by Blake Pierce
However, when she and her two colleagues stepped outside the tape barrier, Riley saw that more reporters had arrived. They crowded around Bill, demanding to know what he was carrying.
Riley felt a jolt of alarm as they pressed against Bill, who was trying to keep the sand timer as steady as he could. The jostling alone might be enough to interfere with the sand flow. Worse still, someone might knock the timer out of Bill’s hands.
She said to Jenn, “We’ve got to keep them clear of Bill.”
She and Jenn pushed their way into the group, ordering them to back away.
The reporters obeyed surprisingly easily and stood around gawking.
Riley quickly realized …
They probably think this is a bomb.
After all, that possibility had occurred to her and her colleagues back in the woods when Bill had uncovered the first sand timer.
Riley cringed at the thought of the headlines that might soon appear, and the panic that might follow.
She said sharply to the reporters, “It’s not an explosive device. It’s just evidence. And it’s delicate.”
She was answered by a renewed chorus of voices asking what it was.
Riley shook her head and turned away from them. Bill had made his way to the SUV, so she and Jenn hurried to catch up with him. They got inside and carefully secured the new sand timer next to the other one, which was strapped in place and covered with a blanket.
The reporters quickly regrouped and surrounded the van, yelling questions again.
Riley let out a groan of frustration. They’d never get anything done with prying people all around them.
Riley got behind the wheel and slowly began to drive. An especially determined reporter tried to block her way, standing directly in front of the vehicle. She let out a blast of the vehicle’s siren, sending the startled guy scurrying off. Then she drove the SUV away, leaving the gaggle of reporters behind.
After driving about half a mile, Riley found a fairly secluded place where she could park the vehicle.
Then she told Jenn and Bill, “First things first. We need to dust the sand timers for fingerprints right away.”
Bill nodded and said, “There’s a kit in the glove compartment.”
As Jenn and Bill started to work, Riley got out her computer tablet and made a video call to Brent Meredith.
To her surprise, Meredith’s wasn’t the only face that appeared on her screen. There were eight other faces, including a babyish, freckle-faced visage that Riley was anything but happy to see.
It was Special Agent in Charge Carl Walder, Meredith’s superior at the BAU.
Riley suppressed a groan of discouragement. She’d been at odds with Carl Walder many times. In fact, he’d suspended and even fired her on several occasions.
But why was he in on this call?
With a barely disguised growl, Meredith said, “Agent Paige, Chief Walder has been kind enough to join us for this conversation. And he’s put together a team to help us on this case.”
When Riley saw the annoyed expression on Meredith’s face, she understood the situation perfectly.
Carl Walder had been monitoring the case all morning. As soon as he found out that Riley had asked for a videoconference with Meredith, he’d summoned his own group of agents to join in. Right now they were all sitting in their separate offices and cubicles at the BAU with their computers set up for conferencing.
Riley couldn’t help but scowl. Poor Brent Meredith must have felt like he’d been ambushed. Riley was sure that Walder was grandstanding, as usual. And by bringing in a team of his own, he was brazenly signaling his lack of confidence in Riley’s professionalism.
Fortunately, some of the people Walder had brought in were people she’d worked with and trusted. She saw Sam Flores, a nerdish and brilliant lab technician, and Craig Huang, a promising young field agent she’d helped mentor.
Even so, the last thing she needed right now was a team of people to manage and organize. She knew she’d function best working with just Bill and Jenn.
Looking quite pleased with himself, Carl Walder spoke.
“I hear you’ve got some information for us, Agent Paige. Encouraging news, I hope.”
Riley swallowed her anger. She was sure he already knew otherwise.
“I’m afraid not, sir,” she said.
She held her tablet so the group could see the sand timers that Bill and Jenn were deftly dusting for prints.
Riley said, “As you can see, Agents Jeffreys and Roston are here working with me. We found a sand timer at each of the two murder scenes. The one that’s empty was hidden near the first body. We found the one that’s still running not far away from where the second victim was buried. We estimate that it’s going to run out at about six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Riley could hear audible gasps and saw the shock on all the faces on the screen—except for Walder’s.
“What do you think it means?” Walder asked blandly.
Riley managed not to sneer with contempt. Walder was obviously the only person in the group who hadn’t figured it out instantly.
Riley said, “It means, sir, that someone else is going to die when the glass runs out. And whoever it is will be buried alive, just like the first two victims.”
Walder’s eyes widened.
“That can’t happen,” he said. “I order you not to let it happen.”
Riley’s exasperation was rising. As usual, Walder was giving perfectly pointless orders—as if anybody here needed to be told that a third murder had to be prevented.
Walder turned his own computer to display the clock on his office wall.
He said, “It’s now one o’clock. We’re not going to let the clock run out. And we’re not giving the media enough time to cause a panic. They’re already moving on this story. I expect you to apprehend the killer before six o’clock tonight. And now I’ll leave you to your work.”
