by Blake Pierce
“Alprazolam—and lots of it.”
Riley took a few long, slow breaths. Now it was time to mentally recreate just what had happened here—from the killer’s point of view, if possible.
She climbed into the car and sat in the passenger seat.
She took herself back to the moment when Murray had pulled into the garage. He’d surely been driving erratically, even dangerously, by the time they’d gotten here. The killer had probably been scared they’d get in an accident. He might well have breathed a sigh of relief when Murray turned off the ignition.
Then Murray went limp, and it was time for the killer to act.
Riley imagined the killer unfastening the shoulder harness and pulling Murray away from the wheel …
“Like I was a limp rag,” Riley remembered Murray saying.
The killer was big and strong, and Murray was just a little guy. The killer lifted Murray with no effort at all. Meanwhile, Murray’s mouth was moving and he was moaning, but he couldn’t struggle or protest.
Riley climbed out of the car, retracing the killer’s movements.
First the killer lowered Murray’s limp body to the garage floor. Then he needed a ladder.
Riley looked around.
Over there, she thought, noticing a space on the wall next to the shelves.
Riley walked over to where the ladder might have been leaning and continued to think out the killer’s movements.
He moved the ladder and set it up—not where it was now, but a couple of feet away.
But where did the rope come from? Riley wondered.
Maybe he found it in the garage, but Riley doubted it. It was more likely that he had it with him the whole time. He must have carried it in a satchel or something. The crude noose was probably already tied.
Riley imagined the killer looping the rope around Murray’s neck and pulling the noose tight. He hauled Murray up the ladder and tied the end of the rope around the beam. Finally he climbed down the ladder and pulled it out from under Murray.
Riley stepped back and tried to take in the scene.
How did the killer feel when he saw Murray kicking, his fingers fumbling feebly with the rope around his neck?
Elation?
Euphoria?
Or a quieter satisfaction?
Again, Riley’s instincts seemed to be failing her. She just couldn’t get a strong feeling about the scene.
The only emotion that she could register was the drugged terror of Murray himself.
She noticed that Bill was watching her with great interest, undoubtedly expecting her usual keen insights to emerge.
But Riley was getting nothing.
The killer was still a void, an absence.
She felt nothing about him at all.
She walked to the slightly raised door and crawled under it into the daylight.
This was where Murray had crawled out. And this had to be how the killer had left.
She looked slowly all around.
How did the killer get away from here?
And where did he go?
She had no idea.
He must be out there somewhere, she thought.
But she didn’t feel it. She had no sense of him at all.
Was this monster so powerful that he could block her usual skills?
The thought gave her chills.
Bill and Trey had come out of the garage and joined her.
“Did you get anything?” Bill asked.
Riley sighed, deeply disappointed with herself.
“Come on,” she told Bill. “Let’s get back to the BAU.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
When Riley and Bill got back to the BAU, they were greeted in the hall by an unusually enthusiastic Brent Meredith.
“We got Trey Beeler’s preliminary forensics report,” he said. “Nothing useful has turned up in the garage so far. He confirmed that the beer was loaded with alprazolam as you expected. Fingerprints don’t match anyone in our database. They’re still running DNA samples.”
“So nothing there for us to work with?” Bill asked.
“No, but I just got a call from Mike Nevins,” Meredith said. “He wants to talk to the team. I think he’s got something for us.”
That was quick, Riley thought.
She hoped that Mike’s interview with Murray Rossum had turned up something new.
Riley and Bill followed Meredith into the conference room, where Craig Huang and Lucy Vargas were already waiting. Meredith dialed Mike Nevins’s number and put him on speakerphone.
“I’ve had some success,” Mike told the team. “Murray was able to remember a lot more about what the killer looked like. The composite sketch artist was able to make a good drawing. I’ll email it to all of you right now.”
A moment later, all five of the people in the conference room were looking at the drawing on their cell phones.
“Excellent,” Meredith said to Mike. “This is a terrific image.”
Riley more than agreed. It was unusually vivid for a suspect drawing. Dane—if that was his real name—had a broad, strong face. His hair was thick and shaggy, and heavy eyebrows hung over a pair of rather beady eyes. His nose appeared to be thick and rounded. But Riley thought that his most striking feature was his mouth. His thin lips were slightly twisted, as if in a permanently mocking expression.
It seemed that Mike’s skills had really activated Murray’s memory. She wondered if the psychiatrist had used a little hypnosis.
At the same time, something started nagging at her.
Was the image too good, too vivid?
She knew that sometimes victims of such a terrible trauma could confabulate, seemingly remember things that hadn’t happened.
Riley tried to dismiss her doubts. After all, Mike was awfully good at his job.
“Did he remember anything else?” Bill asked Mike.
“Yes. The attacker mentioned to Murray that he was dating somebody.”
“A guy?” Riley asked, remembering the flirtatious nature of Murray’s encounter with the killer.
