Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3)

by Blake Pierce

  Unfortunately, someone on his staff had indiscreetly emailed a friend about the discovery, and word of it went viral almost immediately. The media quickly descended upon Lake Gaffney. Right now the cops had taped off the area and were doing everything they could to keep reporters and television crews as far away as possible.

  “She’s given birth,” Garrett Holbrook said to Bill and Riley, pointing to stretch marks on the victim’s belly. “And she looks older than Nancy.”

  Riley could see that he was right. She added, “Both had been bound at the wrists. This time he didn’t bother remove the rope.”

  Bill carefully took the necklace from the woman’s neck and put it into an evidence bag.

  “The earlier body wore a ring with a diamond,” he said. “This woman’s wearing a necklace—a pretty expensive one, also with a diamond. All of this sure looks like a recurring pattern.”

  Riley agreed. Right now a photo of the necklace was all over the Internet. Fortunately, no pictures showing the whole body had been posted.

  She called out to the county medical examiner, who was standing nearby with his team.

  “You can take her away now.”

  The examiner and his team obediently zipped up the bag and started to take it to their vehicle.

  Riley stepped away from her colleagues and looked around where they stood. Beyond the hills and patches of dull green surrounding the lake, everything was just dry land and scrubby grass and brush. Saguaro cactus stood here and there like sentinels. Things looked much more alive out on the lake. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the water seemed crystal clear and blue. She could see that the marina across the lake was quite busy. Doubtless people in the village over there were going about their ordinary recreations.

  Some boaters out on the water kept trying to veer close to get a look at what was going on here. Lake security busily waved them away.

  It was a handsome lake, but from what the diving team leader had told her the other day, she knew that this appearance was deceptive. The depths of lakes like these were dark with sod and soot.

  Just like this case, Riley thought.

  Fessler had brought the body ashore where they stood now. It had apparently been dropped into the water from a nearby low cliff. But around most of this lake, the hills tapered gradually to the water’s edge. The killer must have known the area well to find one of the few places where he could drop a body directly down and expect it to sink into the water. The killer had clearly been to both lakes before. He was familiar with the territory. He was likely to be a recreational boater, much like those out there now.

  Riley’s cell phone buzzed. She saw that the call was from Quentin Rosner, the head of the diving team. She’d been putting a lot of pressure on him to keep on searching, despite his insistence that there was no second body in Nimbo Lake. Now she didn’t know what kind of news to hope for from him.

  “What have you got for me, Mr. Rosner?” she said.

  “Agent Paige,” he began.

  Then he hesitated.

  “We’ve found a body,” he said.

  Riley’s heart quickened.

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  “One of my divers found a skull in an underwater grotto. There’s a whole skeleton there, inside a black plastic bag. It looks like a woman. She must have been killed some years ago, long enough for the flesh to completely decompose. But the skeleton is pretty solid. We might be able to identify her from dental records.”

  Riley asked, “Was there any jewelry on the body?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll check,” Rosner replied.

  Just then Riley heard Agent Holbrook call out for her and Bill.

  “Good work, Rosner,” she said. “I’ve got to go.”

  Agent Holbrook was looking at his smart phone as Riley and Bill walked toward him.

  “I just got some news from the division,” Holbrook said. “They forwarded this to me.”

  Holbrook showed Bill and Riley an image on his smartphone. It was a selfie of a smiling woman holding a necklace. It looked like she was standing in a bathroom. Riley immediately recognized the woman as the victim whose body had just been found. And the necklace looked exactly like the one Bill had just removed from her naked corpse.

  “Where did this come from?” Riley asked Holbrook.

  “A woman who calls herself Snowflake called the police tip hotline,” Holbrook said. “She said that her friend Chiffon sent her this picture with a text message yesterday afternoon. Chiffon’s text said that a ‘gentleman’ had just given it to her, and that they’d had a ‘moment,’ and that she’d call Snowflake with more details soon.”

