Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3) (23 page)

Pain showed in
Socorro’s face as she tried to remember.

“I don’t remember.
But then he went out to the car, and I got worried, because I knew that another
woman was murdered wearing a necklace. I looked and he was getting a rope out
of the car.”

“And then you ran,”
Riley said.

“Sí.”

The rest of her
story was pretty easy to fill in. Riley’s earlier guess had been correct. She’d
gotten her physical wounds during her escape, running through rough vegetation
and across rocky ground. She’d been extraordinarily lucky.

“What did he look
like?” Riley asked.

Socorro just stared
at her as if she didn’t understand the question.

“Was he tall, short,
medium height?” Riley asked.

Socorro seemed even
more confused.

“Can you remember
anything about his face?” Riley asked. “The color of his hair, maybe?”

Tears formed in
Socorro’s eyes. Trembling all over, she shook her head.

Riley sighed. She
understood exactly what was going on. She’d seen this happen with witnesses
before. The poor woman was repressing all memories of the man’s appearance. It
was simply too painful to remember. They’d have to work with her on retrieving
that image, but she might never allow herself to remember.

Yet again, Riley flashed
back to her own captivity with Peterson, and how she’d struggled with those
memories.

Riley couldn’t blame
Socorro for blocking it out. Trying to force her to remember would only cause
her pain and produce no results.

“I’m sorry,” Socorro
said. “I can’t remember.”

Riley stroked her
hand.

“It’s all right,”
Riley said. “I understand.”

Tears began to pour
down the woman’s face. She started to sob.

“I thought he was
OK. He seemed nice, classy. I thought T.R. was OK.”

The initials hit
Riley like a bullet.

“T.R.?” she said. “His
name was T.R.?”

“
Sí,
it was
what he called himself.”

Riley was seized by
self-reproach. She remembered what Ruthie had said about the man back at the
Iguana Lounge …

“T.R., he calls
himself.”

T.R. was the name of
the man who had frightened the women at the Desert King truck stop. In some
part of her mind, Riley had been hoping that the suspect that she and Bill had
failed to catch that night wasn’t the real killer. But now there could be no
mistake about it.

If only we’d
caught him,
Riley
thought.
If only we hadn’t let him get away.

And now, after his
bungled attack on Socorro, Riley knew exactly what to expect.

He was going to
strike again soon—if he hadn’t already.

It was morning, and
the man was driving along the familiar stretch of Conover Avenue. He didn’t see
any of the usual streetwalkers—nor did he expect to, not at this hour. The
truth was, he didn’t know what to expect, or what he hoped to do.

He was exhausted.
And he hated to admit it even to himself, but he was scared.

The whole thing with
Socorro late last night had been a disaster. For the first time, a woman he had
targeted escaped his clutches. And where was she now?

After he’d pulled up
beside her, she had run out into the highway and seemed about to be run down by
a truck. He’d driven away fast, but then had turned off the highway and stopped
to see what had happened. She’d watched a woman help Socorro into the truck.

Why couldn’t the
bitch have been killed?
he thought.

He’d tried to follow
the truck, but quickly got separated from it in traffic. So where had she gone
next? Had the truckers taken her to the police? Had she told the police that a
man had tried to kill her?

No, he wouldn’t let
himself believe that. A whore, turning to the police for help? Surely not.

All the same, he
wasn’t sure he was thinking things through rationally. He’d barely slept last
night, despite taking a strong sedative. He’d kept awakening himself with his
own curses of frustration.

And now here he
was—hoping to do what? Did he seriously think that he’d find Socorro here this
morning? No, but maybe he could get some clue as to where to find her. And he
really needed to find her, before she talked. If she hadn’t talked already. He
needed to finish the job he’d failed to do last night.

It angered and upset
him that killing her would be no pleasure. He’d never killed from necessity
before. If only the others he had selected hadn’t gotten into the news. If only
he’d been able to keep them his own personal secret.

Damned publicity,
he thought.

It was the last
thing he’d wanted, but now he was stuck with it.

He saw a woman
walking his way—a streetwalker, there was no mistaking her for anything else.

He rolled down his
window and called out to her.

“Hey, I wonder if
you could help me.”

The woman turned and
smiled and walked toward his car.

“Anything you’d
like, pal,” she said.

As she came toward
him, he thought he recognized her face. Where had he seen her before. He
thought it might have been at one of those truck stops, maybe. Hank’s Derby. Or
the Desert King.

She seemed to
recognize him too, and her smile disappeared.

“I’m looking for a
girl named Socorro,” he said. “Could you help me find her?”

The hooker didn’t
reply. She wheeled around and walked away from him.

