by Blake Pierce
She couldn’t control her emotions anymore.
She let out a sob and started crying.
Her father put a warm hand on her shoulder and said in a gentle voice …
“Hey, don’t be like that. I’ve had a good life. I’ve got no regrets. And I’m sorry I gave you such a scare. That was wrong of me.”
Sam wiped her eyes and nose and tried to pull herself together.
She managed to choke out, “Dad, if you wanted to do this … hang out with Tony … why didn’t you just tell me?”
Tony said, “Come on, kid. Would you have let him?”
Sam was surprised by the question.
“Of course I would,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I let him?”
Tony shrugged and added, “Well then, that kind of settles it, doesn’t it? Let him spend the rest of the night here, and maybe part of tomorrow too. You can take him back to the old folks’ joint tomorrow. I’ll keep him out of trouble, I promise.”
Sam looked back and forth at Tony at her father. She wondered—was there any reason not to let him do as he liked, at least tonight?
Her father added, “And don’t let us run you off, Punkin. Hang around, set a spell, have a beer, make a couple of flies of your own. And you too, Dominic. Sam’ll teach you how to make ’em, if you don’t know already.”
Sam almost smiled at the idea before she remembered …
The murder.
She had barely thought about it since she’d gotten here. It seemed that her dad and Tony had no idea what had happened. Unlike all the gawkers at the murder scene, Tony apparently wasn’t linked to Rushville’s gossip network.
She was about to explain that she and Dominic had to hurry back to work when her cell phone buzzed. She took the call and heard Agent Paige’s voice.
“Sam, are you with your father?”
“Yes,” Sam said, a bit surprised that Agent Paige would be concerned about her dad.
“Where is he?” Agent Paige said. “Where are you?”
“At the house of an old friend of his,” Sam said.
“How long has he been there?” Agent Paige asked.
Sam quickly thought back to what Tony had told her when she’d first arrived.
“Since about eleven,” she said. “Why?”
An unsettling silence fell.
Then Agent Paige said, “You texted me that you were bringing him back. I need for you to do that right away. Agents Roston and Jeffreys and I are already here—at Hume Place. We’ll be waiting for you.”
Agent Paige ended the call, and Sam sat staring at the phone.
Orders were orders, and she had to do as she was told.
Even so, she wondered …
What are the FBI agents doing at Hume Place?
*
Riley and her two FBI colleagues were standing inside the front doorway at Hume Place when she saw the cop car approaching. She could see that Sam was driving, and Dominic and her father were passengers.
Jenn murmured to Riley …
“Do you think it’s possible? Do you think Art Kuehling really killed Gareth Ogden and Vanessa Pinker?”
Riley didn’t reply.
The truth was, it seemed all too possible, at least at the moment. And he was the only possibility they’d turned up so far.
She hoped that the next few moments would prove her suspicions wrong.
She watched as Sam parked. Then Sam and the two others got out of the car and hurried into the building.
“What’s the matter?” Sam asked Riley. “Is something wrong?”
Riley swallowed hard and said …
“Let’s all sit down.”
Riley and the five others found comfortable places to sit in the lobby. Before Riley spoke, she eyed Art Kuehling carefully. She asked herself—did he really look like a man who had brutally murdered a woman earlier that night?
He was dressed in cool summer clothes, and she didn’t see a drop of blood anywhere on him. But Riley knew that was far from proof of innocence. Like Ogden’s killing, Vanessa Pinker’s murder had been clean, swift, and brutal. There had been plenty of blood around the woman’s head, but most of it had surely been shed after she’d hit the ground.
The murderer might have escaped the scene with very little blood on him. It could have been easy enough to clean himself off quickly and completely. A change of clothes might not even have been necessary.
Art might well have done all this in a state of terrible mental confusion. At least he’d had opportunity. If he had actually killed two people, would he remember what he did, or why?
In a steady, quiet voice, Riley asked the man …
“Mr. Kuehling, do you know what time you left the facility tonight?”
Art wrinkled his brow and shook his head.
Bill said, “Nurse Spahn says you checked yourself out at eight o’clock.”
Smiling weakly, Art said, “Well, I guess she’d know.”
Riley fell silent for a moment, then said …
“Your daughter told me on the phone that you arrived at your friend’s house at about eleven.”
Art squinted as he said, “If she says so. I guess I’m not sure.”
Riley gazed into his eyes. His expression was starting to seem foggy.
She said, “Art, could you please tell me where you went and what you were doing after you left here, and before you went to your friend’s house?”
Art slowly shook his head.
“I … I really don’t remember. I don’t even remember checking out of here, really. I just remember … being at Tony’s house and …”
Then he looked at his daughter and asked, “Me and Tony—we were making fishing flies, weren’t we?”
Sam took hold of her father’s hand and nodded, looking deeply concerned.
Riley took a long, slow breath.
Then she said, “Art, are you aware that a woman was murdered tonight?”
