by Blake Pierce
And yet …
She wondered whether she should voice her lingering doubts to Crivaro.
For example—how could they be sure that David Hunter hadn’t lied when
he’d written his next destination into the register? If he’d had any idea that
the law might be closing in on him, would he have told the truth about that?
But then she realized something. Even if Hunter had taken off in a
different direction, he’d still wind up running into one of the roadblocks,
which were placed all around Sedona by now.
Riley let herself breathe a little easier. Yes, it really did seem as though
their investigation was about to come to an end. Which made her wonder …
How will it feel to look that monster in the face?
Crivaro’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to
Riley.
“You answer it,” he said. “Put it on speakerphone.”
Riley took the call, which was from Jay Faulkner, the ME they’d met a
little while ago.
Faulkner said to Riley and Crivaro, “I’m just starting to work on the latest
victim’s body, and I already did what you said and checked under her
fingernails. I also cross-checked with Paco about what he found on his
victim. They both had cotton fibers under their nails.”
“Fabric?” Crivaro asked hopefully.
Faulkner said, “Uh-uh. This isn’t threads. It looks recycled—the kind
you’d find in soundproofing insulation.”
Riley and Crivaro exchanged knowing looks.
Faulkner said, “Like I said, I’m just getting started, but I thought you’d
want to know that much.”
“We sure did,” Crivaro said. “Thanks for getting in touch. Let us know if
you find anything else we should know about.”
“Will do,” Faulkner said, and ended the call.
His expression grimmer now, Crivaro drove on in silence for a few
seconds.
Then he said to Riley, “I guess you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
Riley nodded and said, “Yeah, we’re probably right that he’s fixed up a
space in his camper for his victims to die in—probably a bathroom. And he’s
soundproofed that room so that nobody can hear the victims’ screams.”
Crivaro shook his head. “Jesus, this is ugly stuff. Well, we can probably
count on one thing. Whenever he gets stopped at a roadblock, the cops won’t
have to search hard to find evidence of the murders.”
Riley gulped hard as she realized why he was right. She imagined how the
bathroom space was set up, possibly with soundproofing all around the
shower or bath stall.
And right now, that soundproofing must be gouged and spattered with the
blood of two murdered women.
No, the cops won’t have to look too hard for that, she thought.
As they raced northward, Riley was amazed at how much the landscape
was changing. No cactuses were in sight, and they soon left the red buttes and
hills behind. They were obviously moving to a higher elevation. The highway
was lined with tall trees—Ponderosa pines, Riley thought. She found it hard
to believe they were still in the same state.
After about an hour on the interstate, Crivaro’s phone buzzed again, and
Riley put the new call on speakerphone. This time the caller was Chief
Wilson.
He asked, “Where are you guys right now?”
“On the interstate heading north toward Flagstaff,” Crivaro said.
“Have you gotten to the roadblock yet?” Wilson asked.
“No, but we’re almost there,” Crivaro said.
“Well, you’re in luck. The troopers there stopped the guy you’re looking
for. The same license plate, the same kind of vehicle, and the same name—
David Hunter. They’ll have him nice and ready and wrapped up with a bow
on top when you get there.”
Crivaro looked at Riley with a smile and said …
“We’ve got him! We’ve really got him!”
Riley hoped he was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
They were just ending the phone call when the interstate traffic began to
slow.
Riley’s nerves quickened. The roadblock must be coming right up.
She wondered …
Is this going to be it?
Had they caught up with the merciless killer who drained his victims of
blood?
It sure sounded likely, but she couldn’t quite let herself hope.
Once again, Crivaro grumbled about not having lights and a siren, and
they had no choice but to stay with the sluggish traffic until they reached the roadblock itself.
Once they were there, a man wearing a tan uniform with a “Smokey” hat
tried to wave them through with the rest of the unsuspicious vehicles. Crivaro
stopped the RV, rolled down his window, and flashed his badge at the
trooper.
The trooper stepped closer to the window, looking skeptical as Crivaro
introduced himself and Riley.
The trooper took a step backward, appearing confused as he glanced over
Crivaro, Riley, and their modest RV.
“We were told a couple of FBI agents were on their way,” he said. “But
you aren’t exactly what we expected.”
Crivaro growled, “Well, we’re the real thing, whether we look like it not.
You have heard of going undercover, right?”
The trooper nodded slowly and Crivaro continued, “We’re here to see the
guy you stopped—the one with the license plate you were told to look for.
We need to pull on over and see what’s going on.”