“I owe her money,”
he called out. “I didn’t have enough on me last night, and I don’t want to
shortchange her. She gave me a great time.”

The woman didn’t
seem to be listening. She’d gotten out her cell phone and appeared to be making
a call.

Determined to
ignore me,
he
thought.
What’s the matter with that stupid whore?

Just then he was
startled by a loud tap-tap on his passenger window. A girl he’d never seen
before was tapping on the glass.

He lowered the
window.

“How about giving me
a ride, mister?” the girl said.

She was a slender
blonde, and she was wearing a backpack. He smiled at her. He was pleased that
she’d approached him. It was the first thing that had gone right so far today.

“Do you know
Socorro?” he asked.

The girl shrugged
and grinned.

“Sure. We go way
back, Socorro and me.”

“Then get in,” he
said. He unlocked the passenger door, and the girl plopped herself inside.

“So tell me about
Socorro,” he said.

“Hey, give me a ride
first,” the girl said. “I don’t care where. To the edge of town, maybe. Anywhere.”

He wondered if she
really knew Socorro at all. But maybe it didn’t matter. She was a obviously a
hooker, or she wouldn’t be walking alone in this neighborhood. She’d serve his
purposes nicely.

Yes, she was exactly
what he needed right now. She’d get his mind off of Socorro. He’d have his fun
with her. And she was so charmingly unsuspecting. She really had no idea.

As he pulled away
from the curb, he heard somebody shouting behind him. He couldn’t make out the
words. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the other older hooker
chasing after his car, waving an arm and yelling.

The crazy bitch,
he thought.

She’d deliberately
ignored him, and now she was mad that he was driving off with someone else.

To hell with her,
he thought.

She’d missed her
chance. And she had no idea how lucky she was.

Riley was still in
the FBI clinic when an assistant informed her that she was being called to the
conference room. Morley wanted to talk to both Bill and Riley.

Grill us is more
like it,
Riley
thought with dread.

Meanwhile, she wasn’t
at all happy with how Socorro had been treated so far.

She snapped at the
male doctor, “Call the social worker who’s with Socorro’s kids at home. Bring
the kids here. They need their mother, and she needs them. When Socorro’s
better, get them all to a shelter where they’ll all be safe.”

The doctor gave
Riley a condescending smile.

“Yes,
ma’am
,”
he said.

Jesus,
Riley thought.
The last thing
Socorro needs right now is this patriarchal pig.

“And get a female
nurse in here to take care of Socorro,” she said. “Get
two
female
nurses. And you—make yourself as scarce as possible.”

The doctor repeated,
“Yes,
ma’am
.”

Riley’s blood
boiled. But now was no time to lose her temper. She headed straight for the
conference room, where Morley and Bill were waiting.

“Did you get any
information from the woman in the clinic?” Morley asked.

“The man at the
Desert King was our guy for sure,” Riley said. “He calls himself T.R.”

“And you two lost
him,” Morley said, glaring at Riley.

Riley gulped hard.

Bill said, “Yes,
sir. We did. It won’t happen again.”

“Did she give you
anything else?” Morley asked Riley.

Riley shook her
head.

“She’s repressing
any details. She couldn’t give me a physical description at all.”

Morley drummed his
fingers on the table.

“Maybe we should
have her hypnotized,” he said.

Riley breathed
slowly. She didn’t like the idea at all. But given Morley’s present mood, she
had to state her objections coolly.

“Sir, with due
respect, how often has hypnosis worked out for you in the past? In my
experience, all it does is get a witness to confabulate. It’s like any kind of
recovered memory—extremely unreliable. Anyway, now is not the time. All we’d do
is cause her further trauma without getting information.”

Morley nodded reluctantly.

“So we’ve got
precisely nothing,” he said.

Neither Bill nor
Riley replied. Riley’s phone buzzed. She saw that the call was from Ruthie
Lapham, the woman who ran the Iguana Lounge at the Desert King truck stop.

“I’d better take
this,” Riley said to Morley and Bill.

She retreated to the
far side of the room to talk to Ruthie.

“Ruthie, what’s
going on?”

Ruthie sounded
breathless and upset.

“Agent Paige, he’s
got a girl. T.R.’s taken a girl.”

“What?” Riley asked.
“Who? How do you know?”

Ruthie said nothing
for a few seconds. She seemed to be trying to collect herself.

“Maybe you remember
Jewel,” Ruthie said. “She’s the woman who stopped you in my bar.”

A sour taste rose in
Riley’s mouth. She remembered how Jewel had blocked her way just when the
suspect had been in sight. Flanked by two other women, Jewel had ruined
everything.

“Yeah, I remember
Jewel,” Riley said.

