ONCE TRAPPED

by Blake Pierce

  Riley didn’t recognize the three other people. Brenda hugged Riley and Jilly and made introductions, starting with a middle-aged married couple, both of them stout and smiling.

  Brenda said, “Riley, I don’t believe you’ve met Bonnie and Arnold Flaxman. They were Jilly’s foster parents for a short while after you rescued her.”

  Riley nodded, remembering how Jilly had soon run away from the well-meaning couple. Jilly had been determined to live with no one except Riley. Riley hoped that the Flaxmans didn’t harbor any hard feelings about that. But they seemed kind and welcoming.

  Brenda then introduced Riley to a tall man with a long, oddly shaped head and a somewhat vacuous smile.

  Brenda said, “This is Delbert Kaul, who is serving as our attorney. Come on, let’s go somewhere to sit down and talk things over.”

  The group hurried through the concourse to the nearest coffee shop. The adults ordered coffee and Jilly got a soft drink. As they all sat down, Riley remembered that Bonnie Flaxman’s brother was Garrett Holbrook, an FBI agent stationed here in Phoenix.

  Riley asked, “How’s Garrett these days?”

  Bonnie shrugged and smiled. “Oh, you know. Garrett is Garrett.”

  Riley nodded. She remembered the agent as a rather taciturn man with a cold demeanor. But then, she’d been investigating the murder of Garrett’s estranged half-sister. He had been grateful when she solved the murder, and had helped put Jilly into foster care with the Flaxmans. Riley knew that he was a good man beneath his frosty exterior.

  Brenda said to Riley, “I’m glad you and Jilly could get here on such short notice. I’d really hoped we’d be finalizing the adoption by now, but as I wrote to you in my letter, we’ve run into a snag. Jilly’s father claims he made the decision to give up Jilly under duress. Not only is he contesting the adoption, he’s threatening to charge you with kidnapping—and me as an accomplice.”

  Looking through some legal papers, Delbert Kaul added, “His case is pretty flimsy, but he is making a nuisance of himself. But don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can fix all this tomorrow.”

  Somehow, Kaul’s smile didn’t strike Riley as very reassuring. There was something weak and uncertain about him. She found herself wondering just how he’d gotten assigned the case.

  Riley noticed that Brenda and Kaul seemed to have an easy rapport. They didn’t appear to be a romantic couple, but they did seem to be good friends. Maybe that was why Brenda had hired him.

  Not necessarily a good reason, Riley thought.

  “Who is the judge?” Riley asked him.

  Kaul’s smile faded a little as he said, “Owen Heller. Not exactly my first choice, but the best we could get under the circumstances.”

  Riley suppressed a sigh. She was feeling less and less assured. She hoped Jilly wasn’t getting the same feeling.

  Kaul then discussed what the group should expect at the hearing. Bonnie and Arnold Flaxman were going to testify about their own experience with Jilly. They would emphasize the girl’s need for a stable home environment, which she emphatically could not have with her father.

  Kaul said he wished he could get Jilly’s older brother to testify, but he had long since disappeared and Kaul hadn’t been able to track him down.

  Riley was supposed to testify about the kind of life she was able to give Jilly. She had come to Phoenix armed with all sorts of documentation to back up her claims, including financial information.

  Kaul tapped his pencil against the table and added, “Now Jilly, you don’t have to testify—”

  Jilly interrupted. “I want to. I’m going to.”

  Kaul looked a little surprised by the note of determination in Jilly’s voice. Riley wished the lawyer seemed as determined as Jilly did.

  “Well,” Kaul said, “let’s consider that settled.”

  When the meeting ended, Brenda, Kaul, and the Flaxmans left together. Riley and Jilly went to rent a car, and then they drove to a nearby hotel and checked in.

  *

  Once they got settled into their hotel room, Riley and Jilly ordered a pizza. The TV played a movie they’d both seen before and didn’t pay much attention to. To Riley’s relief, Jilly didn’t seem the least bit anxious now. They chatted pleasantly about little things, like Jilly’s upcoming school year, clothes and shoes, and celebrities in the news.