  “Let me guess,” Riley said. “Chiffon never got back in touch with Snowflake.”

  Holbrook nodded. “That’s right. And Snowflake got worried. And this morning, Snowflake saw the necklace all over the Internet. She felt sure that Chiffon must be the victim.”

  Riley was processing this information.

  Snowflake and Chiffon, she thought. They sound like prostitute names. And Nancy Holbrook was an escort who called herself Nanette.

  “Did Snowflake say anything else?” Bill put in.

  “Yeah, she said that she and Chiffon both worked at a place in Phoenix called the Kinetic Custom Gym. She said we should talk to a guy there called Jaybird.”

  Riley started walking toward the FBI helicopter.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  Riley thought that the Kinetic Custom Gym definitely looked like a front for a brothel. The place was seedy and rundown, even more so than the rest of this rough-looking neighborhood. A “CLOSED” sign hung in the door, but she was sure the place was actually open for a different kind of business.

  The car she and Bill arrived in was the only vehicle in the parking lot. When they got out and walked toward the building, they could see some exercise machines through the front windows. The only person is sight was a man seated inside at the front desk. He was poring over a copy of Scientific American. Riley guessed that this was Jaybird—the man the tipster named Snowflake had said they should talk to. And Riley was sure that he was a pimp.

  Whether he was the killer they sought was another question.

  Bill was about to pull out his badge to display it through the window.

  “Not yet,” Riley said.

  She wanted to get just a little sense of the man before he found out who they were. She smiled pleasantly and rapped on the window. The man looked up from his magazine. She waved as though she and Bill were just a pair of customers wanting to check the place out.

  The man pointed at the CLOSED sign and started reading again. Riley rapped on the window again, still smiling. The man looked back up at her, realizing that she and Bill weren’t going away.

  He got up and walked toward the door. He was blond and about thirty—a short, muscular man who swaggered as he walked, with his fists clenched at his side. Riley could read a lot in his stride. She sensed that he’d experienced a lot of violence in his life, and that he could dish it out when he needed to—or wanted to.

  Could this be our guy? she wondered. It started to seem more likely.

  The man unlocked the door and poked his head outside.

  “Closed,” he said. “Can’t you read the sign?”

  Smiling as charmingly as ever, Riley pointed to the hours listed on the glass door.

  She said, “Yeah, but according to this, you should be open. We just want to look around.”

  “I don’t think so,” the man said.

  It was time to drop the pretense. Riley flashed her badge.

  “I’m Agent Paige, and this is my partner, Agent Jeffreys.”

  The man’s face broke into an impish smile. If he was the least bit fazed, he didn’t show it.

  “FBI, huh?” he said. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Come on in.”

  Bill and Riley stepped inside.

  Riley glanced around, taking note of the decre
pit machinery—treadmills, a rowing machine, two weight machines. The smell was stale and stagnant. She also noted the overall space of this front area and realized there must be plenty of room in back to conduct illicit services.

  “Are you the man people call Jaybird?” Bill asked.

  “That’s me,” the man said. “But I guess you need my real name for, like, official purposes. I’m Jerome Kehoe.”

  He was pointedly not offering Bill and Riley a seat, not making any effort to make them comfortable. Even so, he maintained an outward show of hospitality.

  “You know, you’re just the people I want to talk to right now. I mean, you’re in law enforcement. That means you’re interested in questions of free will, right? Because I sure as hell am.”

  Jaybird picked up the magazine and waved it at them.

  “This article says that scientists have all but proved that our whole reality is just a computer simulation,” he said, his words pouring out very rapidly. “I mean look around you, look at everything you see, smell, taste, touch. It’s all just VR in some big-assed giant mainframe.”

  Riley could see that he was giving them quite a tap dance with this nonsensical fast talk. But she detected that his interest was more than half genuine. He was intelligent, even philosophical.

  She was also sure that he was emotionally volatile—extremely so. She guessed that his hyperactivity was periodically interrupted by emotional crashes, marked by terrible rages. Even murderous rages, she felt sure.

