ONCE TRAPPED

by Blake Pierce

  “Why, right here in Atlanta, of course. But we didn’t call it a ‘support group.’ It’s a ‘process group,’ a way to achieve positive goals even when going through traumatic times. We learned ways of coping with depression and anxiety. But there was more to it than that. It was all about finding self-fulfillment. The LifeGrasp motto is, ‘Every crisis is an opportunity for spiritual growth.’”

  “When did you go there?” Riley asked. “For how long?”

  “Oh, for about six or seven months, late last year and early this year. I’d love to have stuck with it. But Andrew put a stop to it. He didn’t like what it was doing for me—didn’t like the ideas and notions I got there, he said.”

  Morgan sighed and added, “He just couldn’t deal with the possibility of me becoming empowered.”

  Riley thanked Morgan and ended the call.

  Then she found the number for the Britomart Hotel. The male clerk who answered her call remembered Riley’s recent visit, so he put her through directly to Charlotte Morse’s room. Right away Riley asked Charlotte whether she’d been part of a LifeGrasp process group.

  Charlotte said, “Oh, yes, and it did me a world of good. It was the reason I got strong enough to leave Julian. He was furious, of course, but by then I didn’t care.”

  “Do you still go there?” Riley asked.

  “Oh, no. The whole group agreed that I was making wonderful progress on my own. It was time to cut the cord, so to speak. Really, I don’t know what I would have done without LifeGrasp.”

  Riley thanked Charlotte and ended the call.

  She was tingling all over now, more and more certain she was on the right track. There was some connection between that organization and the murders.

  She headed straight to her car. She knew where she needed to go and whom she needed to talk to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Riley’s hopes were rising as she parked in front of the house with the dignified sign that read LIFEGRASP COUNSELING, INC.

  This could be it, she thought. This could be the break I’ve been looking for.

  In fact, she was feeling sure that she was on the right track.

  She got out of the car and walked toward the house. Other than the sign, it didn’t look like a business at all. It was just an attractive, wood-frame, three-story house in a neighborhood with houses much like it.

  When Riley walked through the front door, a little bell tinkled to announce an arrival.

  She found herself in an almost alarmingly peaceful space. What had once been a large living room had been painted in muted, pastel colors, with mildly surrealistic paintings hung from the walls. There was a scent of incense in the air, and droning music that featured wind chimes was playing quietly.

  A woman rose from the front desk as Riley came in.

  “How can I help you?” the woman asked, smiling prettily.

  Riley produced her badge and introduced herself.

  “I need to speak with whoever’s in charge here,” she said.

  The woman suddenly looked concerned.

  She picked up her desk phone, punched a button, and said, “Eleanora, a woman is here to see you.”

  She glanced up at Riley and added in nervous whisper, “She says she’s from the FBI.”

  A few moments later, another woman seemed almost to float into the room. She was about Riley’s age, and flamboyantly dressed in a puffy, colorful peasant dress. She had large hands that seemed to just love making large gestures. She also had an enormous, glowing smile and deep green eyes.

  She immediately inspired Riley with a gut-level feeling of dislike.

  Riley reintroduced herself, and the woman said …

  “FBI! Oh, my! This must be serious!”

  “I’m afraid so,” Riley said.

  “Well, I’m Eleanora Oberlander, founder and CEO of LifeGrasp Counseling. Come on, let’s find somewhere we can talk.”

  Riley followed her upstairs into an enormous room that looked like it had once been two or three smaller rooms when people had lived here. The same music was being piped in, and this room also smelled of incense.

  The hardwood floor was scattered with rolled-up yoga mats, and chairs were stacked against the walls. It was easy for Riley to see that this was where at least some of the process groups were held.

  The woman unrolled a couple of mats and invited Riley to sit down with her.

  Riley was used to interviewing people who asserted their dominance one way or the other, often by placing themselves physically above her. Riley was sure that Eleanora was doing the same thing right now in her own way, by making Riley sit on the floor instead of fetching them a couple of chairs.