  Riley found it hard to believe that Jilly had been in her life for such a short time. Things seemed so natural and easy between them.

  Like she’s always been my daughter, Riley thought. She realized that was exactly how she felt, but it brought on a renewed burst of anxiety.

  Was it all going to end tomorrow?

  Riley couldn’t bring herself to consider how that would feel.

  They were almost finished with their pizza when they were interrupted by a loud signal from Riley’s laptop computer.

  “Oh, that must be April!” Jilly said. “She promised we’d do a video chat.”

  Riley smiled and let Jilly take the call from her older daughter. Riley listened idly from across the room as the two girls chattered away like the sisters they’d truly become.

  When the girls finished talking, Riley spoke to April while Jilly plopped down on the bed to watch TV. April’s face looked serious and concerned.

  She asked, “How are things looking for tomorrow, Mom?”

  Glancing across the room, Riley saw that Jilly had gotten interested in the movie again. Riley didn’t think she was really listening to what she and April were saying, but she still wanted to be careful.

  “We’ll see,” Riley said.

  April spoke in a low voice so Jilly couldn’t hear.

  “You look worried, Mom.”

  “I guess so,” Riley said, speaking quietly herself.

  “You can do this, Mom. I know you can.”

  Riley gulped hard.

  “I hope so,” she said.

  Still speaking softly, April’s voice shook with emotion.

  “We can’t lose her, Mom. She can’t go back to that kind of life.”

  “I know,” Riley said. “Don’t worry.”

  Riley and April stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Riley suddenly felt deeply moved by how mature her fifteen-year-old seemed right now.

  She’s really growing up, Riley thought proudly.

  April finally said, “Well, I’ll let you go. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

  “I’ll do that,” Riley said.

  She ended the video call and went back to sit on the bed with Jilly. They were just getting to the end of the movie when the phone rang. Riley felt another wave of worry.

  Phone calls hadn’t brought good news lately.

  She picked up the phone and heard a woman’s voice.

  “Agent Paige, I’m calling from the Quantico switchboard. We just got a call from a woman in Atlanta and … well, I’m not sure how to handle this, but she wants to talk directly to you.”

  “Atlanta?” Riley asked. “Who is it?”

  “Her name is Morgan Farrell.”

  Riley felt a chill of alarm.

  She remembered the woman from a case she’d worked on back in February. Morgan’s wealthy husband, Andrew, had briefly been a suspect in a murder case. Riley and her partner, Bill Jeffreys, had interviewed Andrew Farrell at home and had determined that he wasn’t the killer she was looking for. Nevertheless, Riley had seen the signs that the man was abusing his wife.

  She had silently slipped Morgan an FBI card, but had never heard from her.

  I guess she finally wants help, Riley thought, picturing the thin, elegant, but timid woman she’d seen in Andrew Farrell’s mansion.

  But Riley wondered—what was she going to be able to do for anybody under her present circumstances?

  In fact, the last thing in the world Riley needed right now was another problem to solve.

  The waiting operator asked, “Do you want me to put the call through?”

  Riley hesitated for a second, th
en said, “Yes, please.”

  In a moment, she heard the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Hello, is this Special Agent Riley Paige?”

  Now it occurred to her—she couldn’t remember Morgan having said a single word while she’d been there. She’d seemed too terrified of her husband to even speak.

  But she didn’t sound terrified right now.

  In fact, she sounded rather happy.

  Is this just a social call? Riley wondered.

  “Yes, this is Riley Paige,” she said.

  “Well, I just thought I owed you a call. You were very kind to me that day when you visited our home, and you left me your card, and you seemed to be anxious about me. I just wanted to let you know, you don’t need to worry about me anymore. Everything is going to be fine now.”

  Riley breathed a little easier.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “Did you leave him? Are you getting a divorce?”