“No, a girl. A Byars student. Her name is Patience. Murray doesn’t think he said a last name.”
Patience! Riley thought.
Did parents really name their daughters Patience these days? Hadn’t that name gone out of style along with Gilbert and Sullivan?
Still, it was a valuable tip. It might even be the key to solving the case.
“By the way,” Mike added, “Murray is being released from the hospital tomorrow. He’s going home.”
Riley was surprised. The boy had looked so terribly weak and frail in his hospital bed.
“Isn’t that a bit early?” Riley asked.
Mike paused for a moment.
“I thought so at first,” Mike said. “But he really wants to go home. He’s been in touch with his father, who’s in Germany right now. His father contacted the hospital and ordered his release. The truth is, I think it’s all right. They’re hiring home nursing care. The boy will get all the care he needs. He’s not badly injured physically, and he’ll probably do better emotionally at home.”
Riley realized that Mike was probably right. And after glimpsing the house, Riley was sure that the security there was excellent. The family would surely beef it up when Murray got home. He’d be much safer there than in the hospital.
“Thanks for the great work, Mike,” Meredith said.
“Glad to help,” Mike said. “Let me know how things go, and if I can do anything else.”
They ended the call.
Meredith proceeded to give orders.
“Agent Huang, go to the Pi Delta Beta frat house. Talk to the guys there, see if they can remember anything about the guy Murray left with. Find out if anybody knew him.”
“I’m on it,” Huang said eagerly.
He got up and left the room.
“Paige and Jeffreys, head straight over to Byars College. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a girl with a name like Patience.”
Lucy spoke up a bit shyly.
“May I go with Agents Paige and Jeffreys?” she asked.
Meredith smiled. Riley felt herself smile too. Because Lucy was new at the BAU, Riley knew that she was anxious to make her mark as an agent. And Riley and Bill both enjoyed working with her.
“Absolutely,” Meredith said. “The three of you, go right now.”
As the three agents stood up to leave, Meredith added sternly, “And come back with some results!”
*
A little while later, Riley, Bill, and Lucy arrived on the Byars campus, which looked as cold and inhospitable as ever. They went to the dean’s office, where the secretary greeted them in her usual icy manner.
She picked up a manila folder off her desk.
“Here’s as much information as I could put together,” she said. “All the records we have of any students, staff, and graduates who may have had mental health problems.”
Then she added with a supercilious look, “It’s a pretty small file. We don’t have many such problems here at Byars.”
She handed the folder to Bill and sat back with her arms folded. It was a silent gesture inviting Bill, Riley, and Lucy to leave.
Instead, the three agents stood and looked at her—their own silent way of telling her that they needed to talk to the dean again.
The secretary let out an irritated sigh. Then she got up and opened the dean’s door and announced the visitors.
The dean came out, looking as unhappy as usual to see them.
“Back already!” he grumbled. “What sort of nonsense are you going to trouble me about this time?”
Riley said, “Sir, we’re sorry to inform you that another of your students has been attacked. His name is Murray Rossum.”
Autrey’s eyes widened with alarm. Riley could see that he immediately recognized the name. Doubtless he regarded the Rossums as important and influential—hardly the kind of family he wanted any trouble with.
“Good heavens!” he said. “What’s the boy’s condition?”
“He survived, but just barely,” Bill said. “He was able to give a very good description of his attacker.”
Riley showed him a printout of the composite sketch.
“Have you seen this young man?” she asked. “He might go by the name of Dane.”
Autrey barely glanced at the sketch and said, “Never seen him before in my life. Is that all you wanted to know?”
“You need to put up this picture all over the campus,” she said.
Autrey rolled his eyes with exasperation.
“Now look here,” he said. “I just got finished putting out a warning that has the campus in a near-panic. And now—”
Riley interrupted.
“You need to do this. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Autrey took the sketch and looked at it more carefully through his reading glasses.
“Calls himself Dane, you say? He’s definitely not one of our students.”
“We don’t believe he is,” Bill said.
Autrey scowled.
“Well, we’ll put a stop to this, I assure you. I’ll make sure that campus security watches out for him. He’s got a lot of nerve, coming around here and pestering my students.”
“Pestering”? Riley thought.
It was obvious that the dean still couldn’t bring himself to utter the word “murder.”
Autrey handed the sketch to his secretary.
“Miss Engstrand, make copies of this and make sure it’s posted in all the appropriate places.”
Then he turned back to Riley, Bill, and Lucy.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re once again interrupting my very busy schedule.”
Lucy interrupted him before he could go back to his office.
“We need one other thing, sir. According to Murray, his attacker said that he was dating a girl here at Byars. Her first name is Patience. We don’t know her last name.”
Autrey squinted.
“Patience. Yes, that name rings a bell. Miss Engstrand, could you check?”
The secretary typed on her computer.
“Her name is Patience Romero,” she said. “A Mexican girl, from Mexico City. Here’s her picture.”
Bill, Riley, and Lucy surrounded the computer screen.
