by Blake Pierce
No. Riley sensed that he had no idea who he’d find at the lake, if he found anybody at all. And yet he was armed. Riley could imagine the weight of his semi-automatic pistol with its high-capacity magazine under his belt. It had been a good bit heavier than her Glock.
He’d been fully ready to kill if he encountered somebody—anybody. And he’d been prepared to do nothing at all if he encountered nobody.
Organized randomness, Riley thought.
That seemed to be crucial to his MO. He was fully prepared for whatever happened by chance.
Soon the path ended on the rocky shore of the lake. Riley’s four companions stepped out onto the rocks, but Riley stopped in her tracks at the path’s end. She pointed to a boulder on the water’s edge.
“His fishing tackle was found over there, wasn’t it?” she asked York.
“Yep,” York said, sounding a little surprised.
But for Riley, it was an easy call. It was the ideal fishing spot—just exactly the spot her father would have chosen back when he took her fishing.
The impressions were becoming stronger now.
“Rhodes stands right here,” Riley said, still standing at the end of the path. “He calls out to Kirby Steadman. Probably a friendly greeting. Kirby says something friendly in reply.”
Riley pantomimed drawing the gun, aiming it, and firing it.
“Then he takes the first shot,” she said.
She imagined the loud crack of the semi-automatic pistol across the lake. But no, that couldn’t be right. All that noise would be too messy for him.
“He uses a silencer, so the shot isn’t heard far away,” she said. “He aims for somewhere on Steadman’s extremities. He certainly doesn’t want to kill him right away. He’s more like a cat playing with a mouse.”
Riley noticed that Creighton, Huang, and York were standing nearby watching and listening. She didn’t much like that. True, she was well-known at the bureau for her ability to get inside a perpetrator’s head. But it wasn’t performance art. Bill had always understood that. These other three gawkers didn’t.
“He doesn’t fire his next shot right away,” she said. “He waits for his prey to make a run for it.”
Riley pointed along the line of trees.
“Steadman heads right over there, hoping to get away into the woods. Rhodes fires one shot before he gets there.”
Riley pointed to a rock midway between the shore and the trees. Sure enough, there was a splash of dried blood there.
Riley followed Rhodes’ footsteps toward the spot where Kirby had gone among the trees. No path was there, but a trail of broken-down underbrush marked where Kirby had crawled and flailed in a desperate quest for safety. Riley could see where blood had splashed on grass and leaves in several distinct places.
Still pointing her imaginary weapon at those spots, Riley continued along Rhodes’ path.
“He follows right behind Kirby, firing here … and here … and here … some eighteen or nineteen rounds, and Kirby is still alive, pleading for mercy.”
Finally she stood looking down at the spot where the weeds and brush were still crushed down in the shape of Kirby’s body.
“He has one bullet left. He’s determined to make it count.”
She knelt down and pointed.
“So at point-blank range, he fires at Kirby’s forehead. Kirby falls back dead. Rhodes goes back the way he came, and unhurriedly packs up his things and drives away.”
Riley got to her feet and turned toward her four companions, who had been following her. Emily Creighton’s arms were crossed and she had a slight smirk on her face. She was obviously trying her best to look thoroughly unimpressed.
“What about Hatcher?” Creighton asked.
“Pardon?” Riley said.
Creighton shrugged. “You’re not here to catch Rhodes. You’re here to catch Hatcher. And you’ve run out of time, haven’t you? So what about him? Have you found out anything about him here?”
Riley didn’t reply. She turned all around. No, Hatcher had left no physical traces that he’d been here. He was too deft, too cunning for that. But he had been here—perhaps minutes after Kirby had died. She couldn’t prove it, but she felt it deep in her bones.
After all, it was just like Hatcher had told her:
“We’re joined at the brain, Riley Paige.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
A little while later, Riley glared at the unmarked loaner car that Huang and Creighton were driving away from the police station.
Do I really want to do this? she asked herself as she climbed behind the wheel of the similar vehicle that Chief York had provided for her and Bill. She started the engine.
“Oh, no, Riley,” Bill said, watching her with a worried expression. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Think about what?” Riley asked.
“Following Huang and Creighton.”
“Why not?”
Bill growled under his breath. “I can’t even count the reasons. They’re here to catch Rhodes. We’re here to catch Hatcher. We’re definitely not here to stalk our colleagues. What are you thinking, Riley?”
Riley didn’t reply for a moment.
“Riley?” Bill said again.
“Look, Bill, we both know that trying to track down Hatcher right now is an exercise in futility.”
“So you’re going to try to track Rhodes instead?”
“I don’t think that either of them is anywhere in the area now. We’re all wasting our time here. I just want to know what Creighton is up to, even if I have to follow her all over South Carolina. And I’m going to be part of this whole investigation, whether she likes it or not.”
Bill shook his head.
“You’re going to get us both fired,” he said.
Riley felt a pang of conscience. Bill was probably right. And it didn’t seem fair. But her own course was set.
