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

by Blake Pierce

  Hannah said, “I took her to the back of the cab, we’ve got a mattress there. Poor thing, she was cut up from head to foot, and what few clothes she had on was all tore up. I wrapped her up in a blanket. She was shivering and her teeth was chattering. She went into shock right then and there—and I’m talking deep shock. Never heard her say another word.”

  “We drove her straight to the police, and they brought us all here,” Troy said.

  Riley tried to visualize the scene. A lot of details were missing. Where had the woman come running from? Had she jumped out of a moving vehicle? She hoped that Socorro would soon be coherent enough to tell more of the story.

  “Did you see any vehicles parked nearby?” Bill asked.

  “There was a good-sized car pulled over on the shoulder,” Troy said. “Black, I think. But I didn’t get the make. Guess we should have thought to get the plate number, but everything happened so fast. The car sped away.”

  “That’s all right,” Riley said. “You did everything you could. In fact, I’m sure that you saved that poor woman’s life. When she gets better, I’m sure she’ll want to thank you personally.”

  Bill turned toward Riley. With a look, he was silently asking her if they had further questions. She shook her head no.

  “You may go, Mr. and Mrs. Coddington.” Bill pushed a pad of paper and a pencil across the table toward. “But before you go, please jot down your contact information. And give us a call if you remember more details. Anything at all.”

  After the exchange of information, Bill and Riley escorted the couple out of the interview room. As Troy and Hannah walked away down the hall, Morley stepped out of the adjoining room.

  “I didn’t tell you to let them go,” he grumbled.

  “They told us all they know,” Riley snapped. “Let’s go to the clinic. I want to talk with the woman.”

  “She’s in no condition to talk,” Morley said.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Riley replied.

  As they walked toward the clinic, Riley realized she’d better ease up on her hostility toward Morley. She was tired and jetlagged, and she was letting her crankiness get the best of her. He could still yank her off the case for insubordination. And after her previous suspension, that could spell real trouble for her.

  Try to be civil, she told herself.

  A single male physician was on duty in the clinic. Socorro Barrera, clad in a hospital gown, was sitting upright in a bed. She was holding a silver chain, running it through her fingers, nodding her head monotonously and muttering in Spanish.

  “She’s been like this for hours,” the doctor said. “She was a little more coherent when she first got here. She kept asking about her hijas—her children. She gave us an address. We sent a social worker to look after her kids. They’re there right now. The kids are OK. But she’s been like this ever since.”

  The woman kept muttering and fingering the chain.

  “That chain is evidence,” the doctor said. “We tried to take it, but she won’t let go of it.”

  Riley bent closer to her. Now she could make out what she was saying …

  “Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo …”

  Riley understood right away. In her state of shocked dissociation, Socorro had convinced herself that the necklace was a rosary. She was fingering it and repeating Hail Marys in Spanish.

  Damn it, the doctor ought to have figured that out by now, she thought.

  And now here the poor woman was, surrounded by men except for Riley.

  Riley wanted to yell at the others to get out of the room. But she reminded herself to keep her cool.

  “I’d like a few minutes alone with her, please,” she said.

  The men went out of the room, leaving Riley and Socorro Barrera alone.

  “Socorro,” Riley said in soft voice.

  But the woman just kept fingering the chain.

  “Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores …”

  Riley at her closely. Her face wore the remnants of heavy, colorful makeup—a flamboyant Latina look. But the makeup was all a mess now from tears and sweat and dirt. Socorro was heavily bandaged all over, and she was bruised in many other places.

  Did somebody beat her up? Riley wondered.

  No, these didn’t look like those kinds of wounds. They didn’t come from a fist or a knife. She’d gotten them running, probably through some tough terrain. The truckers had said it was near a town called Luning. The town must have been out on the desert. The woman’s feet were under the bed sheet. Riley guessed that they must have been cut up especially badly.

  “Socorro, me llamo Riley. I know something terrible happened to you. I’m here to help you.”

  The woman kept murmuring her prayer and fingering the chain.

  Riley touched Socorro on her fingers. Socorro stopped moving her fingers and stared into Riley’s eyes. Riley shivered. In all her years as an agent, she’d seldom seen such a frightened look.

  “¿Hablas inglés?” Riley asked. She doubted that her Spanish was good enough to conduct such a delicate interview.

  To Riley’s relief, Socorro nodded.

  Riley fingered the chain herself.

  “This is pretty,” Riley said. “Where did you get it?”

  The whole time Socorro had been fingering the chain, she hadn’t looked at it. Now she did. Her eyes bulged with terror. She fumbled with the chain, taking it off and pushing it into Riley’s hands.

  “Tómalo,” she said. “Take it, please. I don’t want it.”

  Riley held the chain up for her to see.

  “But it’s pretty,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

  Socorro cringed, backing away from Riley, shivering violently.

  “He gave it to me,” she said.

  “Who gave it to you, Socorro?”

  Socorro broke eye contact now, and her eyes began to glaze over again. She was about to slip back into her state of shock. Riley squeezed her hand gently.

  “I want to help,” Riley said. “But you’ve got to talk to me.”

