by Blake Pierce
That would be a disaster. After all, the twenty-four-hour timer that he had left on the beach put him on a strict schedule. If it emptied without anybody dying, all of his elaborate plans and preparations would be utterly pointless. His life would be off schedule and he didn’t know how he could stand that.
Nevertheless, Felix smiled. All his life, he’d known that he had a charming smile that easily won people over, even when he felt anything but outgoing. Surely he’d be able to win this man over as well.
“Just enjoying the night air,” Felix said.
The flashlight continued to shine in his eyes.
“This is private property,” the man said.
“Is it? I didn’t know.”
A tense silence fell. But Felix kept on smiling.
Finally he said, “Look, I don’t mean any harm. This is a nice place to enjoy the night, that’s all.”
The man lowered his flashlight, but Felix was still temporarily blinded.
“It is a nice night, isn’t it?” the man said.
Felix noticed an odd slur in his voice. Had the watchman been drinking?
Felix’s eyes quickly adjusted, and he could see the watchman’s face. He was a middle-aged man, of short but stocky build. His face was puffy and tired. It looked like he drank a lot.
The man said, “Well, you don’t seem to be causing any trouble. You’re not here to steal anything, are you?”
Felix laughed and gestured at their surroundings.
“Is there anything around to steal?”
The man laughed as well.
“Good point. It’s a funny sort of job I’ve got—a night watchman with nothing much to watch out for.”
“As long is it pays,” Felix said. He had long ago discovered his own funny sort of skills that allowed him to work at home.
“Yep, as long as it pays,” the man said.
Felix moved closer to the man. Sure enough, he could smell liquor on his breath. He must be quite drunk.
Felix winked at him.
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a nip of whiskey you could share with me, do you?”
The man let out an embarrassed chuckle.
“As it happens, I do,” he said. “Don’t tell anybody, though.”
“Who would I tell?”
“Good point.”
The watchman produced a flask from his pocket and passed it to Felix. Felix opened the flask and took a sip, then handed it back. The watchman took a good swallow and put the flask back in his pocket.
Felix said, “I’ve never come around here before. Maybe you could show me the sights.”
The man laughed more heartily. Felix could tell that he was winning over his trust.
“The scenic Lorneville marina, you mean?” the watchman said. “It never occurred to me I might have a future as a tour guide. Sure, let’s go have a look around. I’ll show you some of the docks. Watch your step, though. Some of the boards are getting rotten, and they’re liable to give out from under you.”
“I’ll watch my step,” Felix said.
As the two men started walking side by side, Felix started planning his next move.
Unfortunately, he’d left his leather-covered billy club back in his truck.
But as luck would have it, they were walking toward a wall built out of loose stones of every possible shape and size. Surely he could use one of those to knock the man out cold. The man wasn’t too big for him to drag back to the hole in the building. Then he could get an early start on his deadly task. He’d have to take his time, though. He mustn’t finish until six o’clock on the dot, when the sand ran out of the timer.
Now that he thought of it, taking his time really appealed to him.
They were walking alongside the wall now. Felix spotted a rock that would fit in his hand perfectly. He reached out and surreptitiously grabbed it, then held it low at his side, out of sight of the watchman.
He’d wait for the perfect moment to use it.
Meanwhile, it occurred to him that this killing was unfolding rather differently from the others. He was striking up something of a personal rapport with his victim, which he hadn’t had a chance to do with the other two victims.
For some reason, that also appealed to him—the thought that the man’s death wouldn’t be merely terrifying and painful but a betrayal of newly found trust.
“What’s your name, mister?” he asked.
“Silas Ostwinkle. What’s yours?”
Should I tell him? Felix wondered.
Why on earth not?
It wasn’t as if the man was ever going to get a chance to identify him.
“Felix Harrington,” he said.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the watchman said.
“The feeling is very mutual,” Felix said.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Riley felt deeply exhausted by the time Bill pulled the SUV into the BAU parking lot.
Why? she wondered. She looked at her watch and saw that the hour was approaching midnight.
That wasn’t really terribly late.
She noticed that Bill and Jenn both looked as tired as she felt.
They had all been working since early this morning, but that didn’t explain the way she felt. She’d worked for much longer hours at a stretch on other cases in the past. And while that might not yet be true of Jenn, it certainly was true of Bill.
So what was it about this one that was so especially tiring?
Why was she experiencing this deep, internal feeling of exhaustion?
As if in answer, an image flashed in her head …
That sand timer, its sand still trickling inexorably toward …
What? Riley wondered.
Another murder?
Another burial before an agonizing death?
Riley sighed as she and her companions got out of the car and headed toward the building.
It was hardly any wonder that this case was wearing them down. The flowing sand timer made all the difference, eating away at their energy and morale.
