by Blake Pierce
“Yeah, I remember Jewel,” Riley said.
“Well, Jewel was just now working on Conover Avenue. It’s not usual for a working girl to go out on a morning, but Jewel needed cash, and the girls on Conover can get real territorial at night, so morning was the best she could do, and …”
“Please get to the point, Ruthie,” Riley said.
She heard Ruthie take a deep breath.
“Jewel saw this girl on the street, not more than fourteen, wearing a backpack, probably a runaway looking for a ride. Jewel told the girl she was in a bad neighborhood, tried to talk her into going home, but she wouldn’t. Jewel didn’t get her name. That very same minute, T.R. rolls up in a big car, and yells out to Jewel something about a girl named Socorro.”
The names piqued Riley’s attention.
Ruthie continued, “Well, I’d told the girls ’round here that T.R. was dangerous, and to call me if they ever see him. So Jewel got on the phone to me right away. But while she and I were talking, she saw that poor girl climb into T.R.’s car. Jewel ran after them yelling, but T.R. drove away and didn’t stop.”
Riley’s heart was beating faster now.
“Did Jewel get a license number?” Riley asked.
Ruthie let out an irritated sigh.
“Well, no, she did not. You might have noticed, Jewel’s not too smart even for a hooker, which is really saying something. I asked her, and she said she didn’t even think of it. She said it was a big car, though—a Buick or a Cadillac or a BMW, something like that.”
Riley thought fast about what to do next.
“Can you get in touch with Jewel?” she asked.
“Sure, I can call her right now.”
Riley was about to suggest that Ruthie tell Jewel to go to the police. But of course, a hooker wasn’t going to do that.
Finally Riley said, “Tell Jewel to come out to your bar right away. Do you think she’ll do that?”
“Sure, if I tell her to,” Ruthie said.
“Good. Keep her there until I can send an agent out to talk to her. Surely she can remember something more.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Ruthie said.
Riley ended the call and hurried right over to Bill and Morley.
“The suspect has been spotted. A hooker saw him cruising along Conover Avenue. He picked up a young girl with a backpack—probably just a teen runaway, not a streetwalker.”
Morley’s expression looked doubtful.
“That doesn’t sound like his MO,” he said.
Riley didn’t say so, but she couldn’t disagree. Abduction wasn’t this man’s style, nor was taking any woman who wasn’t a prostitute. She’d never have predicted that he’d snatch up a teen runaway.
But Bill said, “I’m not surprised. He’s getting sloppy, and he let things get out of control last night. He’s liable to start doing things differently. He also might start making more mistakes.”
This made good sense to Riley.
“Well, right now he’s got a girl,” she said, “so we’ve got no time to lose. The hooker’s name is Jewel. She’ll be at the Iguana Lounge at the Desert King truck stop. I need to get out there to talk to her.”
Morley said, “We can send an agent to get her statement.”
“I need to see her myself. You should put out an APB for the car.”
“For what?” Morley scoffed. “Buick? Cadillac? BMW?”
“I don’t know. For a big dark car leaving Conover Avenue.”
“That’s too vague to do any good.”
“Something needs to do us some good,” Riley snapped.
A knock on the conference room door interrupted the argument.
“Come in,” Morley said.
A familiar shock of closely cropped rainbow-colored hair popped through the door. It was Igraine, the technopagan technician. She looked eager and excited.
“I’ve got a feeling maybe the Uber-Spirit is smiling,” she said, coming into the room.
“What have you got, Igraine?” Morley asked.
“Well, Agent Paige, you said it was likely that our killer was HIV positive. And I said that it wouldn’t be easy finding him among ten thousand local patients. But you also mentioned that he might be taking drugs illicitly. Actually, that seems pretty likely to me, doesn’t it to you?”
Riley thought for a moment. Their profile, after all, was of a successful, educated man. Such a man might be very anxious to keep his condition a secret.
“It makes sense to me,” Riley said.
Igraine said, “I did some searching and ran across a cop who has been investigating thefts of drugs from hospitals. Some of them are HIV medicines. The cop told me that we should get in touch a certain Dr. Gordon Poole. He’s offered his services to help the police on cases like that. Does everything pro bono. He could have lots of information.”
Morley nodded with approval.
“I know Gordon,” he said. “A very well-respected man, an infectious disease specialist. He’s offered us his expertise on several cases. Paige, Jeffreys, you should go talk to him right now. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”
“That could be helpful,” Bill said.
“And,” Morley said firmly to Riley, “I will send an agent to get this Jewel’s statement.”
Riley stifled a retort and went out the door.
Chapter Thirty Five
A little while later, Riley and Bill arrived at Dr. Gordon Poole’s house.
This isn’t where I’m needed, Riley thought.
Still, Bill had persuaded her to follow orders.
Poole had told Morley that he wouldn’t be in his office today, and had suggested that Bill and Riley visit him at home.
It was a big, modern, single-story home spread across a wide green lawn. The front yard was adorned with hedges and leafy trees. Unlike the little patches of green she had seen in some Phoenix neighborhoods, the lawns here were expansive, their wealthy owners pointedly ignoring the desert beneath the city.