Art nodded slightly and said, “Why—yes. Sam told me about that just now, when we were driving here. But what does that have to do with …?”
His voice faded and he stared at Riley.
He’s starting to get it, Riley thought.
Sam gasped aloud and said, “Agent Paige … surely you’re not saying …”
Then Sam jumped to her feet with a wild expression.
She almost shouted, “No! This is crazy! How dare you even—”
To Riley’s surprise, Art sharply interrupted her.
“Sam, stop it. Sit down. Let’s talk about this.”
Sam sat down next to her father, her face shaken and pale. He took hold of her hand again and spoke in a gentler and surprisingly lucid voice …
“Sam, I’m a cop, and you’re a cop. We both understand the nature of the job. Put yourself in Agent Paige’s place. And her partners, too. How does this look to them? I can’t account for my whereabouts when two murders took place. It’s not just that I don’t have an alibi. I don’t have any idea where I was or what I was doing.”
Tears were pouring down Sam’s face.
She stammered, “But Dad, we both know you couldn’t possibly …”
Art patted her on the shoulder and said, “Punkin, I didn’t hurt anybody. I promise. And the sooner we clear this up, the better.”
Then Art looked at Riley and her colleagues.
He said, “So are you going to arrest me? No need to read me my rights if you do. You won’t need cuffs, I promise.”
Riley shook her head and said, “Let’s just go down to the police station. We’ll talk there. And then we’ll see …”
Art nodded, suddenly looking tired and old. Then he got to his feet and leaned on his daughter’s shoulder. As the group went outside into the hot night air and walked toward the car, Art’s words rattled through Riley’s mind …
“Punkin, I didn’t hurt anybody. I promise.”
From his tone of voice, Riley doubted that he was entirely sure of that himself.
Riley glanced over at Bill a
nd sensed that he was thinking what she was thinking …
We may have just found a serial killer.
It felt strange to hope so strongly that she was wrong.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
As Bill drove toward the police station, Riley took out her cell phone and punched in Chief Crane’s number.
She wondered …
How am I going to explain this?
Riley was sitting in the back seat next to Art Kuehling, and Jenn was in the front passenger seat beside Bill. Sam and Dominic were following behind in their police car.
As she listened to the phone ringing, Riley studied Art’s face. He was just staring at the street ahead with a glazed expression, as if he didn’t know where he was or what was going on.
Riley wondered …
How on earth are we going to get any information out of him?
When Crane answered the phone, Riley asked, “Chief, are you at the station right now?”
“Yeah, I got back from the crime scene a little while ago. It’s getting to be a hell of a long night. Why?”
Riley paused for a moment, then said …
“We’re on our way to the station. We need to have the interrogation room ready.”
She heard the chief let out a gasp.
“Jesus,” he said. “Do you have a suspect in custody?”
Riley swallowed hard.
She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “yes.”
Instead she said, “Just get things ready.”
As the two cars pulled up and stopped in front of the police station, Riley was relieved not to see a crowd of gawkers and reporters hanging around. Of course it was really late now, so public excitement had waned, and there really wasn’t anything to see here anyway.
Instead, Riley saw a rotund man sitting alone on the front steps, smoking a cigar.
Amos Crites, she realized with dismay.
She’d spotted him in the crowd a while ago at the crime scene. He seemed to be following the case closely …
Maybe too closely, Riley thought. Why would he be so interested?
Riley helped Art Kuehling out of the car and began to lead him by the arm toward the front door.
Riley heard Jenn let out a yelp of disgust as she and Dominic got out of their car.
“Crites,” she demanded, “what the hell are you doing here?”
Crites sneered and shook some ashes off his cigar and stood up.
“Why, I’m here as a concerned citizen, of course,” he said in a mock-sincere growl. “Just making myself available in case I can be of any help.”
Then he chuckled harshly and added …
“And you folks sure could use some help, couldn’t you? With another corpse on your hands and all. It’s a shame, ain’t it? This case seems to be too much for even the Feds to handle. Must be pretty embarrassing for y’all.”
Then he glowered at Jenn’s African-American features.
“I blame it on poor enlistment policies. The FBI’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel these days.”
Riley could see Jenn’s face twist with anger.
She hastily reached out and touched Jenn lightly on the shoulder to caution her not to engage. The last thing they needed right now was a physical altercation between Jenn and the bigoted property owner.
Crites looked pleased to have provoked Jenn into reacting at all.
He said, “Well, as always, let me know if I can be of any service. For instance, maybe you want to know where I was and what I was doing when that woman was killed tonight.”
Crites winked and added, “Don’t worry about me, I can always come up with a good alibi.”
Crites walked off the steps and continued on down the street.
Riley watched after him for a moment, wondering whether they were about to question the wrong man. Amos Crites had stirred her suspicions from the start. He’d had motive for killing Gareth Ogden, and for all they knew he also had opportunity.