Carl Walder abruptly disappeared from the screen. Riley could see relief on all the other faces. She also knew that they were thinking exactly what she was thinking. Walder had made just enough of an appearance to throw his weight around and seem to be in charge. Taking any real leadership responsibility wasn’t his style.
And what about his six o’clock deadline?
Well, obviously, he wanted the case wrapped up before he went home to dinner. That way he could take full credit for solving it without a lot of trouble for himself.
Anyway, now they could get down to business.
Riley asked, “First of all, are there any questions?”
“What have you got in the way of a profile on the killer?” Craig Huang asked.
“Not much just yet,” Riley said. “I’ve got a gut-level feeling about him. I suspect that he’s personally quite charming, and that people might actually trust him when they first meet him.”
Riley turned to Bill and Jenn, who were still dusting the timer and listening to the conversation.
“Do either of you have anything to add?” Riley asked them.
Jenn said, “The killer must be physically robust.”
“That’s right,” Bill said. “These killings involved a lot of digging and carrying, and one of the victims was physically assaulted. He might not be especially big, but he’s in pretty good shape.”
Sam Flores, the technician, spoke up.
“I see that Agents Jeffreys and Roston are dusting for prints. Any luck with that yet?”
Bill and Jenn had almost finished dusting the first timer.
“None at all,” Bill said. “It looks like the killer wiped it down carefully before leaving it.”
Riley felt a flash of discouragement. If the killer had taken such care with the first timer, he’d surely done the same with the second. The only prints they’d find on it would be Rags Tucker’s.
Sam said, “Could you give me a better look at the timers?”
Riley moved the tablet all around the timers so Sam could look at them more carefully.
Sam said, “Those are some pretty distinctive markings. Both timers are carved in the same style, but there are some interesting variations. Do you think they might be some kind of code?”
“That’s a good thought,” Riley said. “We’ll take close-ups and send them to you. You can do some research, see if the marks mean anything. But I want you to do something before that, while the rest of us are talking. See if you can locate any hourglass makers in this general area.”
“I’ll do that,” Sam said.
She could hear his fingers clicking on his keyboard.
Riley thought hard and fast, trying to decide how to deal with the others.
She said, “Agent Engel, I want you to get in touch with Parker Belt, the chief of police in Sattler. Get as much information as you can about the victims and their families, also the people who discovered the bodies. Share whatever you find out with the others here.”
All the people on the screen were dutifully taking notes now.
Riley continued, “Agent Whittington, pay a visit to the first victim’s family. Agent Craft, do the same with the second victim’s family. Agent Geraty, see if you can interview the people who found the bodies. Agent Ridge, get in touch with the district ME and see if he’s got any new information about how the victims died.”
She thought for a moment.
Then she said, “Agent Huang, you’re the point man for the team. Stay in touch with everybody and keep track of their progress. Also see what you can do about handling the media. This whole thing is liable to get out of control if we’re not careful.”
Huang asked, “Shouldn’t we close off the whole park to visitors, especially around the time in question?”
“Good idea,” Riley said. “Call Chief Belt and get that underway. Also help him send out a general warning to the community.”
Riley breathed a little easier now that she’d assigned jobs to everybody.
Meanwhile, Sam Flores had finished his search.
He said, “I’ve found an hourglass maker with a workshop near Colonial Williamsburg. His name is Ellery Kuhl. I’ll email you the address.”
“Good work,” Riley said. “Flores, I also need you to search for any similar murders that have been committed anywhere else recently—live burials, I mean. Now get started, everybody. The clock is running out. Literally.”
She ended the meeting and said to Bill and Jenn, “Stop dusting for prints and take lots of detailed pictures and send them to Sam Flores. I’ll drive us to Colonial Williamsburg.”
As she started to drive, she remembered something else that Rags Tucker had said.
“You can’t turn back time, as they say.”
She glanced at her watch and saw that the meeting had taken about a half hour.
She hoped it hadn’t been a waste of time. It was thirty minutes they weren’t going to get back.
And it could mean the difference between life and death.
CHAPTER TEN
Riley could feel her anxiety rising as she drove toward Williamsburg. During the hour-long trip, she found herself obsessing about every passing second.
It was still early afternoon on the very first day of this investigation. Although she always worked as fast as she could to stop a killer, the pressure of time had never before been so relentless.
Maybe, she kept reminding herself, this killer would be thwarted by the actions they’d taken so far. Soon the entire Belle Terre property would be closed. Soon the public around Sattler would be warned that a killer was at large.
Wouldn’t that be enough to slow a killer down, at least for the time being?
Perhaps, but Riley knew better than to count on it. And in a way, the uncertainty only added to her anxiety.
The worst of it was, she couldn’t do anything except drive right now. She felt a desperate need to be actively engaged with the case—searching for clues, interviewing suspects and witnesses, anything that might actually contribute to stopping to these murders. Driving felt strangely, unnervingly futile.