  “No,” Morgan said cheerfully. “I killed the bastard.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Riley sat down in the nearest chair, her mind reeling as the woman’s words echoed in her mind.

  “I killed the bastard.”

  Had Morgan really just said that?

  Then Morgan asked, “Agent Paige, are you still there?”

  “I’m still here,” Riley said. “Tell me what happened.”

  Morgan still sounded eerily calm.

  “The thing is, I’m not sure exactly. I’ve been rather doped up lately, and I tend not to remember things I do. But I killed him, all right. I’m looking right down at his body lying in bed, and he’s got knife wounds all over him, and he bled a lot. It looks like I did it with a sharp kitchen knife. The knife is lying right next to him.”

  Riley struggled to make sense of what she was hearing.

  She remembered how unhealthily thin Morgan had looked. Riley had been sure that she was anorexic. Riley knew better than most people how hard it was to stab a person to death. Was Morgan even physically capable of doing such a thing?

  She heard Morgan sigh.

  “I hate to impose, but I honestly don’t know what to do next. I wonder if you could help me.”

  “Have you told anybody else? Have you called the police?”

  “No.”

  Riley stammered, “I’ll … I’ll get right on it.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.”

  Riley was about to tell Morgan to stay on the line while she made a separate call on her own cell phone. But Morgan hung up.

  Riley sat there staring into space for a moment. She heard Jilly ask, “Mom, is something wrong?”

  Riley looked and saw that Jilly seemed deeply concerned.

  She said, “Nothing to concern yourself about, honey.”

  Then she grabbed her cell phone and called the police in Atlanta.

  *

  Officer Jared Ruhl felt bored and restless as he rode in the passenger seat next to Sergeant Dylan Petrie. It was night, and they were patrolling one of the richest neighborhoods in Atlanta—an area where there was seldom any criminal activity. Ruhl was new to the force, and he was hungry for a taste of action.

  Ruhl had all the respect in the world for his African-American partner and mentor. Sergeant Petrie had been on the force for twenty years or more, and he was one of the most seasoned and experienced cops around.

  So why are they wasting us on this beat? Ruhl wondered.

  As if in reply to his unspoken question, a female voice sputtered over the scanner …

  “Four-Frank-thirteen, do you copy?”

  Ruhl’s senses sharpened to hear their own vehicle’s identification.

  Petrie answered, “Copy, go ahead.”

  The dispatcher hesitated, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was about to say.

  Then she said, “We have a possible one-eighty-seven in the Farrell home. Go to the scene.”

  Ruhl’s mouth dropped open, and he saw Petrie’s eyes widen with surprise. Ruhl knew that 187 was the code for a homicide.

  At Andrew Farrell’s place? Ruhl wondered.

  He couldn’t believe his ears, and Petrie looked as though he couldn’t either.

  “Say again,” Petrie said.

  “A possible 187 in the Farrell home. Can you get there?”

  Ruhl saw Petrie squint with perplexity.

  “Yeah,” Petrie said. “Who is the suspect?”

  The dispatcher hesitated again, then said, “Mrs. Farrell.”

  Petrie gasped aloud and shook his head.

  “Uh … is this a joke?” he said.

  “No joke.”

  “Who’s my RP?” Petrie asked.

  What does that mean? Ruhl asked himself.

  Oh, yeah …

  It meant, “Who reported the crime?”

  The dispatcher replied, “A BAU agent called it in from Phoenix, Arizona. I know how strange that sounds, but …”

  The dispatcher fell silent.

  Petrie said, “Code Three response?”

  Ruhl knew that Petrie was asking whether to use flashing lights and a siren.

  The dispatcher asked, “How close are you to the location?”

  “Less than a minute,” Petrie said.

  “Better keep quiet then. This whole thing is …”

  Her voice faded away again. Ruhl guessed she was concerned that they not draw too much attention to themselves. Whatever was really going on in this luxurious and privileged neighborhood, it was surely best to keep the media out of the loop for as long as they could.

  Finally the dispatcher said, “Look, just check it out, OK?”

