Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3) (11 page)

Jilly fumbled with
the seat belt with hands that were still trembling, and Riley had to help her
latch it. Then she started to drive.

 “Where are we
going?” Jilly asked, in a little more than a whisper.

“There are people
who can give you a place to stay. They can even find you a new home if you need
one,” Riley said.

Jilly seemed to be
thinking that over. “I can’t go home anymore,” she finally commented.

Riley asked, “You
said your dad would beat you. What about your mom?”

“She’s not there,”
Jilly said. “She went away years ago. My older brother left, too.”

“So it was just you
and your dad?”

“Yeah,” Jilly
replied. “And he drinks a lot now.”

Riley concentrated
on driving the car, following the automated instructions to the shelter. Beside
her, Jilly sank down on the seat and seemed to be asleep. Riley wondered what
was going to happen to this child now. Would she just run away again? Would she
wind up like Justine someday? Or would she even live that long?

She had to ring the
bell at the emergency shelter doorway, but after a few minutes a voice on the
speaker asked what she wanted. Riley identified herself, and a tired but
sympathetic-looking woman came to the door and let them in.

Jilly was still
holding onto Riley’s hand, so she followed them down a hallway to an office.
She thought the place looked clean enough, and the woman seemed genuinely
interested in the child. Jilly let go of Riley’s hand and sat down in the chair
by the desk. Riley gave the woman her card, and said she’d check in tomorrow.
When she left, Jilly was cooperatively answering questions while the woman typed
on her computer.

When Riley got back
into her car, she realized that she hadn’t found out anything about Nancy
Holbrook’s death. She might have to go back to Hank’s Derby to further
investigate. It all depended on how Bill had fared with his suspect, Calvin
Rabbe. She’d check in with him as soon as she got a chance.

Meanwhile, nausea
over all she’d seen threatened to overwhelm her.

I hope Bill’s got
something,
she
thought.
I want this case to be over with.

Bill felt a rush of
anticipation as he neared the gated entrance of Calvin Rabbe’s sprawling
Spanish-colonial home. The man who lived behind this fence was very likely to
be the killer who had taken a woman’s life and thrown her body into a lake.
Bill was determined to find out for sure.

He had done a little
research on Calvin Rabbe before driving out here. Ishtar Haynes had been
right—the spoiled bastard hadn’t done a day’s honest work in his life. He’d
spent his childhood and teen years getting expelled from boarding schools, then
had gotten kicked out of all the best Ivy League universities without getting a
degree.

Now he was living
with his divorced mother in that mansion.

It figures,
Bill thought.

Rabbe’s dependence
on the family matriarch added to Bill’s suspicions. The man was sounding more
and more like a spoiled rich momma’s boy who might have a lot of unresolved
resentment. Bill was starting to look forward to putting this guy away.

But as he drove past
the entrance, he could see that getting to meet Rabbe might be complicated.
Even getting admitted to the grounds would involve a bit of protocol. Security
cameras flanked the gates to the property. You had to ring a buzzer and
announce yourself. Bill wasn’t sure how to proceed.

What would happen if
he tried to ring himself in, announcing that he was an FBI agent? And who would
he wind up talking to once he was admitted? Dusk had fallen, and the house was
well lit. It was possible that a number of people were inside. Bill couldn’t
even be sure that Calvin Rabbe was one of them.

At the next corner,
Bill turned his car around to drive past the front gates again.

In the well-lighted
driveway, he saw a fancy little sports convertible wending its way through the
grounds toward the gate. The top was down, and Bill could see the driver. The
man was young with sandy blond hair, and he was wearing a polo shirt. He
perfectly matched pictures Bill had seen of Calvin Rabbe. He had the look of a
movie star approaching middle age, but still trying to project a carefree,
youthful image.

Bill suddenly felt
lucky. Now he wouldn’t have to fake his way into the mansion. Rabbe was on his
way out, very possibly headed for a night on the town. If Bill could just stay
on his trail, the man might give himself away. The gate opened, and the little
car went off down the street. Bill followed him, keeping an unsuspicious
distance behind.

The night deepened
as Bill followed the sports car through the expensive neighborhood. He found
himself wondering what Riley was doing right now. Had it really been a good idea
to let her go to that truck stop alone? Hank’s Derby sounded like a vile and
dangerous place for a woman.

Bill didn’t really
know why he was worried. Riley was far and away the toughest and most capable
woman he had ever known. He’d seen her take down some truly dangerous
characters. It was hard to imagine what kind of man could actually be a threat
to her.