  Above all else, he was good at conning people, keeping them off balance, manipulating them. If she and Bill didn’t stay on their toes, they might well leave this place with nothing but a year-long membership to a nonexistent gym.

  He continued, “I mean, think about the ontological implications of that shit, for the kind of work you guys do. Because, like, if I commit a crime, but it’s preprogrammed in some kind of omnipotent God machine, am I really guilty? Am I responsible for my own goddamn behavior? Are you? Is anybody? Because that’s an interesting question, huh?”

  Riley knew better than to get drawn into any discussion. It was time to get to the point.

  “We’d like to know where you were and what you were doing last night,” she said.

  “Like, what time?” Jaybird said.

  “Between sunset and dawn,” Bill put in.

  Jaybird grunted a little impatiently. “That covers a lot of hours. And my nights can get kind of busy, if you know what I mean. And I don’t sleep. I never sleep. I’m always out and around. So it’s a tough question. Now I’m not a constitutional scholar, but I’m pretty sure you’re not here to arrest me, but even so, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to answer any questions. Correct me if I’m wrong. Am I wrong?”

  Riley abruptly held up her cell phone to show him the selfie of Chiffon.

  “This is one of your girls, isn’t it?” Riley asked.

  Riley could tell by his expression that she’d finally succeeded in catching him off balance. He knew better than to try to lie.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Chiffon’s her name. She works here.”

  “In what capacity?” Bill asked.

  Jaybird shrugged.

  “She gives massages,” he said. “I’ve got girls here who do that. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “Nobody said there was,” Bill said with an ironic edge. “Did my partner say there was something wrong with it? Did I say there was something wrong with it? Who said there was anything wrong with it?”

  Riley enjoyed watching Bill take a go at the guy, playing him at his own game. She sensed that Jaybird was starting to get a little intimidated. Jaybird might be tough, but Bill was larger and equally imposing.

  I’ll just let Bill run with this for a while, she thought.

  “Naw, nobody said that,” Jaybird said. “Chiffon’s not here, though.”

  “We know that,” Bill said. “She’s dead.”

  Jaybird said nothing. Riley didn’t know what to make of his reaction—or lack of it. Maybe Bill could read him better.

  At that moment, her cell phone buzzed. She stepped away from Bill and Jaybird to take the call. It was Elgin Morley calling from headquarters. Riley could hear Bill and Jaybird talking during the phone call.

  “Agent Paige, we’ve had a bit of luck,” Morley said. “We ran a search on dental records for the skull that was found this morning, and we got a match right away. The victim’s name was Marsha Kramer. Her family reported her missing three years ago. She was in college when she disappeared.”

  “Could you text me a photo of her?” Riley asked.

  “I’ll do that right away,” Morley said.

  As Riley waited, she heard Bill and Jaybird continuing their little verbal tug-of-war. Bill was trying to get him to say more about Chiffon, without much success. Riley needed to get back into the conversation.

  The photo of Marsha Kramer came through.

  Riley thanked Morley and ended the call. She walked over to Bill and Jaybird, displaying the photo.

  “How about this girl?” Riley asked. “Do you know her?”

  Jaybird didn’t say anything, but she could see a flash of recognition in his eyes.

  Bill said, “Jaybird—Mr. Kehoe—let’s stop playing games here. We don’t have a warrant, but we won’t have trouble getting one. Things will go better for you if you just cooperate.”

  “Yeah, I remember her,” Jaybird said. “It’s been a long time, though. Years, maybe. I don’t remember her real good. Honest, I don’t. Maybe my wife could help.”

  Jaybird turned and walked toward a door leading into the back part of the building. Riley trotted right after him, determined not to let him out of her sight. Jaybird made no effort to stop her. She heard Bill’s footsteps right behind her.

  On their way into the back of the building, they passed an open door. Riley stopped and looked inside. The room was a sauna, with cedar paneling and wooden risers. But it wasn’t in use now, and it probably hadn’t been for years.