“Bill, if you don’t want to go with me, that’s all right. I’ll drop you off right here, and you can head right back to the police station. Then you can do whatever you want to do.”
“Never mind,” Bill said with a note of resignation. “Let’s do this your way.”
Riley followed the car through Worland’s little downtown area into a pleasant residential area. Creighton, who was driving, slowed the car down, apparently looking for an address. Riley started to get a hunch where she might be headed.
She’s about to make a big mistake, Riley thought.
Maybe Riley could stop her from doing that. If not, maybe she could do some damage control.
Meanwhile, something was nagging Riley about the crime scene. Something didn’t quite make sense. Not that she had any reason to expect Orin Rhodes’ actions to make much sense. Still, there had been something wrong with how he’d left things.
Like he left something unfinished, she thought.
She couldn’t put her finger on quite what it was.
Creighton parked in front of a charming old two-story house with stucco walls. Riley parked a couple of cars behind her.
“You can wait for me here if you want to, Bill,” Riley said, giving him another out.
Bill shook his head.
“No, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going on. I’ll go in with you.”
When they both got out of the car. Emily Creighton was leaning against their car, waiting for them. She didn’t look at all happy to see Riley. Craig Huang stood nearby, looking off in another direction as though he’d rather not be here at all.
“You didn’t think you could tail me without my noticing, did you?” Creighton snapped.
“Naw, I just thought I’d come along and see if I could offer a helping hand,” Riley replied with a smile.
Creighton crossed her arms and glared at Riley.
“You don’t even know what Huang and I are here to do,” she said.
“Oh, I think I do,” Riley said. “And let me explain why it’s a bad idea—”
“Save it, Agent Paige,” Cr
eighton said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Huang glanced at Riley and shrugged uneasily, not looking nearly as confident as his partner. Nevertheless, he followed Creighton up the sidewalk toward the house. Riley followed right behind them, and so did Bill. Riley knew there really was no way for Creighton to stop them from joining her, not without making an embarrassing scene.
A worried-looking woman in her forties answered the door.
“Are you Ms. Steadman?” Creighton asked.
“Yes, I’m Cheryl Steadman,” she said, looking a bit surprised.
“Is your husband home?”
“Yes.”
Riley now knew that her hunch had been right. Creighton had come here to interview Kirby Steadman’s nearest kin. As far as Riley was concerned, it was a perfectly terrible idea that couldn’t yield any positive outcome. The local police had provided them with a transcript and recording of their own interview and Riley was sure that there was no connection between this unfortunate family and the murderer.
Creighton took out her badge, and so did Huang.
“I’m Agent Emily Creighton, FBI. This is my colleague, Agent Craig Huang.”
She pointedly did not introduce Bill and Riley.
“May we come in and talk to you and your husband?” Creighton said.
“Is it really necessary?” Cheryl Steadman asked. “Gilbert is taking the news about his father awfully hard.” She swallowed hard and added, “Now, of all times.”
“We’ve just got a few questions,” Creighton said.
Cheryl Steadman sighed and said, “We’ve answered so many already.”
Then she warily opened the door and invited the four agents inside. She led them into the living room, where Gilbert Steadman was staring blankly into a fireplace. The flame had almost died away, but Steadman showed no interest in getting it going again.
Riley noted a little stray ribbon, a sparkle here and there. She realized that the Steadmans had hastily removed holiday decorations.
Like his wife, Steadman appeared to be in his late forties. Riley immediately noticed a striking family resemblance between him and the unlucky victim in the crime scene photos. Both men were tall, slim, and muscular.
“Gilbert, these people are from the FBI,” Cheryl Steadman said. “They want to ask some questions.”
With a gesture, she invited all four agents to sit down.
“We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Steadman,” Creighton said.
Gilbert Steadman nodded.
“What have you found out?” he asked in a shaky voice. “The police haven’t told us much.”
“We’re hoping you can help us, Mr. Steadman,” Creighton said, trying to sound compassionate and concerned. Riley didn’t find her at all convincing, and she was sure the Steadmans didn’t either.
“I can’t imagine how,” Steadman said. “I’ve got nothing to tell you. Dad was a widower, a retired high school principal. He didn’t have an enemy in the world. He liked to fish, for crying out loud. That’s all he was trying to do when he—”
Steadman’s voice choked before he could finish his sentence.
Creighton said, “Mr. Steadman, we believe your father was killed by a certain Orin Rhodes. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Steadman shook his head.
“How about you?” Creighton asked his wife.
“No,” Cheryl Steadman said.
“Take some time to remember,” Creighton said. “Orin Rhodes just finished serving a sixteen-year sentence in Sing Sing for killing six people. He came all the way to South Carolina to kill your father. There must have been some reason. Did your father ever spend any time in Upstate New York?”
Riley fidgeted, and Bill gave her a worried look. Things were going exactly as they’d both feared.
Steadman’s eyes darted among the agents, trying to understand what was happening.
“No,” he said. “He was born and raised right here, barely ever left the area. What are you getting at, anyway?”
Creighton’s expression was harder now. Huang, who had said nothing so far, was starting to look uneasy.