They were greeted at the door by a cheerful but rather tired-looking man of about forty. Dr. Gordon Poole had thinning hair and a boyish face with an open, kindly expression.
“Gosh, I hadn’t expected you so soon!” he said. “Come on in!”
Riley was slightly amused. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a grown man say “gosh.” The expression struck her as delightfully quaint.
Poole escorted them into a comfortable, carpeted living room and invited them to sit down.
“It’s some hot weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Dr. Poole said. “Maybe the two of you would like some fresh-squeezed lemonade. I always keep some in the fridge, and I like to share it when I can. Please say yes!”
Riley was utterly charmed by his smile and the innocent twinkle in his eye.
“I’d love some,” she said.
“I would too,” Bill said.
“Excellent!” Dr. Poole said. He disappeared into the kitchen.
Bill sat down on the sofa, but Riley was drawn to a cluster of family photographs hanging on one wall. They all showed Dr. Poole sharing happy moments with children—his kids, Riley felt pretty sure. In one, Dr. Poole and a boy of about twelve were holding a huge fish they’d just caught. In another, Dr. Poole was beaming over a little girl dressed up as a honeybee.
Must be a Halloween costume, Riley thought. Or maybe for a school play.
Her musings were interrupted when Dr. Poole came back. He was carrying a tray with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.
“I see you’ve discovered my kids,” he said.
Riley heard a world of warmth and pride in his voice.
“I take it they’re at school right now,” Riley said.
A pang of sadness flashed across his face.
“I’m afraid they don’t live with me,” he said. “Their mother and I are divorced. Have been for four years now.”
Riley felt embarrassed to have touched on such a sensitive subject.
“I’m sorry,”
she said.
“Oh, gosh, don’t be!” he said, his boyish smile returning. “It was perfectly amicable. She’s a lawyer, got a job in Connecticut she couldn’t refuse. My roots here are deep, and I couldn’t just pick up and leave.”
The doctor looked a bit uncomfortable, standing there still holding the tray. Riley wondered if having strangers gawking at his family portraits was making him uneasy.
Then he turned and headed for a pair of doors that stood open on the other side of the room.
“Let’s take our drinks out back, sit by the pool,” he said. “It’s a shame to waste a beautiful day like this.”
Riley and Bill followed him out to a pleasant terrace beside a large pool surrounded by landscaped gardens. Dr. Poole set the tray down on a deck table and closed the doors behind them.
As he poured lemonade and handed each of them a glass, he continued his comments about his family.
“Still, it’s tough having the kids on the other side of the country most of the time. But we still do a lot together. I never miss a chance to spend time with them.”
“Well, I could see that your kids adore you, Dr. Poole,” Riley said.
“And I adore them,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, I don’t much like being called ‘Dr. Poole.’ Gordon or Gordy is the usual thing, even with people who don’t know me really well.” Then with a chuckle he added, “If you really must be formal, ‘Dr. Gordy’ will be OK.”
Riley laughed. She liked this man more by the minute. She saw signs of weariness in his face and she could understand why. A man as kindly and dedicated as he seemed to be must put in very long hours. She could relate to that.
Riley found the setting to be quite idyllic. Still, she had trouble getting quite comfortable. All this luxury seemed so far away from the world she’d been immersed in during the last few days—a world of pimps, prostitutes, and killers. She felt vaguely guilty just being here.
“I can access everything we want to know right here,” Dr. Poole said, opening up a laptop computer that was on the table.
Bill said, “We understand that you’ve been helping the police investigate drug thefts from hospitals. Chief Morley says you do that kind of thing pro bono. That’s very generous of you.”
Dr. Poole shrugged modestly.
“Well, it’s the least I can do. Phoenix has been good to me, as you can see. I like to give something back whenever I can. And the theft of HIV drugs—well, that deeply troubles me, and I feel like it’s a personal issue. And Elgin tells me that you think this serial killer might be HIV positive and stealing drugs for himself.”
“That’s right,” Riley said. “Have you got any suspects in this spate of medicine thefts?”
Dr. Poole squinted at the computer screen.
“As a matter of fact, I’m narrowing it down to just a few,” he said. “There’s one in particular that …”
He paused for a moment.
“I’m not sure I should give you this information,” he said.
“Why not?” Bill asked.
“Well, the person in question is a rising administrator in a Phoenix hospital. He might be the man you’re looking for. But the evidence is still thin. And to be perfectly honest, I hope I’m wrong.”
Dr. Poole shook his head worriedly.
“I’d hate to ruin an innocent man’s reputation. Still, I’m sure that Elgin will know how to handle this.”
He took a pad of paper out of his pocket and jotted something down.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll write down his name right here, and you can pass it along to Elgin. I’ll leave the whole matter to his discretion.”
He handed Bill the paper. Riley and Bill thanked him for his time and left his house. While Riley drove them back to headquarters, and Bill called the name in to Morley.
*
When Riley and Bill got back to the FBI building, they found Morley pacing in agitation.
