Once Gone (8 page)

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.”

It was very dark by the time Riley got back home into Fredericksburg and, if anything, she felt her night was almost sure to get worse. She felt a spasm of déjà vu as she pulled her car in front of the large house in a respectable suburban neighborhood. She’d once shared this house with Ryan and their daughter. There were a lot of memories here, many of them good. But more than a few of them were not so good, and some were really awful.

Just as she was about to get out of the car and walk up to the house, the front door opened. April came out and Ryan stood silhouetted in the bright light of the doorway. He gave Riley a token wave as April walked away, then he stepped back into the house and closed the door.

It seemed to Riley that he shut the door quite firmly, but she knew that was probably her own mind at work. That door had closed for good some time ago, and that life was gone. But the truth was, she had never really belonged in such a bland, safe, respectable world of order and routine. Her heart was always in the field, where chaos, unpredictability, and danger reigned.

April reached the car and got into the passenger seat.

“You’re late,” April snapped, crossing her arms.

“Sorry,” Riley said. She wanted to say more, to tell April how deeply sorry she really was, not just for this night, not just for her father, but for her whole life. Riley so badly wanted to be a better mother, to be home, to be there for April. But her work life would just not let her go.

Riley pulled away from the curb.

“Normal parents don’t work all day and all night too,” April said.

Riley sighed.

“I’ve said before that—” she began.

“I know,” April interrupted. “Criminals don’t take days off. That’s pretty lame, Mom.”

Riley drove on in silence for a few moments, wanting to talk to April, but just too tired, too overwhelmed by her day. She didn’t even know what to say anymore.

“How did things go with your father?” she finally asked.

“Lousy,” April replied.

It was a predictable reply. April seemed to be even more down on her father than she was on her mother these days.

Another long silence fell between them.

Then, in a softer tone, April added, “At least Gabriela’s there. It’s always nice to see a friendly face for a change.”

Riley smiled ever so slightly. Riley really did appreciate Gabriela, the middle-aged Guatemalan woman who had worked as their housemaid for years. Gabriela was always wonderfully responsible and grounded, which was more than Riley could say about Ryan. She was glad that Gabriela was still in their lives—and still there to look after April whenever she stayed at her father’s house.

During the drive home, Riley felt a palpable need to communicate with her daughter. But what could she say to break through to her? It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand how April felt—especially on a night like tonight. The poor girl simply had to feel unwanted, getting shuttled back and forth between her parents’ homes. That had to be hard on a fourteen-year-old who was already angry about so many things in her life. Fortunately, April agreed to go to her father’s house after her class each day until Riley picked her up. But today, the very first day of the new arrangement, Riley had been so very late.

Riley found herself close to tears as she drove. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She was simply too exhausted. She was
always
too exhausted.

When they got home, April stalked wordlessly off to her room and shut the door noisily behind her. Riley stood in the hallway for a moment. Then she knocked on April’s door.

“Come on out, sweetie,” she said. “Let’s talk. Let’s sit down in the kitchen for a little bit, have a cup of peppermint tea. Or maybe in the backyard. It’s a pretty night out. It’s a shame to waste it.”

She heard April’s voice reply, “You go ahead and do that, Mom. I’m busy.”

Riley leaned wearily against the doorframe.

“You keep saying I don’t spend enough time with you,” Riley said.

“It’s past midnight, Mom. It’s really late.”

Riley felt her throat tighten and tears well up in her eyes. But she wasn’t going to let herself cry.

“I’m trying, April,” she said. “I’m doing my best—with everything.”

A silence fell.

“I know,” April finally said from inside her room.

Then all was quiet. Riley wished she could see her daughter’s face. Was it possible that she heard just a trace of sympathy in those two words? No, probably not. Was it anger, then? Riley didn’t think so. It was probably just detachment.

Riley went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower. She let the steam and the pounding hot droplets massage her body, which ached all over after such a long and difficult day. By the time she got out and dried her hair she felt better physically. But inside she still felt empty and troubled.

And she knew that she wasn’t ready to sleep.

She put on slippers and a bathrobe and went to the kitchen. When she opened a cabinet the first thing she saw was a mostly-full bottle of bourbon. She thought about pouring herself a straight double shot of whiskey.

Not a good idea,
she told herself firmly.

In her current frame of mind, she wouldn’t stop with one. Through all her troubles of the last six weeks, she’d managed not to let alcohol get the best of her. This was no time to lose control. She fixed herself a cup of hot mint tea instead.

