Blake Pierce - The Making of Riley Paige - 4 - Taking

by Blake Pierce

  least until a hiker ran across her body yesterday evening on a hiking trail.

  Apparently she had a reservation at the Beavertail Campground, also pretty

  close by. But she never got there.”

  Webster set the notes back down again and said, “The weird thing is, she

  wasn’t killed right there on the hiking trail. It seems she was slashed up

  elsewhere and bled to death. Then her body was dumped on the trail.”

  Webster crossed his arms and added, “Look, I don’t mind telling you, I

  take it kind of personal when somebody gets murdered in my jurisdiction. It’s

  bad for tourism, and tourism’s pretty much Tunsboro’s whole economy—at

  least since the mines shut down ages ago. My boys and I sure as hell plan to

  crack this case soon. No offense, but I’d just as soon not have any

  interference from Quantico.”

  Crivaro nodded. “I understand, and I respect that. But as long as we’re

  here, do you mind if my partner and I have a look at the crime scene? We’ll

  be able to tell pretty much at a glance whether we’ve got any business here or

  not—and we probably don’t. Then we can get right out of your hair.”

  Webster visibly relaxed a little. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “As it

  happens, I was just getting ready to drive back out there myself. You two can

  come along for the ride.”

  Riley and Jake followed Webster out of the building, then got into his car

  with him.

  As Webster drove them out of town, Riley thought about how he’d said

  Brett Parma had died.

  “She was slashed up elsewhere and bled to death.”

  Riley shivered as she remembered the last grim case she and Crivaro had

  worked on together—the case of the barbed wire killer. His victims, too, had

  bled slowly to death, and that similarity unsettled her.

  She also thought about what Crivaro had said just now.

  “We can get right out of your hair.”

  She wondered—had he really meant it?

  Riley had no idea whether Harry might be right and the two murders

  might be connected. But one thing was absolutely certain—a woman had

  recently been brutally murdered right near here.

  Could they just walk away from that?

  Were they really going to fly back to Quantico without even trying to

  solve it?

  She was beginning to find that hard to imagine.

  But what if Crivaro insists?

  She’d have to go along with whatever he decided, and he hadn’t shown

  any real interest in this case.

  Maybe that was because Special Agent Jake Crivaro had seen so many

  deaths in his long years with the BAU.

  Well, she thought, Special Agent Riley Sweeney has seen more murders than most people her age.

  And she wasn’t ready to give up on this one.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Chief Webster drove the police car out of Tunsboro, Riley felt her

  expectations rising. But she had to wonder …

  Is it just me?

  She’d seen no hint of interest in Agent Crivaro’s face. Now, sitting up

  front next to the chief, he actually looked bored.

  Doesn’t Crivaro care about this case at all? Not even after dragging both

  of us this far across the whole country?

  With a sigh, Riley settled into the back seat. She hoped her partner would

  perk up once they reached the crime scene.

  Webster asked Crivaro, “That Harry Carnes fellow—the guy who called

  me—do you happen to know him?”

  “A little,” Crivaro replied.

  Riley realized that Crivaro didn’t want to admit that he and Riley had

  come out here as a personal favor for an old friend of his. It was probably just as well to let Webster think they’d actually been officially sent here by the

  BAU.

  “Well, he’s sure got himself a motor mouth,” Webster said. “I barely got a

  word in the whole time I talked to him.”

  Riley noticed a slight grin flicker across Crivaro’s face. It was easy to

  guess what he was thinking …

  “Motor mouth” is right.

  Harry had talked almost nonstop during the whole time they’d spent with

  him.

  Webster added, “He sounded like some kind of conspiracy freak, the way

  he went on and on about that woman who got killed in Colorado. That’s quite

  some theory he’s got—that the same killer has struck again, some eight

  hundred miles away and a whole year later. You don’t really believe that, do

  you?”

  Crivaro let out a noncommittal grunt.

  Webster laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d guess Harry Carnes to be a

  Tunsboro native. We’ve got old-timers who spin tall tales like that. You

  know, there’s a legend about our little town that’s been told since our mining

  days. They say that anybody who takes a sip of water from Saguaro Creek

  never speaks a word of truth for the rest of his days. He just keeps telling crazy stories forever.”

  Webster wagged his finger at Crivaro. “Don’t get me wrong, that legend’s

  got nothing to do with me. I’m a transplant, born and raised in Texas. And I

  drink bottled water, so I’m pretty truthful mostly. To a fault, some might

  say.”

  Webster’s tone darkened as he said …

  “And the truth is, I don’t like folks getting murdered around here. I don’t

  like it one little bit.”

  Riley remembered what he’d said back at the station.

  “I take it kind of personal when somebody gets murdered in my

  jurisdiction.”

  He’d also told them …

  “No offense, but I’d just as soon not have any interference from

  Quantico.”