The trooper waved their RV out of the lane of sluggish traffic over to the
shoulder of the road, where a Class A RV was parked along with several
Arizona Highway Patrol vehicles. When Riley and Crivaro got out of their
vehicle, Riley was startled by how chilly it was outside. They hadn’t driven
very far north, but the weather was already markedly more brisk, and Riley
wished she was wearing something warmer than shorts.
She and Crivaro headed straight toward the RV. They could see activity
inside, which looked like it was being searched already.
A trooper wearing sergeant’s stripes seemed to be in charge of the
operation. When he spotted the FBI agents, he stepped in front of them.
Before he could complain that no civilians were allowed near the scene,
Crivaro and Riley both produced their badges and introduced themselves
again.
A name plate above the trooper’s right hand shirt pocket revealed that his
last name was Gray.
He took off his hat and scratched his head.
“Are you sure we’ve got the right guy?” he said.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Crivaro said. “Where is the driver of
the vehicle?”
Sergeant Gray pointed at a Highway Patrol van and said, “We’re holding
him over there, but—”
Crivaro interrupted, “Good. Don’t let him go anywhere. We’ll talk to him
after we’ve had a look inside the RV ourselves.”
Crivaro stepped around the sergeant and headed toward the RV. As Riley
trotted behind him, she glanced back at the confused-looking trooper. He
really seemed to doubt that they’d stopped the right guy.
She wondered why.
Maybe we should have sto
pped to hear what he had to say, she thought.
But Crivaro was in too much of a hurry for that. Riley followed her
partner into the RV, where a couple of troopers were pulling out drawers,
throwing aside cushions, and generally taking things apart as they searched.
Riley and Crivaro exchanged glances, and she knew they were thinking the
same thing …
The bathroom.
An image flashed through Riley’s head of gouged and bloodstained
insulation.
But she wondered …
Wouldn’t these troopers have found that already?
Crivaro pulled the bathroom door open, and he and Riley both stared
inside with shock.
“Damn it,” Crivaro said.
The interior was absolutely pristine.
The space was surprisingly large, equipped with a sink, a medicine chest,
a toilet, and a shower stall. It really didn’t look possible that anything violent had happened here at all—certainly not a brutal, bloody murder.
She heard Crivaro’s growled curse. “Damnation.”
As they turned and headed for the exit, Crivaro told the troopers who were
still searching the motor home …
“Keep at it, guys.”
But Riley could hear a note of futility in his voice.
She felt that herself. There was no sign a murder had ever happened here.
How could this really be the man they were looking for?
Riley followed Crivaro back out of the RV, where they encountered
Sergeant Gray again.
Sergeant Gray said, “Did you find anything?”
Crivaro shook his head silently.
Gray added, “I was about to say—I find it hard to believe the guy we
pulled over is a serial killer. For one thing, he’s traveling with his son.”
Crivaro’s eyes widened.
“His son?” Crivaro said.
“Yeah, a ten-year-old kid,” Gray said. “That’s him right over there.
Trooper Harris is looking after him.”
Riley looked where Gray pointed. Sure enough, she saw a female trooper
watching over a small boy next to one of the patrol cars. The boy didn’t seem
the least bit frightened, and the woman appeared to be keeping him
entertained. Right now she was letting him play with her badge, pinning it
onto his own shirt.
Gray led Riley and Crivaro over to the patrol van and opened the rear
door. He introduced them to David Hunter, who was sitting on a bench
inside. Then Gray left Riley and Crivaro alone with him.
Unlike his son, David Hunter appeared to be absolutely terrified.
“Would somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” he begged.
Riley and Crivaro both climbed into the van and sat on the opposite bench.
Crivaro began to ask questions, but Riley could see the growing
discouragement in her partner’s eyes.
David Hunter told them that he was from Dallas, and he was taking his
son on a camping tour of the Southwestern states. David’s wife was at home,
and she expected the two of them to be back in time for Christmas.
Hunter readily admitted that he and his son had, in fact, stayed at both the
Wren’s Nest Campground and the Spring View Campground. But he claimed to know nothing about the murders except what he’d heard on the radio. He
denied having met either Brett Parma or Shelby Eden. They were on their
way to take a look at the Grand Canyon from the South Rim, and then they’d
head back home.
Riley believed him.
And she could tell by Crivaro’s downcast eyes that he believed him too.
Once he’d finished asking questions, Crivaro awkwardly apologized to
Hunter for their unfortunate mistake. They left the unlucky man sitting
dumbfounded in the back of the van. Crivaro then instructed Sergeant Gray to
let Hunter go.
Riley watched as Hunter climbed out of the patrol van. For a moment he
just stood there gazing around, obviously still in a state of confusion.
Then the man’s son came running toward him.
“Daddy!” the boy cried. “Can we go to the Grand Canyon now?”