Then Riley sat down in the living room and began to pore over the folder full of photographs and information about the three murder cases.

She already knew quite a bit about the victim of six months ago near Daggett—the one they now knew to be the second of three murders. Eileen Rogers had been a married mother with two children who owned and managed a restaurant with her husband. And of course, Riley had also seen the site where the third victim, Reba Frye, had been left. She’d even visited Frye’s family, including the self-absorbed Senator.

But the two-year-old Belding case was new to her. As she read the reports, Margaret Geraty began to come into focus as a real human being, a woman who had once lived and breathed. She’d worked in Belding as a CPA, and had recently moved to Virginia from upstate New York. Her surviving family aside from her husband included two sisters, a brother, and a widowed mother. Friends and relatives described her as good-natured but rather solitary—possibly even lonely.

Sipping on her tea, Riley couldn’t help but wonder—what would have become of Margaret Geraty if she had lived? At thirty-six, life still held all kinds of possibilities—children, and so much else.

Riley felt a chill as another thought dawned on her. Just six weeks ago, her own life story had come fearfully close to ending up in a folder just like the one now open in front of her. Her whole existence might well have been reduced to a stack of horrible photos and official prose.

She closed her eyes, trying to shake it away as she sensed the memories come flooding back. But try as she did, she could not stop them.

As she crept through the dark house, she heard a scratching below the floorboards, then a cry for help. After probing the walls, she found it—a small, square door that opened into a crawlspace under the house. She shined a flashlight inside.

The beam fell upon a terrified face.

“I’m here to help,” Riley said.

“You’ve come!” the victim cried. “Oh, thank God you’ve come!”

Riley scuttled across the dirt floor toward the little cage in the corner. She fumbled with the lock for a moment. Then she pulled out her pocketknife and pried at the lock until she forced it open. A second later, the woman was crawling out of the cage.

Riley and the woman headed for the square opening. But the woman was scarcely out before a threatening male figure blocked Riley’s way.

She was trapped, but the other woman had a chance.

“Run!” Riley screamed. “Run!”

Riley yanked herself back to the present. Would she ever be free from those horrors? Certainly, working on a new case involving torture and death wasn’t making it easier for her.

Even so, there was one person she could always turn to for support.

She got out her phone and texted Marie.

Hey. You still awake?

After a few seconds, the reply came.

Yes. How are U?

Riley typed:
Pretty shaky. And you?

Too scared to sleep.

Riley wanted to type something to make both of them feel better. Somehow, just texting like this didn’t seem to be enough.

Do U want to talk?
she typed.
I mean TALK—not just text?

It took several long seconds before Marie replied.

No, I don’t think so.

Riley was surprised for a moment. Then she realized that her voice might not always be comforting for Marie. Sometimes it might even trigger awful flashbacks for her.

Riley remembered Marie’s words the last time they had spoken.
Find that son of a bitch. And kill him for me.
And as she pondered them, Riley did have news that she thought Marie might want to hear.

I’m back on the job,
Riley typed.

Marie’s words poured out in a rush of typed phrases.

Oh good! So glad! I know it’s not easy. I’m proud. U r very brave.

Riley sighed. She didn’t feel so brave—not just at this moment, anyway.

Marie’s words continued.

Thank U. Knowing you’re working again makes me feel much better. Maybe I can sleep now. Goodnight.

Riley typed:
Hang in there.

Then she put her phone down. She felt a bit better, too. After all, she’d accomplished something, getting back to work like this. Slowly but surely, she really was starting to heal.

Riley drank the rest of her tea, then went straight to bed. She let her exhaustion overtake her and fell asleep quickly.

Riley was six years old, in a candy store with Mommy. She was so happy about all the candy Mommy was buying for her.

But then a man walked toward them. A big, scary man. He wore something over his face—a nylon stocking, just like Mommy wore on her legs. He pulled a gun. He yelled at Mommy to give him her purse. But Mommy was so scared that she couldn’t move. She couldn’t give it to him.

And so he shot her in the chest.

She fell to the floor bleeding. The man snatched up the purse and ran.

Riley started screaming and screaming and screaming.

Then she heard Mommy’s voice.

“There’s nothing you can do, dear. I’m gone and you can’t help it.”

Riley was still in the candy store but she was all grown up now. Mommy was right in front of her, standing over her own corpse.