  Webster seemed like a stubborn, single-minded man, and that worried

  Riley a little. She could understand his determination to solve the case

  without outside help. But from her own experiences, she knew how a murder

  case could turn into a personal vendetta. Crivaro had been trying to teach her

  not to let such feelings get the best of her. Little by little, she was coming to appreciate the importance of teamwork.

  She wondered—how well did Webster understand that?

  Did he grasp how helpful she and Crivaro could be to him right now?

  Most of all, she wondered …

  Does this man know he might be seriously out of his depth?

  If this killer was anything like the ones she and Crivaro had dealt with

  before, a small-town police department didn’t have the expertise, resources,

  or experience needed to catch him.

  Riley had to stop her racing thoughts. So far, she had no reason to believe

  they were investigating a deadly serial killer. Crivaro certainly didn’t seem to think so.

  She forced herself to turn her attention away and gaze out the car window.

  The landscape had changed.

  During the drive from Phoenix to Tunsboro, they’d passed mainly through

  developed areas—resorts and golf courses and the like. Now Webster had

  taken a road that wasn’t heavily traveled, and she was getting her first real

  look at the Southwestern desert.

  She didn’t much like it.

  The vast stretches of rocky, tan soil and dull green brush were punctuated

  only by tall, featureless cactuses. Even the intense blue sky seemed somehow

  harsh and unforgiving.

&nbs
p; Growing up as Riley had in rural Virginia, she was accustomed to green

  vegetation, rolling hills, and especially trees.

  There wasn’t a tree anywhere in sight.

  Just why tourists like Harry and Jillian came here to enjoy this scenery

  was a mystery to her.

  She reminded herself that at least the weather was pleasant. Chief Webster

  had the car windows rolled down, and the air was fresh, dry, and surprisingly

  cool for midday—not at all humid, like it often was in Virginia.

  Soon Riley saw a couple of vehicles parked on the side of the road up

  ahead. Webster pulled over and stopped behind them,

  One of the vehicles was another police car, and the other was a beat-up

  van. A couple of cops were leaning against the police car, smoking cigarettes.

  A weathered sign nearby read “Wren’s Nest Hiking Trail.”

  Webster explained to Riley and Crivaro as they got out of the car, “I left a

  couple of my guys here to watch over things. We’ve already checked out

  what we could from here. Didn’t find anything useful. I was just about to get

  a tow truck to take the van in. Then you guys showed up, so I figured I could

  leave it all in place a little longer.”

  Riley and Crivaro followed Webster over to the van. Its back doors were

  wide open, and Riley could see a mattress on the floor littered with some

  camping gear. As they looked inside, Webster said …

  “You can see that the poor kid wasn’t a seasoned camper. It looks like she

  bought some second- or third-hand old van, took out the back seats, and

  didn’t do much more to convert the vehicle than throw a mattress on the

  floor. A pretty Spartan get-up. She depended a lot on campground facilities.”

  Webster turned and called out to the two cops.

  “You can call for the tow truck now, fellas. No point in leaving her van

  sitting around here anymore.”

  As one of the cops nodded and began to make the call, Riley could see

  Crivaro grimace a little. She guessed he didn’t much like not being consulted

  about what to do with the van, even if he agreed with the decision. He was

  used to local cops depending on his guidance and following his instructions.

  But since they weren’t here in an official capacity, he wasn’t exactly in a

  position to give orders.

  Scanning the area, Crivaro asked Webster, “What were you able to find in

  the way of tracks?”

  “Tracks?” Webster asked.

  “I mean tire tracks,” Crivaro said. “Whoever killed this woman must have

  come out here in a vehicle of his own. Tread marks could help identify the

  vehicle. I take it you photographed those tracks when you first came out

  here.”

  Webster looked embarrassed.

  “Damn, I hadn’t thought of that,” Webster said. “Anyhow, the ground’s

  dry. Wouldn’t be much to find.”

  Crivaro shook his head.

  “Well, it’s too late now. What tracks are here are all a jumble. It looks like

  a half dozen or so vehicles have come and gone since the body was found.

  We’ll never get any tread marks now.”

  Webster shrugged defensively, then said, “Well, you know, the guys that

  found her, our cop cars, the medical examiner …”

  His voice trailed off, then he added briskly, “Come on, let me show you

  where the body was found.”

  As Webster led Riley and Crivaro toward a rough path that led up a

  scrubby hill, he said, “The girl wasn’t a very experienced hiker, either. Going it alone in the desert wasn’t smart of her, especially on a trail like this one that doesn’t get a lot of use. If you lose the trail, you can lose your way as

  surely as you can in a forest, and that can get you killed. This is rough

  country, and it’s a good idea to have company when you go out exploring.

  She might have gotten herself into serious trouble, even if things hadn’t

  turned out … well, like they did.”

