by Blake Pierce
“That’s fine,” Riley said.
When they all walked into the room, the patient seemed to be asleep. But at the sound of their footsteps, he opened his eyes and looked at them.
He was a slight, sandy-haired young man with a soft, almost feminine face. His neck was bandaged, and he was on an IV line.
The doctor said, “Murray, you’ve got visitors from the FBI. They’re here to find out what happened to you.”
Murray’s large eyes widened.
“The FBI!” he said in a croaking voice. “Oh, thank God!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Murray Rossum looked on the verge of weeping.
Riley understood that the boy’s anguished expression was from sheer relief at being able to tell his story. He seemed especially moved that he was able to talk to FBI agents. But he didn’t seem to be quite able to actually cry.
He’s too exhausted, Riley thought. She knew how that felt too. Crying will come later.
Her heart went out to him as she remembered her own long struggles against PTSD. She hoped that he had the emotional fortitude to pull through it. But as the doctor had said, that might take years.
She noticed how small he was—and at the moment, extremely fragile.
While the doctor stood to one side, Riley and Bill sat next to the bed in comfortable upholstered chairs. The room was plush and spacious. If it weren’t for the adjustable bed, the IV stand, and other medical necessities, it might be mistaken for an expensive hotel room. Murray was obviously getting the best medical care possible and some extra comforts too.
At least he’s lucky in that sense, Riley thought.
“We’re here to find out what happened,” Riley said.
“How much of it can you remember?” Bill asked.
Murray seemed to struggle with his thoughts.
“Sometimes I feel like I remember everything, then it all gets hazy,” he said.
“Try to take us back to when it all started,” Bill said.
“Take your time,” Riley added.
Although the truth was, Riley was sure that time was in short supply. A killer was still out there, but she realized she couldn’t rush this interview.
Murray’s eyes roamed about, unfocused.
“There was a party last night at Pi Delta Beta, my fraternity,” Murray said.
He fell silent. Riley wondered if he was going to be capable of putting together any kind of narrative. She and Bill needed to nudge him along.
“Was it for frat brothers only?” she asked.
“No, our parties are always pretty much open to anybody. Keeps things from getting too boring, the guys say. And we get more girls that way.”
He seemed to lose his train of thought.
“Was your attacker at the party?” Bill asked.
Murray nodded painfully.
“Yeah. He was by himself, off in a corner, with a six-pack of beer. I went over and said hello. He said his name was …”
He struggled to remember.
“Dane, I think. Something odd like that. But now I don’t know if that was his real name. Maybe he just made it up.”
Riley sensed that he needed encouragement.
“You’re doing just fine. Can you remember what he looked like?”
Murray closed his eyes in concentration.
“Wow, that’s tough. I just can’t picture him. You’d think I could remember.”
Riley understood. People often repressed the memories of an attacker’s appearance, at least initially. But if she urged him on little by little, maybe more of what the guy looked like would come back to him.
“What did you talk about?” Bill asked.
“Well, he offered me a beer, it was open already, and I took it. He admitted he felt kind of out of place. He said …”
Then something clicked in Murray’s expression.
“Oh, now I remember something about how he looked. He was overdressed for the party, wearing a suit jacket and a tie. That’s how I knew he wasn’t a rich guy. He was trying too hard to fit in, didn’t quite know how to do it. And I … well, I don’t know, I just …”
Murray looked oddly embarrassed.
“I guess I kind of made myself sound like a big shot. God, I hate it when people act all high and mighty because they’re rich. Especially around people who haven’t got a lot of money. But we all do that, I guess. When you go to a school like Byars, where almost everybody’s loaded, you don’t get a lot of chances to show off. Especially at a fraternity like Pi.”
He made a hoarse, scoffing sound.
“I know this sounds weird, but being rich sucks sometimes.”
Riley noticed that Bill flinched at this remark. It must have sounded awfully patronizing to him. But Riley could halfway understand what Murray meant. From being a lawyer’s wife, she knew that life with a fair amount of money could be an empty life. You couldn’t buy real friends. Perhaps that was a real problem for Murray.
But once again, Murray’s mind seemed to be drifting. She had to keep him on topic.
“What happened next?” Riley asked.
“Well, it seemed like I really did impress him with my bullshit, and he asked me lots of questions about how I lived, and what my house was like. He said something like, ‘Wow, it sounds like you live in a mansion or something.’ I said, no, it was really just a really big townhouse, and I kept on describing it to him. He said he’d never even set foot in a place like that.”
Murray paused a moment.
Riley said, “Try to relax. Let all the details come to you.”
“Try to remember what happened from moment to moment,” Bill added. “Try not to skip anything.”
Murray nodded uncomfortably again.
“That was when I decided to take him to my house.” He looked at them a little anxiously, as if to be sure what he was saying was all right.
“Go on,” Riley said.
“I mean, the party was boring. He said something like he could swing either way. I thought well, why not. I’m not gay, you understand. But I’m not narrow-minded either. So I thought, what the hell, he could even stay the night if he liked.”