And of course, that was what the killer had in mind.
Riley wondered what he was thinking at that very moment.
Was he feeling happy with himself?
She didn’t like the idea that he probably was.
When she and her two colleagues entered the BAU building, Riley felt oddly comforted to see a familiar bustle of activity. The BAU was always vigilant, with personnel working day and night. And vigilance was exactly what was needed right now.
The three of them headed straight toward Meredith’s office. Sure enough, the team chief was still here, putting in his own long hours to supervise this especially challenging case.
He got up from his chair as they entered and glared at Riley.
“Agent Paige, Walder stopped by before he left the building earlier,” he said. “He sounded pretty pissed off with you. He said he’d relieved you as the leader on this case. I take it that Huang is now in charge.”
Meredith crossed his arms.
Riley was about to explain what had happened when she noticed a slight smirk form on Meredith’s face.
He knows! she thought.
Somehow, Meredith knew that Huang had shrugged off Walder’s orders and left Riley in charge.
Had Huang called and told him so?
Or had her wily superior figured it out for himself?
She didn’t dare ask.
Meredith’s smirk widened.
He said, “I’m glad to hear that the case is in good hands.”
Riley gulped.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Me too, sir.”
“Now tell me what’s going on,” Meredith said.
Riley, Jenn, and Bill filled him in on the day’s activities, from their arrival at the two murder scenes to their fruitless interview with Hope Reitman. Meredith listened attentively with his fingers steepled together.
When they finished, he sat in silence for a moment.
Riley held her breath,
waiting for the chief to pass judgment on their work. Meredith could be downright savage in his criticism. Surely he couldn’t be happy that they hadn’t yet apprehended the killer.
Finally Meredith spoke with a note of resignation in his voice.
“You’ve done well. I wouldn’t have done anything differently in your situation.”
Riley breathed more easily.
Meredith added, “This case is a bitch, though. Are you assuming there’s going to be another victim when the timer runs out?”
Riley exchanged glances with Bill and Jenn.
Jenn spoke up. “Maybe not. The public in that area has been alerted to the danger. And Huang is making sure that nobody gets in or out of Belle Terre. And so far, that seems to be his stomping ground.”
Bill added, “There’s a good chance that location is a strong element in his MO.”
“We still don’t know much about him,” Riley commented. “But it’s a possibility.”
“Let’s hope we’ve thwarted him,” Meredith said. “The three of you had better check in with Sam Flores, find out how he and his people are doing.”
Riley and her colleagues agreed. They left Meredith’s office and headed toward the tech center where Flores was in charge. The place was bustling even more than the rest of the building.
Sam Flores was sitting at his desk surrounded by computers. When he looked up and saw Riley and her colleagues, he asked how they were faring with the case.
“We’re still coming up blank,” Riley said. “Have you found out anything here?”
Flores said, “I’ve handed the timers over to some of my specialists. So far, they’ve only been able to confirm that the wood was hand-carved. They’ll run tests on the composition of the glass and wood to see if they can find any sources for those. They won’t be going home tonight. I won’t either.”
Flores pointed to newspaper articles he’d brought up on his computer screens.
“I’ve been running some searches, trying to find out if our killer might have done the same thing someplace else. It doesn’t look like it.”
Riley was a bit surprised.
She asked, “You mean there aren’t any other instances of people being buried alive?”
“Yeah, sure, but they’re not like these killings. I don’t see any cases where the burials are carried out for their own sake, for the sheer sadism of it. There’s always some other motive.”
Riley and her colleagues stood behind Flores looking at the stories he’d found.
Flores began pointing at different articles.
“I’ve found one who buried his victim because she knew he’d murdered somebody else in a more conventional manner. Others bludgeoned or shot their victims first, and weren’t even sure whether they were alive or dead when they buried them. Coroners discovered it after the bodies were found.”
Riley pointed at one of the stories.
She said, “That one seems to have been initiated by a robbery.”
Flores said, “Yeah, the killer buried an elderly couple after emptying their bank accounts.”
Riley shuddered at the thought of the victims’ terror.
“Do these killers sometimes have accomplices?” she asked.
“Some of them, yeah,” Flores said. “It’s a lot of work for one person—both the digging and the cleanup. Have you ruled out the possibility that the killer’s got a partner?”
Riley said, “Not yet.”
The truth was Riley had a gut feeling that this killer worked alone. But she was having trouble trusting her gut right now.
Jenn suggested, “It’s all about literally ‘covering up’ with these killers that you’ve found, isn’t it?”
Sam nodded and asked, “Isn’t it the same with your guy?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Bill said. “He expects us to find his victims. And he expects us to know that he’s planning another one. Otherwise, there’d be no point in leaving the sand timers.”
Flores sat thinking for a moment.
