by Blake Pierce
“Okay,” Ryan replied, clearly disappointed. “What about the other hit?”
“I’ve actually heard of this one,” Jessie said, “Charlotte and Stanley Riggs, owners of Riggs Mountain Resort. That’s one of the places Rich suggested as an alternative if we didn’t like his cabin, remember?”
“Yeah,” Ryan recalled. “He said they’re hurting for business and would probably give us a good deal. I wonder if they’re struggling because Clarice had negative things to say about them.”
“Quite possibly,” Jessie agreed. “It looks like they were removed as WBA members just last week. And look at this. Apparently Charlotte Riggs was a participant in the Special Friends forum.”
Ryan responded excitedly. “That might explain why Ellen Wade used the motel for some of her get-togethers. If they were all in the know, it would be a safe place to hook up. Now that I think about, I feel like I remember seeing that Sarah Ripley’s first dalliance was there too, before she started using her house exclusively?”
“That’s right,” Jessie confirmed. “But it looks like the Riggs Resort fell out of favor on that front as well. I don’t see any hookups there lately. And there’s more: just two days after the business was removed from the WBA site, Charlotte’s credentials for the Special Friends Forum were revoked as well. That was last Friday, two days before the first murder, more than enough time to buy a wig.”
Ryan smiled. He was clearly on board now.
“That’s a pretty good dual motive for murder,” he said. “First her business takes a hit. Then Clarice Kimble bars her from the town’s exclusive cheating club, one that she knows both Sarah Ripley and Ellen Wade are members of. What color is her hair?”
Jessie pulled up the “about us” page from the Riggs resort website. It showed a couple in their forties. The husband, Stanley was red-cheeked, schlubby, and balding. He was also a good two inches shorter than his wife. Charlotte was skinny, with pinched features. It was clear that she’d once been attractive but that the years of working a demanding job in a harsh environment had worn her down. Notably, she had light brown hair.
“No wonder she was looking elsewhere,” Ryan said. “Stanley isn’t going to get mistaken for McDreamy anytime soon.”
“Real nice,” Jessie said reprovingly. “Maybe he’s got a great sense of humor. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. We have an address. We have a suspect. We have her hair color. And we still have at least a few minutes until those Riverside detectives are supposed to show up. Let’s make the most of them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
They were just pulling off Central Circle Drive onto Highway 243 when Jessie got hold of Garret Hicks. She put him on speaker and started asking questions the second he picked up.
“Garrett, what do you know about Charlotte Riggs?”
To his credit, there was only the briefest, stunned pause before he replied.
“Not much to tell. She’s lived here as long as I can remember. She’s quiet, keeps to herself, very churchy. I know she doesn’t think much of her husband. She seems to roll her eyes every time he speaks. Why?”
“We’re headed out to question her,” Jessie told him. “It looks like she was part of the Special Friends Forum until recently, when her membership was revoked. Does she have any history of violence?”
“None that I’m aware of,” he said. “You guys want me to meet you out there?”
Jessie looked over at Ryan. He shook his head.
“If you come,” he said, “who’s going to run interference if those detectives from Riverside show up?”
“I was actually about to call you about that,” Garrett replied. “I just heard from Detective Mitchell. Apparently he and Detective Caster stopped for lunch in Banning. They’re just heading up the mountain now. He wanted to ‘coordinate,’ which basically meant he wanted me to clear a section of the station for their exclusive use. I think they’re going to be bummed when they discover there’s only one section. But that’s not the point. For your purposes, the important thing is that they’ll be rolling in here in about a half hour.”
“Good to know,” Ryan said. “That might be enough time to determine if Charlotte Riggs is our killer and bring her in before those guys arrive.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news too,” Garrett added reluctantly.
“What?” Jessie asked, sensing that he was underplaying it.
“After I let Gunnar Quaid go, he went straight to Lorraine Porter at The Gazette and told her everything he saw and heard at the station. She just posted a piece on the website listing Leia Choi as the prime suspect in Clarice Kimble’s death. She also tied the killing to the other women, though she hedged just enough to protect herself.”
“Oh God,” Ryan moaned. “We’re going to have a panic on our hands.”
“It gets worse,” Garrett said. “She said you questioned her about the WBA and that she can’t find any record of investigators with your names. I’m not sure Charlotte Riggs, or anyone else for that matter, is going to be keen to talk to you from here on out. And as long as we’re on the topic, I know I’m not supposed to ask any questions, but should I be asking you guys some questions?”
“Best not,” Ryan told him emphatically. “This is one of those times where you just have to trust that your boss is making the best decision for you.”
Jessie agreed wholeheartedly but her attention was focused elsewhere. If someone decided to follow up on Charlotte’s article, their cover story could fall apart real quick. The idea was enough to make her heart beat a little faster.
“How long ago was the piece posted?” Jessie asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Maybe she hasn’t seen it yet,” Jessie said hopefully.
“It’s possible,” Garrett said. “I don’t get the sense that she’s the type to refresh the local news obsessively. So are you sure you don’t want me there?”
“We’ve changed our minds,” she said after getting thumbs up from Ryan. “You can come.”