As for a motive for killing Vanessa Pinker—well, having a serial killer at large in Rushville was sure to bring down property values, making it easier for Crites to buy up everything in sight. He didn’t strike Riley as the kind of man who would have too many scruples about getting rid of a few people to fill his own pockets.
Of course Riley knew they had no cause to arrest Crites, and she regretted that they hadn’t had the resources to keep a closer eye on him so far …
If I’m wrong about Art Kuehling, tracking Crites might have even saved another life.
But there was no point in thinking about that right now. She had to find out the truth about Kuehling. She escorted him through the glass doors, with the other cops and agents following behind.
Waiting inside was Chief Carter Crane. When he saw them, his mouth dropped open with shock.
Crane gasped, “This is your suspect? Art Kuehling? Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
There weren’t many other cops in the station at this hour. The few who were present stood up from their desks at the sound of Crane’s exclamation. They all looked as shocked as their chief did.
One barked, “What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?”
“Art’s one of us,” another said.
One of the burlier cops took a menacing step toward Riley, growling, “Take your dirty Fed hands off our friend.”
With tears in her eyes, Sam stepped between the cop and Riley.
She said sharply, “Back off, Carwell.”
Then turning toward the other cops she added, “The same goes for the rest of you. Mind your own business. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Riley felt a surge of gratitude toward Sam. The young woman could easily have sided with her police colleagues to protest the arrest of her father. This whole incident was obviously terribly painful for her.
Shaking his head with disbelief, Carter Crane led the group to the interrogation room. Riley quickly decided to let Bill conduct the interview alone. As confused as he was, she guessed that Art Kuehling might think more clearly with only one person asking questions. Jenn had less experience, and Riley felt that she herself should stay at Sam’s side and offer her comfort if it became necessary.
Riley, Sam, Dominic, and Jenn stood in the adjoining booth watching through the two-way mirror and listening over the intercom as Bill and Art Kuehling sat down at the table facing each other.
*
Sam fought back her tears as the interview got underway. She felt as though her heart would break.
Poor Dad.
After decades of loyal service, here he was being interrogated like a common criminal. She reminded herself that the FBI agents had good reason for questioning him—or at least it seemed so to them. And back at the assisted living facility, her father had been more than willing to cooperate.
But now he looked baffled and confused, as if he didn’t know where he was, let alone what he was doing here. Sam realized that the shock of being brought here at such a strange hour must have suddenly worsened his mental condition.
Fortunately, Agent Jeffreys seemed intent on handling things with consideration, respect, and patience.
Jeffreys asked, “Mr. Kuehling, could you tell me why you’re here?”
Sam’s father squinted his eyes, seeming to think hard for a moment.
Finally he said, very slowly, “Yes, I think I remember. Something happened earlier tonight. Was someone killed? Yeah, it was like what happened to Gareth Ogden, wasn’t it? Only it was a woman this time. And … and I can’t account for my whereabouts when …” He hesitated again and then added, “When it happened.”
Jeffreys nodded. Sam realized that the agent was gently trying to coax back her father’s memory of what had taken place tonight.
Jeffreys said, “Do you know where the murder took place?”
Sam’s father shook his head.
Jeffreys fell silent.
Sam wondered …
Why doesn’t Agent Jeffreys say it was t
he movie theater parking lot?
But she quickly realized—the agent didn’t want to lead Dad on in any way. In his present state, Dad might jump to conclusions—maybe even become convinced of his own guilt. It was best for Agent Jeffreys to tell him as little as possible, just help him think things through and remember on his own.
Jeffreys said, “Mr. Kuehling, do you remember leaving Hume Place earlier tonight?”
Dad shrugged and said in a docile tone, “I’m doing my best not to break the rules. They say if I don’t behave, they’ll have to put me in a different ward, keep me under closer watch, take away my privileges, treat me like a regular imbecile. I can’t let that happen. I’ve got to cooperate.”
“I understand how you feel,” Jeffreys said. “And what are you doing to cooperate?”
Dad seemed to relax a little, as if this were only a casual conversation.
“Well, just follow the rules, of course,” Dad said. “For example, when I went out tonight, I signed out properly and promised to be back at midnight.”
“What time did you go out?” Jeffreys asked.
“Eight o’clock, I think,” Dad said.
Sam breathed a little easier.
He’s starting to remember.
Soon maybe he’d remember what had happened during those three lost hours, and the FBI agents would know once and for all that he wasn’t a murderer.
Then Jeffreys said, “But according to the facility staff, you didn’t come back at midnight.”
Dad tilted his head.
“Didn’t I? Hm, that doesn’t sound very smart of me.”
Then he chuckled a little and added, “Oh, yeah. I stopped in to visit my old buddy Tony Appleton. He was a cop like me, you know. Well, one thing led to another, and we started talking, and then we started making fishing flies—”
Jeffreys gently interrupted …
“Mr. Kuehling, you didn’t go see your friend immediately after you left the facility.”
Dad sat back in his chair.
“Didn’t I? I’m sure I did. I remember it clearly.”