He decided that his
unease was because this case was getting to him. He thought that it was getting
to Riley too. Bill doubted that either of them would feel a lot of satisfaction
once they took down this killer. Whoever had murdered Nancy Holbrook was just
the tip of an iceberg, a symptom of a much larger evil. God only knew how many
other women were being exploited, victimized, and killed. They were here to
stop one man, but the whole ugly scene would just go on and on.

Soon Bill noticed
that Calvin Rabbe was making his way into an especially unpleasant
neighborhood. The streets were lined with seedy bars, motels, and strip joints.
Rabbe parked his car in front of a place called the Lariat Strip Club.

The marquee sign
showed a semi-animated neon lariat dropping around a nude woman’s silhouette
and tightening around her waist. Below the sign was a smaller one that
announced “LIVE NUDES.” So soon after viewing Nancy Holbrook’s naked corpse,
the sign struck Bill as chillingly ironic. Had the killer come here to hunt for
another living target?

He parked just a
couple of spaces behind Rabbe and watched him get out of the car. In the midst
of the local riffraff of druggies and hookers, Rabbe really stood out in his
preppy shirt, khaki shorts, and expensive sneakers. But Bill quickly realized
that Rabbe wasn’t headed toward the club’s front entrance. Instead he continued
around the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.

Bill jumped out of
his car and broke into a trot. When he reached the edge of the building, he saw
Rabbe walking away from him toward the alley behind the strip club. Bill waited
until his prey disappeared around back, then followed. Once in the alley, Bill
was able to hide alongside a dumpster and watch what Rabbe was up to.

Rabbe knocked on the
back door of the strip club. The door opened, and Rabbe walked on inside. The
door slammed shut behind him.

Bill felt more alert
by the second. If Rabbe was making a drug deal, this might give Bill a perfect
excuse to bring him in. But he had to be patient. He had to be sure.

After about five
minutes, Rabbe stepped out into the alley again. He took a small package out of
his front pocket and unfolded it. He brushed his finger through the contents,
then rubbed it inside his mouth around his gums. He was sampling the product.

Bingo!
Bill thought.

Bill stepped into
the open, taking out his badge.

“FBI,” he said. “You’re
under arrest.”

Rabbe hastily
refolded the package and stuck it in his pants pocket. For a moment, he looked
at Bill with a slightly stunned deer-in-the-headlights expression. Then he
smiled broadly, threw back his head, and laughed.

“FBI? Oh, this is a
joke. This has got to be a joke.”

“No joke,” Bill
said. “Hands behind your back.”

Bill had come
prepared with a pair of handcuffs. As he took them off his belt, he wondered if
he was going to need to draw his weapon.

Shaking his head
with apparent disbelief, Rabbe put his hands behind his back.

“No, really,” Rabbe
said. “This is a joke. I know it’s a joke. Who put you up to this?”

Bill slapped the
handcuffs on him. As he started reading his rights, Rabbe interrupted.

“I know my rights,
believe me. I’m used to this kind of thing from the local cops, but the FBI?
Seriously, I don’t believe it. What are you even arresting me for?”

The corner of the
paper package was poking out of Rabbe’s pants pocket. Bill pulled it out and
waved it in front of his face.

“This will do,” he
said.

“Oh, give me a
break. You’ve got to be kidding.”

Bill resumed reading
him his rights.

“I said I know my
rights,” Rabbe said, interrupting again.

“Humor me,” Bill
said. He finished the recitation of rights and escorted Rabbe back to his car.

He had a good feeling
that this really was the killer. He hoped Riley would get back to the FBI field
office in time to help him make absolutely sure.

Riley got a text
message from Bill just as she drove away from the emergency shelter where she’d
left Jilly. All it said was that he had apprehended Calvin Rabbe. She hurried
back to the Phoenix FBI building to check out the suspect.

She met Bill outside
the interview room.

“What happened?” she
asked breathlessly. “What did you get him for? We didn’t even have a warrant.”

“Cocaine possession,”
Bill said. “I got lucky. Real lucky. I’m glad you’re here. I was just getting
ready to talk to him. Come on in and help me out.”

Riley followed Bill
into the interview room. Calvin Rabbe was sitting there in handcuffs, sneering
like some snotty overage schoolboy who had been sent to the principal’s office.

“Will somebody tell
me what this is all about?” Rabbe said. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s not
coke. It’s got to be something else.”

Riley and Bill sat
down at the table across from him. Riley stared at him quietly, trying to
decide how to handle him. It wouldn’t do to accuse him right away of killing
Nancy Holbrook. He’d lawyer up in no time and wiggle right out from under them.
A less direct approach seemed more promising.