“Okay. I just need to reach out to Pete Traven and have him take over here at the station, to keep an eye on Leia. He’s just up at Rusker Park making sure no one’s illegally parked at the trailheads. I’ll join you in just a few.”
“Thanks, Garrett,” Jessie said. “And can you call Rich McClane too and give him a heads up? I’d do it myself but we’re pulling up to the Riggs place right now.”
“Will do,” he promised.
After they hung up, Ryan parked in one of the three spots in front of the resort. The term was generous. The Riggs Mountain Resort looked more like a dilapidated, fleabag motel than an exclusive retreat. The paint was peeling of the exterior walls. The light in front of the office flickered restlessly. There were countless missing shingles and the ones that clung to the roof looked battered. Jessie thought that if the whole motel was picked up and dumped in a dark corner of downtown L.A., it wouldn’t look out of place.
“How do we want to play this?” she asked once Ryan turned off the car.
“Let’s start with the WBA,” he suggested. “That way we don’t set her off with questions about the murders right away. Besides, the article said that’s what we were questioning Lorraine about. If she read it, we could tell her we’re just doing our due diligence.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie said, getting out. She was about to zip up her jacket but decided against it. It was just after 2 p.m. and the sun was shining overhead. She guessed that the temperature was a balmy forty.
A bell tinkled as they entered the office. The inside was no more impressive than the exterior. The decor appeared to be a good thirty years old, with wallpaper that was clinging to the drywall for dear life. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned this century. The computer monitor on the counter was the size of a carry-on suitcase. She was amazed that it was usable at all. A small man that she immediately recognized as Stanley Riggs stepped through a dusty curtain and plastered on a fake smile.
“Welcome,” he said wit
h all the chipperness he could muster. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m afraid we don’t,” Jessie said, easing into the conversation.
“That’s all right,” Riggs replied. “Luckily you’re here midweek and we have a couple of vacancies. How many nights were you looking to stay?”
“Actually, we’re not looking for a room,” she said gently, hoping to let him down easy. It didn’t work. He looked crestfallen. Even his pink cheeks seemed to slump along with the rest of him. He tried to recover, casually patting down the few hairs that remained on his head.
“Why are you here then?” he asked, for the first time showing any sign of suspicion.
“We were hoping to talk to your wife, Mr. Riggs,” Ryan said. “Is she available?”
Riggs now looked overtly mistrustful.
“No. Why? What’s this all about? Who are you?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Riggs,” Ryan said, pulling out his fake ID, “We should have introduced ourselves initially. We’re investigators helping out local law enforcement on a case. I’m Randy Hosea. This is my partner, Jennifer Barnes. Where is your wife?”
For a second Riggs looked like he might balk, but then thought better of it, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the hassle.
“She went to Hemet on a supply run last night. She decided to stay overnight because she was worried about the weather. I expect her back in a few hours. What case are you talking about and what does it have to do with Charlotte?”
Jessie saw that he was getting agitated and tried to ease the tension.
“It’s related to the Wildpines Business Association, Mr. Riggs,” she said. “We’ve discovered some questionable activity on the part of the architect of the group and we’re talking to past and present members to get a better picture. You and your wife were members until recently, correct?”
“Yes,” Riggs said. “Until just last week, when Clarice—God rest her soul—ousted us. I still don’t have any idea why. Is this related to her passing?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ryan said reassuringly. “Right now, we’re just gathering information.”
“Okay,” Riggs said slowly. He obviously knew they were holding back. “Can I answer any questions for you?”
Jessie glanced at Ryan. There didn’t seem to be any way to question the man without suggesting that his wife was cheating on him, which wasn’t an appealing option. She could tell that Ryan felt the same way. But they were out of time and manners weren’t currently a priority. Maybe the guy might inadvertently know something that could be useful. She was about to dive in when she had another thought.
“You know, Mr. Riggs,” she said warmly, “Maybe my partner could ask you a few things. But to be honest with you, my stomach is giving me a little trouble. I really have to use the restroom. May I borrow yours?”
“Of course,” he said, “It’s through the curtain, last door down the hall on your left.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, and then turned to Ryan, willing him with her eyes to understand what she was planning to do. “Randy, maybe Mr. Riggs can give us some basics on what he knows about the group while I’m indisposed.”
His expression told her immediately that he did understand. She should never have doubted it.
“No problem,” he said. “Take your time.”
She nodded her thanks, moved behind the counter and pushed through the dusty curtain into the hallway behind. Maybe Charlotte Riggs wasn’t around but that didn’t mean there wasn’t potentially useful evidence here that might prove her guilt.
She knew that she was risking any future prosecution if she found something incriminating. But there wasn’t time to sweet talk Stanley Riggs into letting her look around. There wasn’t time to get a warrant. There just wasn’t time.
She moved as fast as she could. The hallway was musty and dimly lit. Behind her, she could hear Ryan asking Riggs when they first opened the Resort, doing whatever he could to stall. She poked her head into the first room on the right.
It was sparsely decorated with a single bed and a dresser and a vanity. Stepping inside, she opened the closet to find several dresses but no wigs anywhere in sight. None of Stanley Riggs’ clothes were hanging up. Apparently he was relegated to using the dresser drawers. She opened them to check, just in case. But there was nothing shocking there, just t-shirts, sweats, socks, and some bras and panties.