“Well, Jewel was
just now working on Conover Avenue. It’s not usual for a working girl to go out
on a morning, but Jewel needed cash, and the girls on Conover can get real
territorial at night, so morning was the best she could do, and …”

“Please get to the
point, Ruthie,” Riley said.

She heard Ruthie
take a deep breath.

“Jewel saw this girl
on the street, not more than fourteen, wearing a backpack, probably a runaway
looking for a ride. Jewel told the girl she was in a bad neighborhood, tried to
talk her into going home, but she wouldn’t. Jewel didn’t get her name. That
very same minute, T.R. rolls up in a big car, and yells out to Jewel something
about a girl named Socorro.”

The names piqued
Riley’s attention.

Ruthie continued, “Well,
I’d told the girls ’round here that T.R. was dangerous, and to call me if they
ever see him. So Jewel got on the phone to me right away. But while she and I
were talking, she saw that poor girl climb into T.R.’s car. Jewel ran after
them yelling, but T.R. drove away and didn’t stop.”

Riley’s heart was
beating faster now.

“Did Jewel get a
license number?” Riley asked.

Ruthie let out an
irritated sigh.

“Well, no, she did
not. You might have noticed, Jewel’s not too smart even for a hooker, which is
really saying something. I asked her, and she said she didn’t even think of it.
She said it was a big car, though—a Buick or a Cadillac or a BMW, something
like that.”

Riley thought fast
about what to do next.

“Can you get in
touch with Jewel?” she asked.

“Sure, I can call
her right now.”

Riley was about to
suggest that Ruthie tell Jewel to go to the police. But of course, a hooker
wasn’t going to do that.

Finally Riley said, “Tell
Jewel to come out to your bar right away. Do you think she’ll do that?”

“Sure, if I tell her
to,” Ruthie said.

“Good. Keep her
there until I can send an agent out to talk to her. Surely she can remember
something more.”

“I’ll get right on
it,” Ruthie said.

Riley ended the call
and hurried right over to Bill and Morley.

“The suspect has
been spotted. A hooker saw him cruising along Conover Avenue. He picked up a
young girl with a backpack—probably just a teen runaway, not a streetwalker.”

Morley’s expression
looked doubtful.

“That doesn’t sound
like his MO,” he said.

Riley didn’t say so,
but she couldn’t disagree. Abduction wasn’t this man’s style, nor was taking
any woman who wasn’t a prostitute. She’d never have predicted that he’d snatch
up a teen runaway.

But Bill said, “I’m
not surprised. He’s getting sloppy, and he let things get out of control last
night. He’s liable to start doing things differently. He also might start
making more mistakes.”

This made good sense
to Riley.

“Well, right now he’s
got a girl,” she said, “so we’ve got no time to lose. The hooker’s name is
Jewel. She’ll be at the Iguana Lounge at the Desert King truck stop. I need to
get out there to talk to her.”

Morley said, “We can
send an agent to get her statement.”

“I need to see her
myself. You should put out an APB for the car.”

“For what?” Morley
scoffed. “Buick? Cadillac? BMW?”

“I don’t know. For a
big dark car leaving Conover Avenue.”

“That’s too vague to
do any good.”

“Something needs to
do us some good,” Riley snapped.

A knock on the
conference room door interrupted the argument.

“Come in,” Morley
said.

A familiar shock of
closely cropped rainbow-colored hair popped through the door. It was Igraine,
the technopagan technician. She looked eager and excited.

“I’ve got a feeling
maybe the Uber-Spirit is smiling,” she said, coming into the room.

“What have you got,
Igraine?” Morley asked.

“Well, Agent Paige,
you said it was likely that our killer was HIV positive. And I said that it
wouldn’t be easy finding him among ten thousand local patients. But you also
mentioned that he might be taking drugs illicitly. Actually, that seems pretty
likely to me, doesn’t it to you?”

Riley thought for a
moment. Their profile, after all, was of a successful, educated man. Such a man
might be very anxious to keep his condition a secret.

“It makes sense to
me,” Riley said.

Igraine said, “I did
some searching and ran across a cop who has been investigating thefts of drugs
from hospitals. Some of them are HIV medicines. The cop told me that we should
get in touch a certain Dr. Gordon Poole. He’s offered his services to help the
police on cases like that. Does everything pro bono. He could have lots of
information.”

Morley nodded with
approval.

“I know Gordon,” he
said. “A very well-respected man, an infectious disease specialist. He’s
offered us his expertise on several cases. Paige, Jeffreys, you should go talk
to him right now. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

“That could be
helpful,” Bill said.

“And,” Morley said
firmly to Riley, “I will send an agent to get this Jewel’s statement.”

Riley stifled a
retort and went out the door.