Riley said, “We
understand that you’re an occasional client of Ishtar Escorts.”

“Who told you that?”
Rabbe said. “That’s not true.”

“We got your name
from Ishtar herself,” Bill put in.

Rabbe looked
surprised, but hardly shocked, nor even especially annoyed.

“Well, that old
whore,” he said. “What’s the world coming to? If you can’t trust whores, who
can you trust?”

Riley leaned across
the table toward him.

“So you like whores,
Calvin?” she said.

Rabbe shrugged. “As
women these days go, whores are better than most. That’s not saying a lot.”

“So you’ve got a
problem with women?” Riley said.

“Don’t get me
started,” Rabbe growled, looking away from her.

I’ve hit his sore
spot,
Riley
realized. She was starting to feel that the interview was on the right track.

“Tell us a little
about Nanette,” Riley said.

“Who’s Nanette?”

“Oh, come on,” Riley
said. “You know perfectly well who I’m talking about. One of Ishtar’s girls.
You met with Nanette last Saturday night.”

Rabbe let out a
snort of derision. “I did no such thing,” he said. “Sure, I had an appointment
with her. But she stood me up. It really ruined my night. She was going to come
with me to a charity event my mom was holding. It was written up in the news.
Maybe you’ve heard of it, the Judith Rabbe Foundation.”

He said the words
with palpable disgust. Riley was becoming intrigued.

“No, I can’t say I
have heard of it,” Riley said.

Rabbe rolled his
eyes.

“Oh, my mom’s got
this thing about educating girls in all those countries with unpronounceable
names. Trying to fix a problem that’s not a problem at all. They’ve got the
right idea about women in those places. Not like the fucked-up culture we’ve
got here.”

Riley could see
Rabbe’s character coming into clearer focus.

A misogynist pig,
she thought.
Exactly the kind
of guy we’re looking for.

Bill asked the next
question. “So how does your mother feel about your bringing escorts to her
fancy get-togethers?”

It struck Riley as
an excellent question. She remembered the less-than-respectable outfit that
Nancy Holbrook had been wearing when her body was found. She also pictured how
it would have gone over at the kind of upscale charity event that Rabbe’s
mother had surely given.

A broad, satisfied
smirk formed across Rabbe’s face.

“She doesn’t like
it, you can be sure of that,” he said. “And it serves her right. But Nanette
left me high and dry that night. No time to schedule another girl. I got stuck
there alone in a house full of shrill harpies going on and on about oppression
and patriarchal hegemony and all that sort of thing. Jesus.”

His expression
changed. Something seemed to be dawning on him.

“Wait a minute,” he
said. “Is this about Nanette’s heroin habit? Is that why you hauled me in?
Because I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

It was a lie, and
Riley instantly knew it.

“But you didn’t
mind
that she was strung out on smack, did you?” she said.

Rabbe chuckled a
little.

“I like them docile,
if you know what I mean,” he said. “More like nature meant them to be. You
ought to read a little evolutionary psychology, baby. Women aren’t wired for
the kind of work you do, the kind of life you live. Nature designed you to stay
in the cave while the men went out to hunt. You’re supposed to have babies and
take good care of them.”

He looked her
steadily in the eye.

“You’re just making
yourself miserable, you know,” Rabbe told her. “Fighting your own DNA coding, I
mean. And I pity your boyfriend or husband—unless you’re a lesbian, which I
guess would make sense.”

She knew that he was
trying to get her goat. But it wasn’t going to work. It was going to take a lot
more than pseudoscientific antifeminism to get her to flare up at him,
especially after the ugliness she’d just witnessed at Hank’s Derby.

Then he told her, “I
can see right through you. I know your type through and through. And I’ll bet
anything—every cent I’ve got in the world—that you’re a lousy lay.”

It was Riley’s turn
to smirk.

“This from a guy who
can’t get laid unless he pays for it,” she said.

The comment seemed
to have no impact upon him at all.

“Oh, I can get laid,”
he said. “I can get all the pussy I want, anytime I want. It’s an art and a
science, and I’m a master at it. I could have you if I wanted you. I could make
you beg for it if I put my mind to it.”

Riley almost laughed
at the idea of Rabbe trying to ply his pickup technique on her. Still, she
detected that he was more than half telling the truth. He was cunning and
amorally deceptive, and he knew exactly what he was doing. She sensed that he
could drop this vulgar, woman-hating manner altogether and adopt a much more
charming and attractive persona. He could present himself as thoughtful,
gallant, and sensitive to a woman’s feelings. He could get his way with many
women before they had a chance to see their mistake.