She moved onto the next room on the right. It also had a single bed and a dresser. There was a hunting magazine on the bed and a photo of Ted Nugent on the wall. Suddenly she felt desperately sorry for Stanley Riggs. It seemed that he and his wife had separate bedrooms. She wondered if Charlotte used one of the guest rooms for her hookups.
She quickly checked his closet but found only jeans, sweaters, and a couple of jackets. She was about to close it when she noticed a little slit of light piercing through the back wall of the closet. Looking closer, she saw that there was a thin gap between the boards of the wall. Her fingers suddenly trembling, she reached out and managed to grab the edges of one plank. It easily came loose. In the narrow space behind the plank was a metal pole with a mannequin head on it. Resting atop the head was a wig with long black hair.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Jessie stifled a gasp as the truth hit her: the wig wasn’t Charlotte’s. It was Stanley’s!
A shot of adrenaline cascaded through her system as a series of rolling realizations overwhelmed her. Stanley Riggs was short and slight and if disguised with a wig, could be easily misidentified as a woman at first. But he was still strong enough to drag Ellen Wade across a large, icy parking lot.
Suddenly it all made sense. In the wake of their business being dropped from the WBA for no apparent reason, Stanley must have gotten suspicious. Trying to figure it out, he likely went on Charlotte’s laptop and discovered her involvement in, and subsequent removal from the Special Friends Forum.
It must have been a shock to simultaneously learn that his wife was part of a club that organized cheating for its members and that her participation may have somehow led to his business falling apart. She could only imagine the sense of emasculation and betrayal he must have felt.
In his rage, he would have wanted to punish his wife. But knowing that wasn’t possible—that it would cast immediate suspicion on him—he decided to punish the woman who made Charlotte’s cheating possible, Clarice Kimble. And when he realized that at least two other women in the group had used his motel as a rendezvous spot, he decided to punish them too. She wondered whether he’d always intended to frame Leia Choi by wearing the wig or if that had just been a happy accident.
Then something else occurred to her. Maybe Stanley had originally decided he couldn’t kill his wife. But what if he’d since changed his mind? What if he realized that by murdering her in the same way as the other victims, her death might be viewed as just one of the many victims of a deranged serial killer? What proof was there that Charlotte had actually gone to Hemet last night on a supply run as he claimed?
She heard Ryan’s phone ring from down the hall. He answered and though she couldn’t make out everything he said, she was pretty sure she heard the name “Rich.” She decided to head back out to the office. He was in the dark about the situation and that made him vulnerable. She needed to decide whether to subtly alert him to the situation or simply pull her gun and order Riggs to the ground.
She stepped out into the hall. Her mouth was dry and she could feel sweat dripping down her back. She started to tiptoe back toward the office. Suddenly she felt an arm wrap around her neck and yank her back into the bedroom. Her throat closed up as a forearm and bicep clamped together powerfully on the sides of her neck. She felt the panic rise in her chest and tried to yell out, but there was only a raspy squeak.
Though she couldn’t see behind her, she knew who it was. Stanley Riggs was shockingly strong for such a small man. Trying to keep the fear that was enveloping her from taking over, she reached down and unholstered her gun. S
he was just lifting it up when Riggs slammed his free hand down on hers, knocking the weapon to the ground. It slid on the floor and disappeared under the bed.
Riggs yanked her sideways and through watery eyes, she saw him close and lock the door with a deadbolt. To her horror she saw something she’d missed earlier. The door had a second lock, a sliding metal security bar, which he pushed into place. She realized that even if Ryan was at full strength, it would be nearly impossible for him knock the door open with brute force, at least not in time to do her much good. Jessie could feel her strength fading as Riggs tightened his arm around her neck. She knew that in another few seconds she’d be unconscious, unable to protect herself.
There was a sudden banging on the door behind them. Riggs was startled and for the briefest of moments, his grip on her loosened. It wasn’t enough to break free but she was able to get a half gasp of air. With renewed hope and a surge of energy, she did the only thing she could think of. She raised her right foot high in the air and slammed it down hard on the top of Riggs’ right foot.
She heard him grunt and felt his arm loosen again as he bent over slightly. It still wasn’t enough to get away but she hadn’t expected that. She only wanted to shock him long enough to try what she did next. Reaching up with her left hand, she made a fist with her thumb extended outward and jabbed it hard behind her in what she hoped was the general direction of his eye.
It must have worked because she heard him howl in pain. The sound mixed with the banging on the door and Ryan yelling something unintelligible from the other side. She ignored it, instead jabbing her bent right arm back, slamming her elbow into Riggs’ ribcage.
His grip on her neck loosened enough for her to rip free. But he managed to grab her by the shoulders as she pulled away. Gripping them tight, he swung her violently in the direction of the closet. Her head and shoulder slammed into its back wall and she slumped to the ground. The mannequin stand toppled over from its closet hiding spot, landing on the floor beside her. The wig came off the head and rested limply on the carpet like a dead animal.
