”

Brennan shrugged. “That’s the approximation the medical examiner gave us,” he replied.

“It’s something we can work with,” Riley said. “Jenn, start the footage at, say, three thirty. Run it fast until we see something interesting.”

Jenn fast-forwarded through the footage. At first, the street was empty. Then a car drove by without stopping. A few minutes later, another car went by and the street was empty again.

Then Jenn stopped the feed.

“What’s that?” she exclaimed, pointing at something large and bulky that had come into view.

Looking at the still frame, Chief Brennan said, “It’s just a garbage truck. Nothing sinister about that.”

Maybe not, Riley thought.

Even so, she said to Jenn, “Back it up and run it slowly.”

Jennifer backed up the feed to just before the garbage truck appeared. Then she ran it frame by frame. The truck was the kind with mechanical arms that automatically picked up garbage bins. Although the camera did not show Robin’s house, it did show the machine picking up the bin on her curb and dumping it into the truck.

But Riley saw something much more important than that.

She pointed at the screen and said, “There’s a man right there.”

Riley’s companions peered more closely at the screen as Jenn continued to run through the footage frame by frame. Sure enough, a man was walking alongside the truck. The low-resolution image didn’t show him at all clearly. He appeared as little more than a fuzzy silhouette.

When the truck finished dumping Robin’s bin, it began to drive on to the next house. But the man just stood there.

Riley realized with a tingle …

He’s staring at Robin’s house.

Then Riley gasped and said to Jenn …

“Stop on that frame!”

Jenn stopped the feed, stared at the image, and asked …

“What’s he doing now?”

The shadowy figure seemed to have raised one arm.

“Almost looks like he’s aiming a gun,” Brennan said. “But the victim wasn’t shot.”

“It looks to me like he’s pointing at something,” Bill said.

“Pointing at the victim?” Jenn asked. “Threatening her?”

Riley said, “Keep running it slowly.”

Jenn ran the footage frame by frame by frame. Riley and her colleagues could see the man standing there for a moment, arm raised, staring in the direction of the victim’s house. Then he lowered his arm and hurried out of the frame.

Riley said to Jenn, “Run the whole thing again.”

Jenn backed up the footage to where the truck was coming into view, than ran it slowly. Again, Riley and her colleagues saw the truck stop to pick up Robin’s garbage bin. Again, they saw a man walking alongside the truck. They saw the truck start to pull out of view, then the man standing, gesturing, and finally leaving the scene.

“Who was that guy?” Chief Brennan asked in an amazed voice.

“What was he doing?” Jenn added.

And where did he go? Riley wondered.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Riley sighed in discouragement. There simply was nothing more to see.

She and her colleagues had been staring hard at the screen as Jenn ran the security camera footage several times. But the camera wasn’t well focused for that distance from the house it was set up to protect. The man walking alongside the truck remained an indistinct blur.

They’d found no clue to suggest why he’d suddenly walked out of the frame, or where he’d gone. He had never come back into view.

Riley said, “We’ve got to find out who that man is. He and the truck driver seem to be the only signs of life on that street at that time.”

“This guy was on the move at the approximate time of the murder,” Jenn added. “We could be sitting here watching the killer.”

“The truck appears to have continued on its way without him,” Bill said. “We can’t be sure they were even supposed to be together.”

“I think I know how to find some answers,” Chief Brennan said. He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve got a direct number for Roger Link, the director of Public Works here in Wilburton.”

Brennan punched in a number, then put the call on speakerphone so Riley and her colleagues could hear.

When Brennan got the director on the line, he said, “Roger, this is Clark Brennan.”

The voice replied cheerfully, “Hey, how’re you doing, Clark?”

Brennan scratched his chin and said, “Well, I’m hoping you can help me with a problem. I’m sure you know about the murder that happened the night before last.”

“Yeah. Awful thing.”

Brennan said, “Some FBI agents and I have been looking at a security feed, and we see that a waste collection truck went by the victim’s house at about the time of the murder. There was a guy on foot alongside that truck, and he acted a little oddly.”

Riley could hear the director gasp.

He said, “Surely you don’t suspect any of our sanitation guys.”

Brennan said, “Honestly, Roger, we don’t know what the hell to think. But we need to know who was working that particular route that night.”