  As Riley sat down cross-legged on the mat, she realized that her feeling of dislike was starting to morph into outright suspicion.

  Eleanora said, “Now do tell me what this is all about.”

  Riley said, “I’m working on a murder case.”

  Although the woman’s expression changed a little, Riley couldn’t read her reaction.

  “Oh—murder. How terrible! Does this have to do with those three prominent men who’ve been murdered recently?”

  “It does,” Riley said.

  “But what can that possibly have to do with LifeGrasp?”

  Riley considered her words carefully.

  Then she said, “We’re starting to think that the murderer could be a woman. An abused wife, possibly, or someone who knew they were abused. Someone who is very angry.”

  Eleanora’s eyes widened, and so did that disarming smile of hers.

  “Surely you don’t think that LifeGrasp is some kind of connecting factor,” she said. Then her green eyes narrowed and she added, “That sounds downright silly to me.”

  Riley’s suspicions were rising. Something about Eleanora Oberlander really bothered her.

  Is it possible that this is the killer? Riley wondered.

  Or were her persistent suspicions triggered by something else entirely? She felt sure that something was wrong here.

  Riley said, “Two of the murdered men’s widows have attended your company’s sessions. Morgan Farrell went to your clinic in Atlanta. Charlotte Morse went to the one in Birmingham. Did you get to know either of those two women?”

  Eleanora tilted her head curiously.

  “Agent Paige, are you accusing me of something?” she said.

  “I’d just like you to answer my question,” Riley said.

  A silence fell between them.

  Finally Eleanora said, “There is such a thing as therapist-client confidentiality, you know. Do you have a warrant to go poking into such matters?”

  “Not yet,” Riley said. “I could get one very quickly.”

  It was a bluff, of course. And Riley could tell by Eleanora’s expression that she wasn’t falling for it.

  Eleanora rose to her feet.

  “Well, I think you should do that,” she said. “And in the meantime, if you don’t mind, I have quite a lot of important business to attend to.”

  Suddenly, Riley’s suspicions took a much clearer shape.

  She knew now exactly what she’d mistrusted about Eleanora.

  She got to her feet and stood facing the woman.

  She asked, “Tell me, Eleanora—this business of yours is properly certified, isn’t it?”

  “Why, of course. I myself am a certified clinical psychologist. I can show you the certificates if you like.”

  Riley could see a growing discomfort in Eleanora’s face.

  Now she’s doing the bluffing, she realized.

  Riley asked, “Where did you get your doctorate, Eleanora?”

  Riley could see movement in Eleanora’s throat as she gulped a little.

  “Thiebert University,” she said.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Riley said.

  “I’m surprised,” Eleanora said. “It’s a very prestigious institution.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Riley said, maintaining a tone of calculated politeness. �
�I ought to look it up, just out of personal curiosity.”

  Eleanora’s smile disappeared entirely—and Riley was sure she knew why.

  Thiebert University was nothing but a diploma mill.

  And LifeGrasp wasn’t legitimately certified for any kind of therapeutic practice at all.

  Riley knew she had Eleanora completely stymied now.

  “Why don’t we sit back down, Eleanora?” Riley said.

  She and Eleanora both sat down on the yoga mats again.

  Riley said, “And now I’d like you to answer my question—did you get to know Charlotte Morse or Morgan Farrell?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t,” Eleanora said. “But that’s really not unusual. Although I frequently sit in on group sessions, I do very little hands-on therapy myself, and I’m constantly traveling among our clinics. I’m responsible for the quality of the overall program. My employees take care of the individuals who come to us for help.”

  Riley felt sure that Eleanora was telling the truth now.

  “Besides,” Eleanora added, “our clients seldom go by their real names.”

  “What do you mean?” Riley asked.