  “Copy,” Petrie said. “We’re on our way.”

  Petrie pushed the accelerator and they sped along the quiet street.

  Ruhl stared in astonishment as they approached the Farrell mansion. This was the closest he’d ever been to it. The house sprawled in all directions, and it looked to him more like a country club than anybody’s home. The exterior was carefully lit—for protection, no doubt, but also probably to show off its arches and columns and great windows.

  Petrie parked the car in the circular drive and stopped the engine. He and Ruhl got out and strode up to the huge front entrance. Petrie rang the doorbell.

  After a few moments, a tall, lean man opened the door. Ruhl guessed from his fancy tuxedo-like outfit and his stern, officious expression that he was the family butler.

  He looked surprised to see the two police officers—and not at all pleased.

  “May I ask what this is all about?” he asked.

  The butler didn’t seem to have any idea that there might be trouble inside that mansion.

  Petrie glanced at Ruhl, who sensed what his mentor was thinking …

  Just a false alarm.

  Probably a prank call.

  Petrie said to the butler, “Could we speak with Mr. Farrell, please?”

  The butler smiled in a supercilious manner.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said. “The master is fast asleep, and I have very strict orders—”

  Petrie interrupted, “We have reason to be worried about his safety.”

  The butler’s eyebrows rose.

  “Really?” he said. “I’ll look in on him, if you insist. I’ll try not to waken him. I assure you, he would complain quite vociferously.”

  Petrie didn’t ask permission for him and Ruhl to follow the butler into the house. The place was vast inside, with rows of marble columns that eventually led to a red-carpeted staircase with curved, fancy banisters. Ruhl found it harder and harder to believe that anybody could actually live here. It seemed more like a movie set.

  Ruhl and Petrie followed the butler on up the stairs and through a wide hallway to a pair of double doors.

  “The master suite,” the butler said. “Wait right here for a moment.”

  The butler passed on through the doors.

  Then they heard him let out a yelp of horror inside.

  Ruhl and Petrie rushed throu
gh the doors into a sitting room, and from there into an enormous bedroom.

  The butler had already switched on the lights. Ruhl’s eyes almost hurt for a moment from the brightness of the enormous room. Then his eyes fell upon a canopied bed. Like everything else in the house, it too was huge, like something out of a movie. But as big as it was, it was dwarfed by the sheer size of the rest of the room.

  Everything in the master bedroom was gold and white—except for the blood all over the bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The butler was slumped against the wall, staring with a glazed expression. Ruhl himself felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs.

  There the man was, lying on the bed—the rich and famous Andrew Farrell, dead and extremely bloody. Ruhl recognized him from seeing him on TV many times.

  Ruhl had never seen a murdered corpse before. He’d never expected the sight to seem so weird and unreal.

  What made the scene especially bizarre was the woman sitting in an ornate upholstered chair right next to the bed. Ruhl recognized her, too. She was Morgan Farrell—formerly Morgan Chartier, a now-retired famous model. The dead man had turned their marriage into a media event, and he liked to parade her around in public.

  She was wearing a flimsy, expensive-looking gown that was streaked with blood. She sat there unmoving, holding a large carving knife. Its blade was bloody, and so was her hand.

  “Shit,” murmured Petrie in a stunned voice.

  Then Petrie spoke into his microphone.

  “Dispatch, this is four-Frank-thirteen calling from the Farrell house. We’ve got a one-eighty-seven here for real. Send three units, including a homicide unit. Also contact the medical examiner. Better tell Chief Stiles to get over here as well.”

  Petrie listened to the dispatcher on his earpiece, then seemed to think for a moment.

  “No, don’t make this a Code Three. We need to keep this as quiet as we can for as long as we can.”

  During this exchange, Ruhl couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. He’d thought she was beautiful when he’d seen her on TV. Weirdly enough, she seemed just as beautiful to him even now. Even holding a bloody knife in her hand, she looked as delicate and fragile as a china figurine.