“So you suggested he go home with you?” Riley prompted him.
“I knew that whenever I did go home that night, nobody would be there, just the live-in help, and they’d all be asleep. And I said, ‘Let me finish my beer, and I’ll drive you there.’”
Murray squinted and frowned.
“But he seemed to be in a hurry. He said something like, ‘Why wait? We can drink our brewskies on the way over.’”
He looked a little embarrassed again.
“Look, I know it’s illegal to drive with open containers in a car, let alone in your hand, and I don’t normally do that. But I didn’t want to seem uncool. So I said OK, and we headed out to my car. It’s a big Lincoln, and he seemed really impressed. He said he drove around in a broken down old pickup.”
Riley mentally seized on that detail. So far, it was the most valuable bit of solid information Murray had offered. Maybe she could coax more out of him.
“Can you remember anything else about what he looked like?” she asked.
His face flickered again with a memory.
“Yeah, maybe. He was a big guy. I don’t mean fat, I just mean big, athletic, like a football player.”
“How tall do you think he was?” Bill asked. “Six feet or so?”
“No, he wasn’t that tall, maybe five nine or ten. It’s just that he was … big.”
Riley was slightly surprised. She’d been all but sure that the killer was smaller. The girls who had been killed had all been of slight build, and Murray himself looked scarcely larger than they’d been. Once again, she found herself wondering whether her instincts were starting to fail.
“Do you remember anything about his voice?” Riley asked.
Murray looked straight at her.
“Yeah, it was … well, kind of high-pitched, odd-sounding for a guy that big. And he had an
accent, not like he was from around here. Maybe somewhere up north. Maybe New York or Boston or someplace like that.”
“Did he say anything about where he lived or what he did for a living?” Bill asked.
Murray glanced back and forth between Riley and Bill.
“Just somewhere in DC, I think he said. I don’t remember if he said anything about work except … oh, yeah. He said something about how he used his truck for his job. Maybe he said something else about it. I can’t remember.”
Bill was about to ask another question, but Riley silenced him with a gesture. If they pushed him too hard, he might not make it through his story.
Murray continued. “About the time I started driving, I was feeling really weird, like I was drugged. I hadn’t drunk much of the beer yet, but I wondered if maybe he’d put something in it. And then I got scared. I wondered why he’d want to drug me. Then it occurred to me … maybe it was for sex.”
Riley could see the alarm in Murray’s eyes.
“I started feeling really freaked. I mean, you hear all about date rape, but guys never think it will happen to them. And there I was, in this car with a guy who was so much bigger and stronger than me. I’d never have imagined …”
His voice drifted off and he shuddered. Riley was worried. Might he shut down as his memories became more frightening?
“Try to relax,” she said again. “Take it slowly.”
Murray gulped hard.
“Well, I pretended to finish my beer, then put the can in the cup holder. It’s still there, maybe.”
Riley hoped so. It could be a crucial piece of evidence.
“Go on,” she said.
Murray twisted about uncomfortably.
“By the time we got to my house and pulled into my garage, I was really out of it. I barely understood what was going on. I’m not sure if I can remember …”
“Please try,” Bill said.
Murray’s face tightened as he tried to focus his memory.
“As soon as I turned off the car engine, I went absolutely limp. I was still conscious, but it was like I didn’t have any control over my body. Dane unbuckled my shoulder harness and dragged me out of the car like I was a limp rag. I think I may have tried to ask what he was doing, but I’m not sure any words came out.”
Riley tried to visualize what he was saying.
I really need to see that garage, she thought.
Murray continued, “He let me down in a heap on the floor. Then he set up an aluminum ladder we keep in the garage. He put something over my head and around my neck. It took me a few seconds to realize it was a noose. But I couldn’t even struggle by then. He pulled me by the rope up the ladder, then swung the other end of the rope over a rafter. He tied the rope in place and pulled the ladder out from under me.”
Murray groaned at the terrible memory.
“After he was gone, I somehow managed to get my feet back on the ladder. Then I cut the rope with something …”
He glanced around as if trying to see what he had used. “Was it garden shears?”
Riley waited while the boy collected his memories again.
“Yes,” he said. “It must have been the garden shears. Then I must have passed out because I woke up on the floor of the garage.”
He seemed confused, as though he had lost track of the story again.
“How did you get out of the garage?” Bill asked.
“There was an opening, I think. Yes, that’s it. The door wasn’t closed all the way. I managed to crawl out and into the street. Then car lights …”
He stopped again, breathing hard. Then he continued, “Car lights coming toward me and I heard a horn and I thought I was going to get run over.”
He stopped talking for a long moment.
“That’s it. That’s all I can remember. The next thing I knew, I was … here.”
At last, tears welled up in his eyes and a sob forced its way out of his throat. The doctor stepped over to the bed.
“That’s enough,” he said to Riley and Bill. “You’ve got to leave right now.”