  Webster shook his head and added, “I guess it was kind of lucky her body

  got found as soon as it did. Those hikers who came across her were sure

  shaken up, though. My cops were too. They’re not used to that kind of thing.

  For that matter, neither am I. And I’d just as soon never get used to it. One

  case like this is enough for my lifetime.”

  As they walked past towering cactuses, Riley was startled by the sheer

  height of the plants. They hadn’t looked nearly so tall from the car. She

  thought some of them looked like fairytale giants, with their arms raised to the sky.

  Apparently noticing her amazement, Webster said, “These saguaro

  cactuses aren’t all that big. I’ve seen some get to be over forty feet tall.

  They’re pretty amazing plants, and they can live to be a hundred fifty years

  old.”

  Stopping to point to one of them, Webster added, “You ought to see these

  things when they bloom in the spring. Bunches of flowers pop right out of the

  ends of those arms. The desert really comes to life then. You see flowers all

  over the place.”

  As they started to walk again, Webster said, “Of course, you wouldn’t

  want to be out here at this time of day during the summer. Even the flowers

  prefer to bloom in the evening. It gets to be well over a hundred degrees

  then.”

  With a chuckle, he added, “I almost said, ‘a hundred degrees in the shade,’

  but that wouldn’t be right. There isn’t any shade!”

  They made their way over the top of a small hill and continued along the

  trail down the other side. Then Chief Webster abruptly stopped and pointed at

  the ground between a pair of bushes.

  “That’s where she was found,” he said.

  Riley looked down at the ground. At first, the spot seemed no different

  than the rest of the surrounding soil. But then she noticed some dark stains in the soil.

  She said to Webster, “Those look like bloodstains. Didn’t you say she bled

  to death before she was brought here?”

  Webster grunted with disgust.

  “Yeah, but scavengers picked the body apart a lot during the day and a

  half or so that it got left out here. When we got here, we had to scare off a

  bunch of buzzards just to get a look at the body. Coyotes also got to her, and

  God knows what other kinds of animals. Those stains are more from entrails

  than blood. The medical examiner had a hell of a mess to piece together.”

  Crivaro glanced back and forth along the path.

  He said, “So you don’t know where she was killed, right?”

  “No idea,” Chief Webster said. “We don’t even really know whether she

  got a chance to hike out here. She might have gotten snatched up back there

  near her van.”

  Crivaro crouched down and pointed to where the soil was scuffed and scraped.

  “Too damn many footprints,” he growled.

  Crivaro didn’t elaborate, but Riley understood what he meant. Just as they

  had done with the tire tracks back at the roadside, Chief Webster’s cops and

  the medical examiner’s team had made a mess of the crime scene. The same

  was true of the path they’d used to walk here. They wouldn’t find any useful

  footprints anywhere around here.

  Crivaro stood up and asked Webster, “Was the victim noticeably tall or

  short, fat
or skinny?”

  Webster seemed a little surprised at the question.

  “Well, it was kind of hard to tell from what was left of her. But it didn’t

  look like she’d been a very big woman. She might have been pretty slight, in

  fact. Why do you ask?”

  Crivaro said, “It would help to have some idea of how strong the killer had

  to be to carry her all the way out here—his size and build and so forth.”

  Webster said, “Well, maybe the medical examiner could tell you that.”

  Crivaro grunted and scowled.

  Riley realized that he wasn’t much interested in talking to the medical

  examiner. Crivaro apparently still didn’t think this was a BAU case, just a

  local matter that Webster and his team were handling pretty badly. He

  seemed to want nothing to do with it.

  All he wants is to get out of here, Riley thought.

  Riley stared down at the ground as Crivaro and Webster kept talking. An

  eerie sensation came over her, and the two men’s voices seemed to fade

  away. With a deep chill, Riley realized …

  I’m getting a sense of the killer.

  It was an alarming feeling, but a familiar one. She’d experienced it before

  at other crime scenes. And just as she had those other times, she felt a sudden urge to shut out that feeling of palpable evil, but …

  Stay with it.

  Let it happen.

  After all, her ability to slip into a killer’s mind was the main reason she

  was in the BAU.

  It’s my job.

  The feeling came on strong and fast. She found it easy to imagine that she

  was the killer himself, standing right here where she was standing, looking down at the newly lifeless body that he’d deposited here.

  But how did he feel? she asked herself.

  As she tried to grasp the killer’s thoughts and emotions, her lips twisted

  into an involuntarily smile, and she almost said aloud …

  “I’ve missed this.

  “It’s been too long.”

  Riley staggered at the force of her intuition. It was almost more than she

  could stand.

  Keep going, she told herself.

  Don’t lose this.

  But at that moment, a sharp outcry yanked her out of her grim reverie.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Riley spun around.

  What could have made that ugly, piercing noise?

  She didn’t see anything different in the bleak Arizona desert.