  Instead, the room now seemed to be a rest area for the women who worked here. Six of them were in there now, scantily clothed, of a mix of races. None of them was attractive, and all of them looked tired, ill, and listless.

  Riley shuddered deeply. An image flashed in her mind, Peterson’s dark cage, and his propane flame. She wasn’t sure why it came to mind just now. She shook off the memory. There was work to do.

  “These are my massage girls,” Jaybird said. “And if you’ve got time, you can get a free massage.” Pointedly to Riley, he added, “You too. But I guess you’re on duty. Well, maybe some other time.”

  Riley knew that this wasn’t a bluff—at least not exactly. If she or Bill asked, any of these women was prepared give them at least a crude rudiment of a massage. Still, she was pretty sure that none of the women was certified or even trained.

  Jaybird led them back into a corridor of curtained cubicles, where clients surely got their services. Privacy was obviously not a priority in a low-rent operation like this.

  The corridor ended at the back entrance. A woman in her twenties was sitting at a desk watching a small television and chewing gum. She was dressed just like the other women, and her expression was similarly vacant. Riley felt pretty sure that clients used this back entrance instead of the front, and that this woman was a receptionist of sorts.

  “This is my wife, Chrissy,” Jaybird told Riley and Bill. “Chrissy, I’ve got a couple of FBI agents here.”

  Chrissy looked worried.

  “Don’t worry, they come in peace,” Jaybird said with a chuckle. “They’ve just got some questions.”

  Riley wondered whether Jaybird and Chrissy were really married. Neither wore a wedding ring. Whatever their actual relationship was, Riley was pretty sure it wasn’t the least bit exclusive.

  “They’ve got bad news about Chiffon, though,” Jaybird told her. “They say she’s dead.”

  Chrissy gasped. Riley sensed that she must have known the victim well.

&nb
sp; “Who killed her?” Chrissy asked.

  The words struck Riley as revealing—not “How did she die?” but “Who killed her?”

  Before Riley could reply, Jaybird chortled and said, “Well, if you listen to these two, you might think it was me. They say it was last night. But you know it wasn’t me, don’t you, Chrissy?’

  Chrissy smiled weakly.

  “It sure wasn’t Jaybird,” she said. “I know what he was doing last night.”

  “Yeah, Chrissy knows,” Jaybird said with a coarse laugh. “She can tell you some details, let me tell you. Not all of it would be appropriate for the lady, though,” he added, indicating Riley again.

  “I had a bad feeling about her,” Chrissy said. “She’d sometimes go a long time without coming in to work, but this time felt different somehow. Does her husband know?”

  The question took Riley slightly aback. She could see that Bill had the same reaction.

  “She was married?” Bill asked.

  “Yeah, her husband does something that’s got to do with computers,” Chrissy said. “She has—had—three children.”

  Chrissy shrugged and added, “She didn’t have to work here. I mean, she didn’t need the money. She was just bored.”

  Riley took note of the glances Chrissy kept exchanging with Jaybird. She was taking care not to say anything he didn’t want her to say. He was giving her all kinds of scowls, nods, and squints as nonverbal cues. Still, at this point, Jaybird didn’t seem worried about what Riley and Bill knew about the business. It certainly wasn’t much of a secret. And after all, they weren’t here to bust him.

  He might have other worries, though, Riley thought.

  She couldn’t yet decide whether he was the killer.

  Riley said, “Chiffon wasn’t her real name, though, was it, Chrissy?”

  Chrissy shook her head. “It was Gretchen something. Oh, yeah. Gretchen Lovick.”

  Riley showed her the picture of the woman who had just been identified, Marsha Kramer.

  “Did you know this girl?” she asked Chrissy.

  Chrissy knitted her eyebrows as she tried to remember.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “It was a long time ago. She called herself Ginger. I never knew her real name. I figured she’d died. I mean, maybe she didn’t have long to live. She—”