“I need for you to think—both of you,” Creighton said. “He must have said something—”
“He didn’t,” Steadman snapped, starting to sound angry.
Riley could see from Creighton’s expression that she was gearing up to ask tougher questions. She couldn’t let that happen.
Riley spoke in a firm tone, “Mr. and Mrs. Steadman, thank you for your time. We’ve got no more questions.”
Creighton looked like she couldn’t believe her ears. By contrast, Huang looked a bit relieved. Riley guessed that he’d had enough of his partner’s arrogance for now.
Creighton started to protest. “Agent Paige—”
Huang interrupted her, “I think that we are actually through here.”
Riley glowered at Creighton and repeated, “We’ve got no more questions.”
Creighton ignored her partner, but she locked eyes with Riley.
Riley said firmly, “Agent Creighton, let’s have a word outside.”
Huang said a few parting words to the family and led the way outside. Riley and Bill followed him, and Creighton stormed out behind them.
As the four agents left the house and walked toward their vehicles, Creighton was completely irate.
“What the hell was that all about?” Creighton demanded.
“I’ll tell you what it was all about,” Riley snapped. “I just saved your ass big time. You were getting ready to badger a grieving son and his wife, for no reason at all.”
“I knew what I was doing,” Creighton said. “Either that man was having trouble remembering, or—”
“Or what?” Riley said. “He was lying?”
Creighton nodded slowly.
“Yeah, maybe he was. It makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s trying to protect his dad’s memory. There’s a family secret that he’s wishing the whole world would forget. He’s just got to know something. There had to be a reason for Orin Rhodes to come all the way down here and kill this particular man. There had to be a motive.”
Riley could barely keep herself from shouting.
“There was no motive! It was completely meaningless! That’s how Rhodes loves to operate. He prefers to kill randomly.”
Creighton and Riley stood glaring at each other in silence for a moment. Bill and Huang looked extremely uncomfortable but both maintained their silence.
Trying to calm down, Riley said, “Agent Creighton, if I’d let you push any harder, it would have been a disaster. They’d have called in a complaint for sure.”
Creighton’s face was red and shaking with rage.
“Oh, there’s going to be a complaint, all right,” she said through clenched teeth.
Creighton got out her cell phone and started to dial. Riley knew perfectly well that she was calling Walder, to tell him that Riley had interfered with her investigation. And naturally, Walder was going to believe her.
Riley didn’t feel like hanging around to listen. She started toward the car.
“There’s going to be real trouble now,” Bill said as he walked beside her.
“Don’t I know it,” Riley said. She knew that she’d hear about this soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Riley dreaded what was coming next as she and Bill hurried toward the conference room early the next morning.
“Brace yourself,” Riley told her partner. “This is going to be a rocky meeting.”
“I know,” Bill said with a sigh. “There sure haven’t been any easy ones lately.”
Shortly after Creighton had called in her complaint yesterday afternoon, Walder had ordered Riley and Bill to fly straight back to Quantico. Riley hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. She was kept awake by the possibility that she would be out of a job tomorrow. When she had slept, she’d been bedeviled by familiar dreams. She still had wisps of memories of a flame in the darkness. She forced herself to concentrate, to clear h
er thoughts. She had no time now for old nightmares.
When they reached the conference room, Riley saw right away what she was in store for. Walder was sitting alone at the end of the long table. On the huge screen behind him was a daunting multimedia display. Technician Sam Flores was sitting to one side, controlling the images.
Meredith was conspicuously absent. Riley immediately guessed that Walder had pulled rank to make sure that Riley didn’t have any allies present except for her partner. And Riley was feeling guiltier than even before that she’d gotten Bill mixed up in this fix she was in. But of course he had been there with her during the whole fiasco in South Carolina. And guilty or not, she was grateful that he was here now.
“Have a seat,” Walder said.
Riley and Bill sat down without a word. Walder didn’t speak for a few moments. He obviously wanted Riley to absorb at least some of the display.
It was a huge, constantly shifting collage of images, news stories, blog posts, and videos—all of them having to do with Hatcher’s escape and the FBI’s failure to catch him so far.
“Upstate New York Lives in Terror of Escaped Prisoner,” read one headline.
“‘Shane the Chain’ at Large and Dangerous,” read another.
“Local Police and Feds Helpless Against Murderous Escapee,” read still another.
Several TV news videos were running, including one that showed law enforcement agents searching the countryside with bloodhounds.
There were sensational tabloid photos of Smokey Moran’s body wrapped in chains. Other photos showed a burly-looking man Riley didn’t recognize. One of the accompanying headlines read, “Sing Sing Delivery Driver Missing and Presumed Dead.” It was, of course, the missing man who had been driving the truck in which Hatcher had escaped.
In the midst of all this, a digital clock display was dizzily running in microseconds … 19:13.80 … 81… 82 … 83…
Riley didn’t need to be told that the clock was counting the time that had gone by since she’d missed her deadline to catch Hatcher. Walder wanted to rub in every passing second.