  Eleanora shrugged slightly. “One of the first things we do when a client shows up is … well, tap into her mythic identity, as we like to put it. We give her a list to choose from, and she adopts a name of some goddess or female mythic figure—Ariadne, Freya, Niobe, Isis, Ishtar, Kuan Yin, or what have you. And that’s the name she goes by in our sessions.”

  Riley said, “But surely you keep track of the women’s real names.”

  Eleanora blushed a little.

  “Um, sometimes yes, sometimes no. I’m afraid we’re a little careless about that. Besides, some of our women are drop-ins who pay in cash and only come to a few sessions, then disappear again. Our records are rather … spotty.”

  Riley felt a wave of discouragement.

  How was she going to get any hard information in a place this poorly organized?

  She thought for a moment, then said, “Surely your team of therapists report to you about what’s going on in their groups.”

  “Of course,” Eleanora said.

  “Have any of them happened to mention …”

  Riley paused to consider …

  What is it I want to ask, exactly?

  Finally she said, “Have any of your therapists mentioned clients who’ve recently adopted warlike identities? Goddesses of destruction, maybe?”

  Eleanora said, “We’ve got a few of those on our list. My team mentioned a few recent clients who chose those kinds of names. One woman called herself Anut, after the Egyptian war goddess. Then there was one who took the name of the Hindu warrior Durga. Oh, and I can remember one from a few sessions I sat in on right here. A woman called herself Brunhilda—you know, the Norse Valkyrie maiden.”

  “Valkyrie?” Riley asked.

  “Yes. The Valkyries chose which male warriors were to live and die in battle.”

  Riley’s interest was piqued.

  “What can you tell me about her?” she asked.

  Eleanora chuckled and said, “Well, she was a tough young thing—pretty, but tough. Her husband was abusive, but she refused to get all weepy with self-pity about it, like so many of other clients. ‘I always come out on top,’ she liked to say.”

  Riley felt a flash of recognition.

  I’ve heard someone say those very words recently, she thought.

  Then Eleanora squinted and said, “On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t so tough. Or at least not very honest. The last time she came here, she had a broken finger. The therapist was sure her husband had broken it, and so was I. But she denied it. She said she was clumsy, that she’d tripped and fallen.”

  Riley almost gasped aloud.

  She knew perfectly well who this “Brunhilda” was.

  But Tisha had flatly denied ever coming to LifeGrasp.

  She lied to me!

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Riley was furious at herself as she drove back to the Harters’ mansion.

  I should have known, she thought.

  I should have paid attention to my instincts.

  After all, she had been wary of Tisha’s amoral cunning since she’d first met her. She’d also been keenly aware of the young woman’s intelligence, her enormous capacity to learn things on her own. Riley had no doubt that if Tisha was interested in disabling security systems, she could have taught herself the necessary hacking skills. Or at least, she could have found out where to learn what she needed to know.

  Judging from Tisha’s appearance, she also could be nimble enough to have gotten into Julian Morse’s pool area. She was certainly strong enough to stab someone multiple times. And Riley also believed that Tisha could have been angry enough to carry out the murders.

  Riley worried while she drove. Was Tisha Harter even still there in the mansion?

  She might well have realized that Riley was on her way to LifeGrasp to ask questions. Might Tisha have already fled, fearing arrest?

  Riley knew that Tisha was shrewd and chameleon-like.

  If she chose to disappear, how hard would it be to find her again?

  And how could she be stopped from killing again?

  I should have arrested her already, Riley thought.

  But for what? Until just now, there had been no probable cause.

  Would it be best to phone now and make sure the woman was still at home? And that she would stay there?

  No, Riley decided. It was only a few minutes’ drive. There was no reason to raise an alarm.

  When Riley arrived there and rang the doorbell, Vivian Bettridge answered the door, Riley charged inside right past her.

  “Where’s Tisha Harter?” she demanded.

  Bettridge was visibly alarmed by Riley’s agitation.