The girl was conventionally pretty—light-skinned and blonde.
Riley was briefly surprised. Patience didn’t look at all Mexican to her. But she immediately felt ashamed of herself for her stereotypical assumptions. The very idea that there was a standard Mexican “look”—why would she think such a thing?
But when she glanced at Lucy, she couldn’t help noticing the Mexican-American agent’s richly colored dark skin and thick black hair. Riley also observed an odd expression on Lucy’s face as she looked at Patience’s picture.
Does Lucy know this girl? Riley wondered.
If so, she wasn’t saying so.
“We need to talk to this girl,” Bill said. “How can we get in touch with her?”
The secretary brought up the girl’s class schedule.
She said, “Her psychology class is ending in just a few minutes. If you hurry right over to Howard Hall, you should be able to catch her coming out of the building.”
The secretary gave directions, and Riley, Bill, and Lucy headed straight over to the ivy-covered old building.
A group of students was coming out. Yet again, Riley noticed a strange lack of camaraderie among the students—no playfulness, no idle chatter. Each one of them seemed isolated and determined to get to the next class as quickly as possible.
With her pale good looks, Patience Romero was easy to spot. The three agents approached her, showing their badges.
Bill said, “I’m Special Agent Bill Jeffreys, with the FBI. These are agents Paige and Vargas. Could we go someplace and talk?”
The girl didn’t reply right away. Riley saw that she was staring at Lucy, who was staring back at her.
Finally the girl said, “We can talk at the student union, I guess. Come on, I’ll take you there.”
As they walked toward the union, Riley continued to feel a palpable tension between Lucy and the young student.
What’s going on here? Riley wondered.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Lucy Vargas half-wished she hadn’t come along today. She felt very uncomfortable as she walked toward the student union with Agents Paige and Jeffreys and Patience Romero.
Nevertheless, Lucy knew she had to handle it like a professional.
If I can’t deal with this, how am I supposed to do my job? she asked herself.
The three agents followed the girl into the old building. They all sat down in chairs around a table in the common area. Now Patience was smiling brightly at Agents Paige and Jeffreys and carefully avoiding eye contact with Lucy.
“Isn’t this a wonderful school?” Patience said. “It’s one of the best, you know. It’s not easy to get accepted here. And it’s very expensive. But my family can afford it. My father is a very important man here at the Embassy …”
The girl went on talking with barely a trace of a Hispanic accent, not giving anyone a chance to speak. As she talked, she occasionally fluffed her blond hair with the fingers of one hand. Her other hand rested on the table, displaying an impressive diamond ring.
Lucy could see the perplexity in her colleagues’ faces. After all, Patience Romero was so busy bragging about her family background that they couldn’t even ask any questions.
But Lucy understood the situation perfectly.
It was a cultural thing, a class thing.
Having been born and raised in the US, Lucy seldom had to deal with this kind of situation.
But Lucy’s Mexican-born mother had told her about it.
It was called malinchismo—an almost obsessive identification with North American or European culture. Even the girl’s non-Hispanic name, Patience, reflected this attitude. She was obviously proud of her blonde hair and pale comp
lexion—signs of a purely European ancestry.
And in Lucy’s much darker face, a girl like this would see everything that she held in disdain. Lucy understood that she was a lowly india as far as Patience was concerned—someone with indigenous roots. As far as a proud, pale güera like Patience was concerned, Lucy ought to be in a position of servitude.
She didn’t like it at all that Lucy had a badge and authority.
So she was determined to acknowledge Lucy’s presence as little as possible.
Even so, all this boasting was really directed at Lucy. Patience was asserting her cultural superiority.
Finally, Riley managed to interrupt the girl’s self-centered flow of words.
“Patience, I’m sure you’ve heard that some Byars students have been murdered. We’re here to ask you some questions.”
Now the girl looked positively annoyed.
“Well, of course I know nothing about that,” she said in a haughty tone.
Lucy saw Riley and Bill glance at each other. She wished she could explain to them what was going on. She knew that Patience didn’t want to discuss anything as serious as murder at her superior school in front of an india.
Maybe I should just get up and leave, she thought. They might get more information without me here.
But no, she couldn’t do that. It would be completely unprofessional. She had to do her best to participate. But how?
Bill asked, “Do you know a student named Murray Rossum?”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think so. Should I?”
Lucy forced herself to speak.
“He was attacked at home last night. He was almost killed.”
Patience’s blue eyes flashed at Lucy with indignation.
“Why would I know anything about that?” she snapped at Lucy. “I don’t know why you’re asking me these questions.”
Lucy felt herself starting to get angry now.
Didn’t she understand that this was no time for snobbery?
“Murray mentioned your name,” Lucy said.
Riley brought up the composite sketch on her cell phone and showed it to Patience.
“Murray’s attacker looked something like this,” Riley said. “He might go by the name of Dane. He’s not a student here and he drives a pickup truck. He told Murray he was dating you.”