But they always
live to regret it,
she thought.

Or maybe some of
them
didn’t
live to regret it.

And this creep had
no regrets. Not for anything he did. Not even for anything he said. She could
feel her innate disgust for this type of man stirring in her gut.

“So why go to
whores?” Bill asked.

Rabbe looked at
Bill. “Believe me, buddy, whores are the way to go. Or maybe you know that
already. They’re honest. You don’t have to get into bargaining and bartering
about ‘consent.’ These days it’s all ‘may I’ this and ‘may I’ that. A man can
go to jail just for having sex with his own wife.”

“Nonconsensual sex,”
Bill said.

“In marriage, there’s
no such thing.”

He made a point of
saying it directly to Riley. But she had no trouble keeping her cool. She
sensed that now was a good time to get to the point.

“Did you have
anything to do with Nanette’s death?” she asked.

Riley looked for
even a flicker of reaction. Rabbe’s face showed no change of expression at all.

“She’s dead?” he
replied blandly.

“She was killed on
Saturday night,” Riley said.

Bill added, “The
night you had an appointment with her.”

Rabbe actually
looked bored now.

“Well, I’m all
broken up about it,” he said, pretending to stifle a yawn. “So that’s what this
is all about. You think I did it. Well, I’ve got an alibi. I was at home at my
mom’s charity event. You can even find photos of me there on the Internet.”

He leaned back in
his chair.

“OK, fun times over,”
he said. “I want my phone call. I want my lawyer.”

She didn’t know
whether it was the artificial yawn or the comment about fun times, but Riley
wasn’t listening anymore. She lunged across the table and grabbed Rabbe by the
front of his expensive shirt.

“Right!” she
shouted. “No more fun times.”

His scream when she
threw him to the floor was deeply satisfying. She flung herself toward him and
he scrambled backward across the floor, moving remarkably fast for a man in
handcuffs.

Two younger agents
rushed into the room, grabbing Riley’s arms from both sides, but she was still
moving forward toward Rabbe. She started to knock them away, but she didn’t
fight Bill off when he put his arms around her from behind, pinning her own
arms down.

“Enough,” Bill said.
“You’ll get suspended again,” he said sternly.

“Again?” one of the
younger agents said.

“All right,” Riley
said. “All right.” Her fury was subsiding. She relaxed her body and Bill
released his hold.

By then Rabbe was
yelling for his lawyer and threatening lawsuits. Riley looked down at him and
he grew quiet.

He was a rare
suspect, she realized—the kind she didn’t know how to read. She turned to Bill.

“Let’s have a word
outside,” she said coolly.

She and Bill stepped
outside the interview room.

“I think we should
let him go,” she said.

Bill looked shocked
and surprised.

“You don’t think he’s
our guy?” Bill asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then shouldn’t we
question him some more?”

Riley let out a
discouraged sigh. “We can check out his alibi. But right now, all we’ve got him
on is a half-assed drug charge. Just possession of a small quantity. And with
the kind of lawyer he can afford, we won’t even be able to make that stick. He’ll
be out of here in no time. If we let him go now, at least we can assign some
agents to keep track of him. Maybe we can trip him up.”

Bill shook his head.

“I don’t like this,”
he said. “But I’ll go in and do it. Maybe that will keep him from bringing
charges against you.”

Riley watched
through the one-way window as Bill took off Rabbe’s handcuffs and told him he
could go. Rabbe looked straight into the window. He obviously knew that Riley
was watching him. He gave her a smirk but then lowered his eyes and hurried out
of the room.

Riley wasn’t used to
feeling so full of self-doubt. And now she remembered how the diving team chief
had said there was no second body in the lake. She hadn’t had a chance to tell
Bill about that yet, but it had shaken her confidence.

As she waited for
Bill to finish escorting Rabbe out of the building, her head filled up with
questions. Could she really be sure that the divers were wrong? Was it possible
that this wasn’t a serial case after all?

She was used to
following her gut, but now her gut was giving her mixed signals. Maybe all the
trauma of the last few months—being held captive herself and having to rescue
April from captivity—had blunted her instincts. Maybe she wasn’t up for this
kind of work anymore.

Still, there was one
thing she wanted to do, even if this was the last job she ever took as a field
agent. She wanted to catch Nancy Holbrook’s killer. But was she right to
suspect Rabbe?

Or did she just want
him to be guilty?