  Riley’s touch and kindly tone brought Socorro back. She looked at Riley again with the eyes of a frightened animal.

  “I was out walking,” she said, in much the same numb voice as when she’d been saying the prayer. “Down on Conover Avenue.”

  “Where the working girls go,” Riley said.

  Socorro nodded. “Yes, but I …”

  Her voice trailed off. Riley patted her hand.

  “It’s OK, Socorro. I’m not here to judge. Nobody’s going to arrest you. Everybody’s on your side. All I want to do is help.”

  Socorro squinted, trying to remember.

  “He had a nice car and he looked like he had money,” she said. “His car was parked and I walked right over to him. I told him I’d like to go with him. Right there in the car if he wanted, I said. But he wanted to go someplace else. He drove way outside of town. To a little motel.”

  Riley remembered the motel that the Coddingtons had mentioned.

  “The Nopal Inn?” she asked.

  Socorro nodded.

  “We went into the room,” she said.

  “Did you have sex there?” Riley asked.

  Socorro shook her head. “No. I was ready to. But I don’t think he could.”

  Riley had suspected that the killer had problems performing sexually. Again she held the necklace for Socorro to see.

  “And he gave this to you,” she said. “Was it in a box?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was the name of a store on the box?”

  Pain showed in Socorro’s face as she tried to remember.

  “I don’t remember. But then he went out to the car, and I got worried, because I knew that another woman was murdered wearing a necklace. I looked and he was getting a rope out of the car.”

  “And then you ran,” Riley said.

  “Sí.”

  The rest of her story was pretty easy to f
ill in. Riley’s earlier guess had been correct. She’d gotten her physical wounds during her escape, running through rough vegetation and across rocky ground. She’d been extraordinarily lucky.

  “What did he look like?” Riley asked.

  Socorro just stared at her as if she didn’t understand the question.

  “Was he tall, short, medium height?” Riley asked.

  Socorro seemed even more confused.

  “Can you remember anything about his face?” Riley asked. “The color of his hair, maybe?”

  Tears formed in Socorro’s eyes. Trembling all over, she shook her head.

  Riley sighed. She understood exactly what was going on. She’d seen this happen with witnesses before. The poor woman was repressing all memories of the man’s appearance. It was simply too painful to remember. They’d have to work with her on retrieving that image, but she might never allow herself to remember.

  Yet again, Riley flashed back to her own captivity with Peterson, and how she’d struggled with those memories.

  Riley couldn’t blame Socorro for blocking it out. Trying to force her to remember would only cause her pain and produce no results.

  “I’m sorry,” Socorro said. “I can’t remember.”

  Riley stroked her hand.

  “It’s all right,” Riley said. “I understand.”

  Tears began to pour down the woman’s face. She started to sob.

  “I thought he was OK. He seemed nice, classy. I thought T.R. was OK.”

  The initials hit Riley like a bullet.

  “T.R.?” she said. “His name was T.R.?”

  “Sí, it was what he called himself.”

  Riley was seized by self-reproach. She remembered what Ruthie had said about the man back at the Iguana Lounge …

  “T.R., he calls himself.”

  T.R. was the name of the man who had frightened the women at the Desert King truck stop. In some part of her mind, Riley had been hoping that the suspect that she and Bill had failed to catch that night wasn’t the real killer. But now there could be no mistake about it.

  If only we’d caught him, Riley thought. If only we hadn’t let him get away.

  And now, after his bungled attack on Socorro, Riley knew exactly what to expect.

  He was going to strike again soon—if he hadn’t already.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  It was morning, and the man was driving along the familiar stretch of Conover Avenue. He didn’t see any of the usual streetwalkers—nor did he expect to, not at this hour. The truth was, he didn’t know what to expect, or what he hoped to do.

  He was exhausted. And he hated to admit it even to himself, but he was scared.

  The whole thing with Socorro late last night had been a disaster. For the first time, a woman he had targeted escaped his clutches. And where was she now?

  After he’d pulled up beside her, she had run out into the highway and seemed about to be run down by a truck. He’d driven away fast, but then had turned off the highway and stopped to see what had happened. She’d watched a woman help Socorro into the truck.

  Why couldn’t the bitch have been killed? he thought.

  He’d tried to follow the truck, but quickly got separated from it in traffic. So where had she gone next? Had the truckers taken her to the police? Had she told the police that a man had tried to kill her?

  No, he wouldn’t let himself believe that. A whore, turning to the police for help? Surely not.

  All the same, he wasn’t sure he was thinking things through rationally. He’d barely slept last night, despite taking a strong sedative. He’d kept awakening himself with his own curses of frustration.

  And now here he was—hoping to do what? Did he seriously think that he’d find Socorro here this morning? No, but maybe he could get some clue as to where to find her. And he really needed to find her, before she talked. If she hadn’t talked already. He needed to finish the job he’d failed to do last night.

  It angered and upset him that killing her would be no pleasure. He’d never killed from necessity before. If only the others he had selected hadn’t gotten into the news. If only he’d been able to keep them his own personal secret.

  Damned publicity, he thought.