“Dr. Poole’s tip didn’t pan out,” he said. “The man’s been on vacation for two weeks, at a beach resort in Mexico. There’s no way he could have committed these recent murders. Of course, Dr. Poole couldn’t have known that. We need to keep him in the loop in case he has any other ideas.”
Morley stopped pacing and glared at Riley and Bill. He said, “It seems to me that we’re no closer to closing this case than we were when you two got here.”
Riley was about to snap out a reply about all the work they’d put in, but she stopped herself. She could hear Bill smother a growl. Neither of them wanted to escalate their tensions with Morley.
The buzzing of her cell phone was a welcome interruption to the silence.
She didn’t recognize the number calling her, but she knew the voice on the line very well. It was Shane Hatcher, a prisoner in Sing Sing Correctional Facility who had been very helpful in their last case.
“You need to talk to me,” Hatcher said. “About the case you’re working on out there in Phoenix.”
“Good,” she replied. “I could use some fresh ideas. Fire away.”
“Oh no, not over the phone. You know I’ve got to get something out of the deal. An in-person visit is a requirement—a prerequisite, you might say, for my expertise in matters such as this.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I feel sure that you can make it possible, Agent Paige. I have complete confidence in your powers of persuasion. After all, you persuaded the last man you and I discussed to slit his own throat.”
Riley was silent for a moment. She found it disturbing that this man who was locked away always seemed to know so much. But right now, she would welcome any source of light on this case.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and hung up.
She realized that Morley and Bill were both looking at her in expectation.
“That was Shane Hatcher,” she said.
“No kidding?” Bill said. He told Morley who Shane Hatcher was, and about Riley’s unusual relationship with him.
Riley said, “He won’t tell me anything over the phone. I’ll have to go there.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Morley sputtered. “Sing Sing is in Upstate New York.”
“The BAU plane is still at the airport,” Riley said. “That will be the fastest way for me to get there and back.”
“You have work to do here,” Morley exploded. “You can’t just drop your job every time you get a notion to do something else.”
Riley saw Morley’s face redden. She knew that he had just stopped himself from saying that he wouldn’t authorize the trip. She had ignored his authority before, and he wouldn’t want to put himself in that position again.
“I’ll get back as soon as I can,” Riley said as she left the room.
Her mind was already focused on the man locked up in Sing Sing—the most dangerous man she had ever known.
If anyone could unlock this case, she knew, it would be him, with his uncanny perceptions about serial killers.
But at what price?
Chapter Thirty Six
Riley spent the next morning on the FBI jet headed for Upstate New York. The day was almost half gone by the time she walked into the little visiting room at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. She’d been here before, but hadn’t expected to come here again.
It wasn’t a visit she was happy to make.
And there he was—the murderer Shane Hatcher, sitting at the visiting table waiting for her. He was a middle-aged African-American, strong in body and in will, and extremely intelligent. Riley felt deep down that he was the most dangerous human being she had ever met.
Hatcher had been last night’s caller, the man who had cryptically said …
“You need to talk to me.”
From past experience, Riley knew that she should take him at his word.
She sat down across the table from him. As always, he was clad in a dark green jumpsuit and wearing small-framed reading glasses.
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
“No i
t hasn’t,” Riley said.
In fact, she’d visited him twice last month. On Mike Nevins’s advice, she’d come to Hatcher for his insights into the chain killer’s mind.
In his youth, Hatcher had been a ruthless gangbanger who specialized in killing with chains. After he had beaten a cop to an unrecognizable pulp and left the body on his porch for his wife and kids to find, Hatcher had been convicted and sent to Sing Sing. He’d been here ever since. He’d probably be here for the rest of his life.
That was fine with Riley. The truth was, she didn’t think Hatcher deserved to live—no more than Derrick Caldwell had deserved to live. She’d even said that to his face once, to his obvious delight.
But she couldn’t deny that he was a valuable resource. Over the years, he’d given himself a thorough education in criminology. In fact, he was now an acknowledged expert in the field. He’d published a number of scholarly articles, which was how he’d come to Mike Nevins’s attention.
“You said you can help me,” she said.
“I helped you out last time, didn’t I?” Hatcher said.
Riley nodded. “How did you find out about the case?”
Hatcher shrugged and smiled.
“How do you think? Newspapers. TV. The Internet.”
Riley looked at him skeptically.
“And you think you can help me, based just on media coverage?”
He didn’t reply, just kept smiling at her.
“You want a favor for helping me, of course,” Riley said.
“Of course.”
“What do you want?”
He let out a sinister chuckle. “Merely the pleasure of your company,” he said.
The words made Riley’s skin crawl. Locked up though he might be, she couldn’t help thinking of him as a stalker. Was he obsessed with her? Was yesterday’s call just a ruse? Did he have any intention of helping her at all?
She was determined to stay focused on the matter at hand.
“There’s been a new development in the case,” she said. “Our killer seems to have picked up a young girl. We don’t know whether she’s alive.”
Hatcher tilted his head with interest.