Hunter pulled himself together. Without another glance at the Highway
Patrol and FBI agents standing there, he hurried his boy back to their camper.
Riley knew what that camper looked like inside now because of the hasty
search by highway patrolmen looking for signs of murder. She half-expected
Hunter to pop right back out again and complain. But he simply closed the
camper door and drove away. He was apparently too grateful for the chance
to get all this behind him.
Crivaro asked Sergeant Gray, “How many other Class A RVs have you
stopped here at this roadblock?”
“Just five,” Sergeant Gray said.
“What kinds of people were in them?” Crivaro asked.
“What you’d expect, mostly. Couples and families out traveling together.”
Crivaro inhaled sharply, then asked, “Any guys traveling alone?”
Sergeant Gray squinted and said, “Now that you mention it, there was one
—the last one we pulled over before this one, in fact. I checked him out
myself. A pleasant guy, really. Mentioned that he was on his way north to
Bryce Canyon, and that he’d be staying in the Crayfish Creek Campground
along the way.”
“Did you take down his license plate number?” Crivaro asked.
Gray blushed a little and said, “Well, no. Right while I was talking to him,
Chief Wilson called in a with a license number for us to watch out for. So I
just let the guy drive on through, didn’t think anything more about him.”
Riley sensed that Crivaro was struggling to keep his impatience in check.
She figured maybe she should chime in herself.
“What kind of RV was it?” she asked.
Gray scratched his chin and said, “Nothing unusual. Just a really big white
Winnebago, recent make, I think. You know, the kind with the wraparound
windshield. You see them all over the place in these parts. This one had a red
stripe along the side, if I remember right.”
Crivaro asked, “Did you search inside all the RVs?”
Gray shrugged and said, “Not as thoroughly as we did Hunter’s outfit. But
yeah, we looked through them.”
“What about the lone driver’s vehicle?” Crivaro asked. “Did it look clean?
Especially the bathroom?”
“Clean as a whistle,” Gray said.
Crivaro murmured almost inaudibly, “Then it wasn’t him.”
He looked down at the ground and shook his head.
Then he said to Sergeant Gray, “Take down this roadblock. Get your
people out of here. Before you do, call Chief Wilson and tell him send out
word to all the troopers to get rid of all the roadblocks we’ve got around
Sedona.”
Gray looked startled by the finality of Crivaro’s decision.
Riley, too, felt unsettled.
She couldn’t remember Crivaro ever sounding so defeated.
Then Crivaro muttered to Riley, “Come on, let’s get back to the car.”
“Where are we going next?” Riley asked as she walked alongside of him.
Crivaro darted a sharp look at her and snapped bitterly …
“Well, that’s a damned good question, isn’t it? Where are we going next,
and what are we going to do next? Anyway, you were right about the
roadblocks. The
killer was probably long gone from the whole area before we
set them up. All we succeeded in doing was letting him know we’re looking
for his kind of RV. I’ll bet he’s dumped the one he had and is driving
something new right now. So I was wrong, and you were right. Does that
make you happy?”
Riley was stunned.
“No, it doesn’t make me happy,” she said in a shaky voice as they kept on
toward the car. “I always want us to be right—both of us. We’re a team,
aren’t we? Why are you talking to me that way? Why are you mad at me?
What did I do wrong?”
Crivaro let out a long, discouraged sigh.
“I’m sorry, Riley,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. That was way out of
line.”
They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence and got inside.
Crivaro put the key in the ignition, but didn’t bother to start the engine. He
just sat there staring at the keychain hanging there.
Then he said in a hushed voice, “What are we going to do, Riley?”
“Huh?” Riley said with surprise.
Crivaro looked into her eyes with an earnest, pleading expression.
“I said, what are we going to do? I’ve got no ideas, kid. I’m stumped. It’s
up to you. You’ve got to come up with something.”
Riley could hardly believe her ears.
He wants my advice, she thought.
He needs my advice.
But what on earth was she going to tell him?
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Jake Crivaro sat gazing at his young partner. He knew he was repeating
himself when he asked her again …
“What are we going to do?”
He had no answer to the question, and apparently Riley didn’t either.
Instead of replying, she just stared at him with a stricken expression. Jake
couldn’t help but turn away. The words he’d just said to her had been
remarkably stupid.
“I was wrong, and you were right. Does that make you happy?”
Now he could feel his whole body cringe.
That really was out of line, he thought.
Worse than out of line.
What the hell is wrong with me?
But the truth was, Jake knew perfectly well what was wrong.
He was feeling discouraged. No, more than discouraged.
He was feeling positively burnt out.
And of course, he’d been feeling that for some time now.