But she’d assigned those usual tasks to other agents back at the BAU. They would be on their way to carry out those on-scene investigations even as she drove her team away from the scene.
Fortunately, Bill and Jenn were able to keep working while she drove. They took detailed pictures of the hourglasses and sent them on to Sam Flores to analyze, then communicated with the rest of the team to keep track of how things were going.
Everybody was doing everything they possibly could.
Still, Riley’s anxiety continued to mount.
For one thing, she wondered whether this trip to Colonial Williamsburg was anything more than a detour—perhaps even a fatal waste of time. What did she expect to find out, anyway?
She hadn’t called ahead to tell the hourglass maker that they were coming. She didn’t want to give him advance warning.
But did she seriously think he might be the murderer?
That would be awfully convenient, she thought. But it was the only thing resembling a lead they had, at least for the moment.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Bill’s voice. He had moved up from the back of the SUV into the seat next to Riley. He was staring at his cell phone.
“Damn,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” Riley asked.
“I just checked the news,” Bill said. “Word has gotten out about the sand timers found at the murder scenes. The public knows.”
Riley’s heart sank. This was just about the last thing she wanted to hear.
Jenn said, “How could that have happened?”
“One of two ways,” Riley said. “Either one of the local cops told a reporter, or a reporter got it out of Rags Tucker.”
Bill said, “It doesn’t really matter which way it happened. What matters is that we’ve got a bigger mess on our hands than we did before.”
Riley silently agreed. She also couldn’t help blaming herself. She shouldn’t have taken it for granted that Chief Belt’s cops would have the sense to keep quiet. She should have laid down the law while she was still at the beach, told them all to keep their mouths shut. Maybe she should have done something to keep Rags Tucker quiet.
She tried to drive such thoughts from her mind. Self-blame would only distract her from the task at hand.
As she drove into the city of Williamsburg, Riley followed GPS directions to the address that Sam Flores had given her. She knew that the famous Colonial Williamsburg Historic District was surrounded by more ordinary business and residential areas. The address they were looking for turned out to be a small storefront with a sign that said “Sands of Time.”
Riley parked the car on the street, and she, Bill, and Jenn walked toward the shop. The window was full of elaborate and beautiful hourglasses of various sizes, although Riley didn’t notice any as large as the ones they’d found at the murder scenes.
A little bell rang as they stepped into the shop. In addition to various hourglasses on display, the space was cluttered with carpentry tools and equipment. The floor was untidily littered with wood shavings and sawdust. No one came at the sound of the bell, which was somewhat muffled by the sound of a machine running.
Riley saw that a small woman wearing coveralls and goggles was working at a lathe at the back of the room. She looked like she was ten years or so older than Riley—perhaps in her mid-fifties.
After a moment, the woman glanced up and noticed her visitors. She turned off the lathe and lifted her goggles.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said in a pleasant voice. “I didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you with something?”
Riley produced her badge and introduced herself and her colleagues.
Then she said, “We’re looking for the owner of this business—Ellery Kuhl.”
The woman smiled.
“That would be me,” she said.
Riley was slightly startled, but realized that she shouldn’t be. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that Ellery might be a woman’s name? If
she’d known that simple fact, would she have brought her partners all the way here?
What was the likelihood that the killer was a woman?
It’s not impossible, she reminded herself.
After all, the last killer she and Jenn had brought to justice had been a woman.
Still, this woman was much smaller than she’d expected the killer to be. She didn’t look frail by any means. Riley knew that she had to be in reasonably good shape to do the kind of work she did. Even so, Riley found it hard to imagine her carrying out the arduous tasks involved in the two murders.
Ellery Kuhl got up from her chair and walked toward them, her smile fading into a look of concern.
She said, “But something must be wrong to bring the FBI to my door. What is it?”
Riley said, “There have been two murders at the Belle Terre Nature Preserve. One early this morning, the other early yesterday morning. Both victims were buried alive.”
The woman’s eyes widened.
“Oh, my!” she said.
Riley studied her reactions. Her shock seemed perfectly sincere. But Riley knew from hard experience that psychopaths were brilliant at faking sincerity.
Riley decided to challenge her directly.
“Ms. Kuhl, could you tell us your whereabouts at around six o’clock on the two mornings in question?”
The woman staggered slightly with alarm.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Am I … a suspect? Why on earth would you think …?”
Riley said, “Two enormous sand timers were found at each scene—twenty-four-hour timers. One of them was running when we found it. We expect the killer to strike again when it runs out.”
The woman was squinting as if trying to understand Riley’s words.
“And because I make sand timers, you think that maybe I …?”
The woman’s voice was shaking now.
“I was upstairs in my apartment asleep. I don’t know how I can prove it, though. I live alone. I’ve never been to Belle Terre. I seldom go anywhere. I’m actually a bit agoraphobic. I pretty much stay right here in my shop. I even get groceries delivered to me. I don’t even have a car.”
Riley kept holding the woman’s uneasy gaze. She reminded herself yet again that time was of the essence.