  “She said she doesn’t want to be bothered for the rest of the day,” Vivian said.

  Riley felt a twinge of relief.

  It seemed that Tisha hadn’t fled the mansion.

  She spoke sharply to the Bettridge, “I asked you, where is she? I need to see her right now.”

  Bettridge appeared about to protest, but the expression on Riley’s face stopped her. Looking truly intimidated now, she said, “Upstairs in the rec room. But …”

  Riley didn’t wait to hear the majordomo’s weak objections. She hurried into the house and took the elevator to the second floor.

  When Riley got to the rec room, she found Tisha dressed as casually as when she’d first met her, again killing opponents in the violent video game. Gone was the more mature, sophisticated persona on display just a little while ago. The “lady of the manor” had reverted to the sullen, hostile young woman she really was.

  Tisha looked up from the game as Riley strode into the room.

  “Agent Paige! What the hell? I told Vivian I wanted—”

  Ignoring the protests, Riley ordered, “Get on your feet.”

  With a stunned look, Tisha got up from the couch. She looked like she didn’t know whether to fight or to run.

  Riley said, “Tisha Harter, you’re under arrest for lying to an FBI agent—and also on suspicion of murder in the first degree.”

  Riley took out her handcuffs and recited Tisha’s Miranda rights.

  Tisha protested loudly as Riley slapped the cuffs on her.

  “This is stupid. You don’t have anything on me. I didn’t do anything wrong. And you can’t prove I did anything wrong.”

  Riley was leading her out of the rec room toward the elevator now.

  “Yes, I can prove you did something wrong. You lied to me, in violation of Section 1001 of Title 18 in the US Code. Martha Stewart was jailed for that. Do you think you can get by with something she couldn’t?”

  As they took the elevator down, Tisha was still cursing and complaining. Then she fell silent and looked like she was thinking hard, turning various possibilities over in her mind.

  Finally she asked meekly, “What did I lie about?”


  When they reached the ground floor, Riley just said “Come on” and marched Tisha into the living room.

  Then she heard Bill’s voice.

  “Riley! What the hell—?”

  Riley saw that Vivian Bettridge was just then escorting Bill and Jared into the mansion. The two were still in their undercover outfits, but had apparently finished their investigations for today.

  She told him, “I’m arresting Tisha Harter.”

  “For what?” Bill said.

  “For lying to me, for starters. That will hold her for a while. But don’t worry, we won’t have any trouble proving that she’s also a murderer.”

  Bill said, “Riley, no, please listen—”

  Riley interrupted, rapidly telling Bill about her visit to LifeGrasp and how she’d learned that Tisha Harter had deliberately lied to her.

  Finally Bill interrupted her, almost shouting.

  “Riley, stop! She’s not the one we’re looking for. Tisha is not a serial killer!”

  Riley’s mouth dropped open. She was speechless.

  Bill said, “Remember when you told me to call Chief O’Neill about those two domestic abusers? While I had him on the phone, he filled me in on how his investigative team was progressing. They’ve been doing good work. He told me they’d studied the security tapes for inside this house.”

  Riley stammered, “But—but the security system here was hacked when Harter was killed. There wouldn’t be any video record—”

  “Not for Harter’s murder, no,” Bill said. “But the tapes show that Tisha Harter was definitely here at home when the other two murders took place. She couldn’t have killed those men, Riley.”

  Riley felt sick to her stomach.

  What kind of mistake did I just make?

  Tisha was glaring at her now.

  She said, “You’re crazy, Agent Paige. Do you know that?”

  Riley realized that she had no choice but to uncuff the woman. Arresting her now would just be a waste of valuable time.

  As she did so, she said, “I know you lied to me about LifeGrasp. That was you being crazy, not me.”

  “So what if I lied?” Tisha said.

  “So what?” Riley snapped. But then she felt herself softening up. This wasn’t the first or last mistake this young woman would make, and surely not the biggest one. It wasn’t worth taking her in over.