  It was the last thing he’d wanted, but now he was stuck with it.

  He saw a woman walking his way—a streetwalker, there was no mistaking her for anything else.

  He rolled down his window and called out to her.

  “Hey, I wonder if you could help me.”

  The woman turned and smiled and walked toward his car.

  “Anything you’d like, pal,” she said.

  As she came toward him, he thought he recognized her face. Where had he seen her before. He thought it might have been at one of those truck stops, maybe. Hank’s Derby. Or the Desert King.

  She seemed to recognize him too, and her smile disappeared.

  “I’m looking for a girl named Socorro,” he said. “Could you help me find her?”

  The hooker didn’t reply. She wheeled around and walked away from him.

  “I owe her money,” he called out. “I didn’t have enough on me last night, and I don’t want to shortchange her. She gave me a great time.”

  The woman didn’t seem to be listening. She’d gotten out her cell phone and appeared to be making a call.

  Determined to ignore me, he thought. What’s the matter with that stupid whore?

  Just then he was startled by a loud tap-tap on his passenger window. A girl he’d never seen before was tapping on the glass.

  He lowered the window.

  “How about giving me a ride, mister?” the girl said.

  She was a slender blonde, and she was wearing a backpack. He smiled at her. He was pleased that she’d approached him. It was the first thing that had gone right so far today.

  “Do you know Socorro?” he asked.

  The girl shrugged and grinned.

  “Sure. We go way back, Socorro and me.”

  “Then get in,” he said. He unlocked the passenger door, and the girl plopped herself inside.

  “So tell me about Socorro,” he said.

  “Hey, give me a ride first,” the girl said. “I don’t care where. To the edge of town, maybe. Anywhere.”

  He wondered if she really knew Socorro at all. But maybe it didn’t matter. She was a obviously a hooker, or she wouldn’t be walking alone in this neighborhood. She’d serve his purposes nicely.

  Yes, she was exactly what he needed right now. She’d get his mind off of Socorro. He’d have his fun with her. And she was so charmingly unsuspecting. She really had no idea.

  As he pulled away from the curb, he heard somebody shouting behind him. He couldn’t make out the words. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the other older hooker chasing after his car, waving an arm and yelling.

  The crazy bitch, he thought.

  She’d deliberately ignored him, and now she was mad that he was driving off with someone else.

  To hell with her, he thought.

  She’d missed her chance. And she had no idea how lucky she was.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Riley was still in the FBI clinic when an assistant informed her that she was being called to the conference room. Morley wanted to talk to both Bill and Riley.

  Grill us is more like it, Riley thought with dread.

  Meanwhile, she wasn’t at all happy with how Socorro had been treated so far.

  She snapped at the male doctor, “Call the social worker who’s with Socorro’s kids at home. Bring the kids here. They need their mother, and she needs them. When Socorro’s better, get them all to a shelter where they’ll all be safe.”

  The doctor gave Riley a condescending smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Jesus, Riley thought. The last thing Socorro needs right now is this patriarchal pig.

  “And get a female nurse in here to take care of Socorro,” she said. “Get two female nurses. And you—make
yourself as scarce as possible.”

  The doctor repeated, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Riley’s blood boiled. But now was no time to lose her temper. She headed straight for the conference room, where Morley and Bill were waiting.

  “Did you get any information from the woman in the clinic?” Morley asked.

  “The man at the Desert King was our guy for sure,” Riley said. “He calls himself T.R.”

  “And you two lost him,” Morley said, glaring at Riley.

  Riley gulped hard.

  Bill said, “Yes, sir. We did. It won’t happen again.”

  “Did she give you anything else?” Morley asked Riley.

  Riley shook her head.

  “She’s repressing any details. She couldn’t give me a physical description at all.”

  Morley drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Maybe we should have her hypnotized,” he said.

  Riley breathed slowly. She didn’t like the idea at all. But given Morley’s present mood, she had to state her objections coolly.

  “Sir, with due respect, how often has hypnosis worked out for you in the past? In my experience, all it does is get a witness to confabulate. It’s like any kind of recovered memory—extremely unreliable. Anyway, now is not the time. All we’d do is cause her further trauma without getting information.”

  Morley nodded reluctantly.

  “So we’ve got precisely nothing,” he said.

  Neither Bill nor Riley replied. Riley’s phone buzzed. She saw that the call was from Ruthie Lapham, the woman who ran the Iguana Lounge at the Desert King truck stop.

  “I’d better take this,” Riley said to Morley and Bill.

  She retreated to the far side of the room to talk to Ruthie.

  “Ruthie, what’s going on?”

  Ruthie sounded breathless and upset.

  “Agent Paige, he’s got a girl. T.R.’s taken a girl.”

  “What?” Riley asked. “Who? How do you know?”

  Ruthie said nothing for a few seconds. She seemed to be trying to collect herself.

  “Maybe you remember Jewel,” Ruthie said. “She’s the woman who stopped you in my bar.”

  A sour taste rose in Riley’s mouth. She remembered how Jewel had blocked her way just when the suspect had been in sight. Flanked by two other women, Jewel had ruined everything.