“Our guys usually work alone,” the director replied. “Now that we’re using these robotic arm pickup vehicles, they don’t even interact with people on their routes anymore. Generally speaking, things are better this way.”

Brennan told him Robin Scoville’s address.

“OK, I’ll see what I can find out,” the director said.

Riley and her colleagues heard clattering on a keyboard. Then the director spoke again.

“I may have found out something for you. This is a little unusual. The driver on that route’s name is Dick Abbott. That night he did have someone kind of working with him, a young guy named Wesley Mannis. It seems that Wesley lives at Wilburton House, an IDD facility.”

Jenn asked, “IDD?”

“Intellectual and developmental disabilities,” the director said.

Chief Brennan squinted and asked, “So does that mean he’s retarded or physically handicapped or …?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the director said. “But the facility and the city run a program together for live-in IDD residents. The city hires the residents for jobs outside the facility, helping them transition into regular lives. This Wesley Mannis was part of that program, and his job was sort of a made-up one, something that wouldn’t be too demanding. Really, he just walked alongside the truck and made sure no garbage got dropped. Not much of a job, but it gave him something to do until …”

The director paused. Riley had to bite her tongue to keep from asking …

“Until what?”

After another clatter of keys, the director said, “Two days ago the driver filed a report that Wesley disappeared sometime during that morning’s shift. We’re required to do that when these workers don’t show up or wander off.”

“That was the morning Robin Scoville was murdered,” Jenn said.

“Can you pinpoint the time?” Brennan asked.

“No,” the director replied. “This doesn’t say exactly when, where, or why Wesley skipped out. Apparently Wesley just walked away somewhere along the route and the driver didn’t miss him right away. The Public Works Department alerted Wilburton House that one of their residents had walked off on a job and … well, that’s all the report says.”

Riley asked, “Nothing about whether Wesley eventually turned up at Wilburton House?”

“No, I guess you’ll have to find that out from the staff there.”

“We’ll do that, thanks,” Chief Brennan said.

He ended the call and looked back and forth at Riley and her two colleagues.

“What do you think?” he asked the three agents. “Maybe this Wesley Mannis is our killer?”

Riley had no idea, and judging from their silence, she was sure neither Jenn nor Bill did either.

“If he is,” Jenn finally said tentatively, “we’ve got him.”

“Now wouldn’t that be nice and easy?” Bill muttered.

But the possibility didn’t quite add up to Riley. Had the same resident from the same facility gone to New Haven a week ago and killed Vincent Cranston during his morning jog on the Friendship Woods trail? Riley found that hard to believe.

She said to Brennan, “We need to check in with Wilburton House.”

Brennan nodded and punched another number on his cell phone.

When he got the facility’s female receptionist on the line, he said, “Police Chief Clark Brennan here. I’ve got three FBI agents listening in on this call. We need to know—do you have a live-in resident there named Wesley Mannis?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in the facility right now?”

“I’ll check.” After a brief pause, the receptionist said, “Yes, he’s in his room.”

Apparently unsure what to ask next, Brennan looked appealingly at Riley and her colleagues.

Riley said to the receptionist, “We need to know about Wesley Mannis’s activities two days ago, during the very early morning hours.”

A short silence fell.

Then the receptionist said, “I’m sorry, and I hope you understand, but I’m not very comfortable sharing information about a patient over the phone like this. Could you come and talk to someone on the staff in person?”

“We’ll be right there,” Chief Brennan said.

Brennan drove Riley and her colleagues across town to Wilburton House. As Brennan parked his car, Riley was impressed by the size of the facility, which looked like a tastefully designed small mansion.

As they all went inside, they were immediately greeted by a tall, willowy, smiling woman dressed in cheerful pastel colors.

She stepped toward the police chief and shook his hand and said, “You must be Clark Brennan. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Amy Rhind, and I’m the director of the facility.”

Riley, Bill, and Jenn produced their badges and introduced themselves to her. Dr. Rhind invited them to sit down in the comfortable lobby.

She said, “I understand that you’re here about one of our residents, Wesley Mannis.”

Her brow knitted with worry and she added, “I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can help us understand what has happened to him. I’m afraid it’s something of a mystery.”

That word jolted Riley a little.

A mystery.

She’d been hoping for answers, not questions.

She heard Bill groan softly.

A mystery?

This might not be so nice and easy after all.