Riley didn’t have to be told twice. She knew perfectly well that the doctor was right. She and Bill left the hospital room.
As they left the hospital, Riley realized that she was shaking.
It was from empathy with the young man’s horror.
It was also from fear that someone else might soon be less lucky.
We’ve got no time to lose, she thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Riley was anxious to get a look at the garage where Murray had almost died. Maybe at the crime scene she would be able to get into the mind of this killer. That often worked for her, and they badly needed some kind of insight if they were going to stop this one before he killed again. So that’s where she and Bill were headed next.
As Bill drove, Riley realized that she needed psychological input from Mike Nevins. She called him and told him about the interview with Murray.
“You guys did good work,” Mike said.
“Maybe,” Riley said. “But I get the feeling he’s repressing a lot.”
“You can count on it.”
Mike paused for a moment.
Then he said, “I’ll tell you what—I’ll go over to the hospital and interview him myself. I’ll take a sketch artist along.”
“Do you really think you’ll be able to get a description of the suspect?” she asked.
“I’ll try.”
“Great. Let me know how it works out.”
Riley felt relieved as she ended the call. She knew that a skilled psychologist like Mike could get a lot more information out of the young man than she and Bill had managed to do.
Meanwhile, there was plenty else to think about.
“Where do you think we are with the case?” Riley asked Bill.
Bill shook his head as he drove.
“I don’t know, Riley. About all we’ve got so far is a big guy with a high-pitched voice and an eastern accent who drives a pickup. He seems to work at some kind of job that he needs a pickup for. And he’s not a Byars student.”
“It’s a good guess that he lives somewhere in DC,” Riley said.
“Yeah, but where does that get us? It doesn’t sound like Murray ever saw the pickup, so we don’t know the make or year or anything else about it. How many pickups do you think there are in a city with more than a half a million people?”
Riley didn’t reply. But she couldn’t help but agree with Bill. They didn’t have a lot to go on so far. She hoped Mike would have some success with the sketch artist.
As they drove up to Murray Rossum’s home, Riley was a bit surprised that it wasn’t larger. Murray had talked about using it to impress the suspect, but it didn’t strike Riley as especially impressive. It was a much bigger townhouse than her own, but a townhouse nonetheless. It hardly seemed like a mansion.
They had been told that the garage entrance was on a street behind the house, so they drove around to the back. From what Riley could see of the house from behind, she realized that it was much, much larger than it had looked from the front. But she still couldn’t get an idea of its true scale.
Bill parked in the driveway, where he and Riley were greeted by Trey Beeler, head of the BAU’s forensic unit. Riley and Bill had worked with him a lot over the years. It looked like Trey and his team of three were just finishing up their work at the crime scene.
Trey walked toward them grinning.
“Murder, eh?” he said. “Sure looks like suicide to me.”
Riley was sure that Trey had heard about all the trouble she had gotten into about this case. Now he was teasing her about it.
“Looks like murder to me,” she said. “And I haven’t even gotten a look at the crime scene yet.”
Trey chuckled grimly.
“Well, you should know. You’re the one with the legendary instincts. I guess that’s why you’re bringing in the big bucks.”
He was still teasing Riley. She didn’t know what
Trey’s salary was, but she doubted that she was making as much as he was. With all his medical degrees, he was a notch above her in the BAU food chain. But she wasn’t going to start bantering with him about it right now. She wasn’t in the mood for it.
“What have you got so far?” Riley asked him.
“We’re just finishing up,” Trey said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He led Riley and Bill toward an open garage door. She saw that another one of the big doors was raised a little—just as Murray had said.
That’s how he got out, she remembered.
Riley scanned the driveway from the door to the street, where Murray had crawled to safety.
It must have been a desperate effort, she realized. It would be a long crawl for a drugged and wounded boy.
Then she and Bill followed Trey into the garage.
It was startlingly big inside. It reminded Riley of the nightmares she’d been having in which the Penningtons’ garage had become impossibly vast. Three cars were parked there—a BMW, a Mercedes, and a Lincoln. Beside the Lincoln there was still enough space for another car.
An aluminum ladder was standing near the wall, which was lined with shelves filled with garden tools. A piece of rope was still tied to an overhead beam. On the floor lay a length of rope with a severed noose. A pair of garden shears was also lying there.
Since Trey and his team hadn’t yet broken down the scene, Riley was sure that everything was exactly where it had been when Murray had escaped. The Lincoln’s passenger door was standing open. Riley peered inside.
“What have you gotten from in here?” Riley asked Trey.
“Lots of fingerprints and fiber and DNA. It’s going to be very hard to analyze and sort through. God knows how many people have been in and out of this car.”
Riley saw an open beer can in the driver’s cup holder.
She remembered what Murray had said.
I pretended to finish my beer, then put the can in the cup holder.
Riley lifted the beer can. It felt like it was about three-quarters full.
She told Trey, “Be sure to get a full analysis of the contents of this can.”
“We’re planning on that,” Trey said. “What do you expect to find?” he asked.