He said, “When you think about it, what our guy is doing is downright counterintuitive—burying victims when part of the point is for someone to find them.”
Riley nodded.
“Almost a contradiction in terms,” she said.
Flores pointed to an article and added, “And these aren’t your garden variety sociopaths. This one was so overcome with guilt that he tried to kill himself with a drug overdose.”
Riley silently agreed. One thing seemed certain—remorse wasn’t part of their killer’s makeup.
Jenn asked Flores, “So what are you going to do next?”
Flores shrugged.
“I’ll keep searching, looking for more insights,” he said. “And I’ll wait for my guys to come up with some info about the sand timers.”
Riley had a sinking feeling.
More insights, she thought.
Normally, insights were exactly what were most needed in a case like this.
But what good were insights into a killer who might be preparing for his next murder at that very moment?
It was the same with researching the source of the sand timers.
What possible use could that information be right now?
They didn’t need to understand the killer. They needed to find him and stop him and bring him to justice—right now.
Still, the last thing Riley wanted to do was tell Sam Flores that his work was a waste of time. He was doing his job, and he was doing it with his usual skill and professionalism. And it might eventually point them in the right direction.
“Good work, Flores,” she told. “Keep at it.”
At that moment, Meredith stepped into the doorway.
“I’m heading home for the night,” he said. Looking at Riley, Bill, and Jenn, he added, “I suggest you three do the same.”
Riley was startled.
This was the last suggestion she expected the chief to make.
“But sir …” she began.
“But what?” Meredith said. “What do you expect to accomplish? Agent Huang’s managing things around Belle Terre, and Flores here has got his team handling just everything else. Unless Huang gets some kind of break, whatever happens during the next few hours won’t change anything. If there’s still a murderer out there tomorrow, it’s going to be up to you three to catch him. I need you to be fresh and alert. Go home. That’s an order.”
Meredith walked away without another word.
Riley and her colleagues stood looking at each other for a moment. Riley could see the exhaustion in their faces, and knew that they could see the same in hers. But she also knew that none of them wanted to leave with so many questions unanswered.
But Meredith was right. What else could they hope to achieve right now?
Jenn shrugged wearily and said, “Well, an order’s an order.”
“I guess so,” Bill said. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
All three of them left the lab and headed on toward the front entrance. But Riley simply couldn’t bring herself to go home just yet. She lagged behind, then went to her office and sat down at her computer. She wondered—what could she search for that Flores might have overlooked?
She remembered what Jenn had said earlier today …
“Have you ever noticed what sand looks like on a beach at low tide?”
Without stopping to think, Riley typed two search words …
Beach sand.
Then she sat staring at the images of the sand that appeared.
She was especially drawn to close-up pictures of sand as the tide was creeping away.
Riley stared hard at the photos. The water made ripples that were unmistakably like the shapes carved into the sand timers. She was sure that images like these had been the killer’s inspiration.
But so what? she wondered.
As she kept staring, she had the feeling that the key to the whole mystery was right in front of her.
The truth was looking her right in the face.
<
br /> So why couldn’t she make sense of it?
A wave of exhaustion swept over her and she shut her eyes. Even then the sand images lingered in her imagination, the ripples changing and mutating into all sorts of patterns and shapes.
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Bill’s voice.
“What the hell are you still doing here?”
She turned and saw Bill standing in the door.
“What am I doing here?” she asked. “What about you?”
Bill let out a growl of disapproval.
“I had a hunch you wouldn’t leave. I came back to check. And sure enough, here you are—falling asleep in front of your own computer. Go home, Riley. Get some rest. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“OK, I’ll go,” Riley said.
She expected Bill to leave. He didn’t.
“What are you waiting for?” she said.
“You,” Bill said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Riley reluctantly got up from her chair and left the building with Bill.
Before Riley opened her car door, Bill said, “Do you think maybe I should drive you home?”
Riley squinted at him.
“Why?” she asked.
Bill shrugged.
“You’re practically asleep on your feet,” he said.
Riley resisted the urge to say …
You don’t look much better yourself.
Instead she simply said, “I’ll be fine.”
She got into the car and Bill headed back toward his own vehicle. As she started to drive, she was hit with wave after wave of exhaustion. It was only a half-hour drive to her house, but even so, she wondered whether she should have taken Bill up on his offer. But it was too late to change her mind.
As she drove, she was having a hard time focusing her eyes. The lights from streetlights and other vehicles and surrounding buildings seemed to be mutating, assuming strange shapes and patterns.
Soon she realized what those patterns were.
They were ripples in damp beach sand, left behind by a retreating tide.
She was starting to become alarmed now. She had to keep her mind on her driving. She slapped herself across the cheek to bring herself back to alertness. It worked—at least a little. At least she felt sure she could make it the rest of the way home.
