by Blake Pierce
As she got out of her car and walked toward the building, her phone buzzed again. This time the text was from Brent Meredith. And it was as terse and blunt as could be.
Get in my office. Now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Riley felt a burst of panic. The chief’s text sounded angry and she didn’t like to even think of all the reasons why he might be mad at her. One big question pushed its way into her mind. Had Meredith found out about her communications with Hatcher?
She continued into the BAU building, wondering what she was on her way to. If Meredith knew that she had just been exchanging messages with a dangerous criminal on the FBI’s most wanted list, he would be much, much more than just angry.
Riley had already been officially reprimanded for her relationship with Hatcher. She had failed to apprehend him more than once, and she knew that her failure was due to her own reluctance even more than to Hatcher’s cunning.
Nobody at the BAU—not even Bill—knew that Hatcher had helped her with her last case in Seattle. Surely no one knew that he had contacted her today about her father’s cabin.
Or maybe she was wrong.
Maybe Meredith had found out.
Maybe Meredith even knew about her phone contact with Hatcher just now.
Steady, Riley told herself. Don’t get paranoid.
But it was less a feeling of paranoia than of guilt.
She knew it was wrong to maintain her contact with Hatcher, let alone get deeper and deeper into whatever this relationship was turning into. The criminal had said that he wanted to work with her. She found the idea mystifying.
It was also wrong to conceal it from the colleagues who most trusted her.
And maybe it was right if she got into trouble for it.
She approached Meredith’s office with bated breath. But as she got nearer, she was surprised to hear laughter pouring out of the open door.
When Riley reached the doorway and looked inside, she saw Bill and Meredith standing there and laughing. Another man stood with his back toward her. But she recognized the short, sturdy physique at a glance.
“Jake!” she shouted.
Jake Crivaro turned toward her with a wide grin. They hugged each other.
Riley felt both relieved and guilty at escaping trouble one more time.
So this was what Meredith’s message was about, she realized.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Riley asked Jake.
“What do you think I’m doing here?” Jake said in his gravelly voice. “I’m testing this joint’s security. Boy, does it ever suck. Some maniac could come right in here and kill you all.”
Still laughing, Brent Meredith said, “This wily old bastard talked his way straight through security. Got in without a badge or any clearance at all. He’s the same sly dog he always was. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he walked into my office.”
“But I just talked to you yesterday,” Riley said. “You were at home. Did you fly all the way from Miami?”
“Yeah, and are my arms tired!” Jake said, flapping his arms like a bird.
Riley and the others laughed at Jake’s familiar corny joke.
Riley said, “Seriously, what brings you here?”
“What do you think brings me here?” Jake growled at Riley. “It’s your own damned fault, getting me thinking about the Matchbook Killer again. I couldn’t sleep last night. Caught a flight early this morning. If you’re going to nail him at long last, I want a piece of that action.”
Riley looked at Meredith.
“What do you say, chief?” she said. “Can we bring this guy out of retirement?”
“Absolutely,” Meredith said. “He can be an official consultant assigned to this case. But what are you hanging around here for? Hit the road, all three of you. Get back to work.”
*
A little while later, Bill was driving Riley and Jake to Greybull. Jake was sitting in the front seat, where he and Bill kept up a running conversation.
In the back seat, Riley relaxed against the headrest. She felt as if a load had been lifted from her mind, at least for now. It was great to be working with Jake again. It was also great to have something to think about other than Shane Hatcher.
Bill was obviously enjoying Jake’s company. The two had met back in January when they’d all worked on a case in Florida. Bill and Jake had hit it off famously.
When they started going over the case, she paid closer attention.
“Let me make sure I understand this,” Bill said. “These were considered sexual murders, even though no semen was found.”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “He intended to have sex with those women. Even fantasies count.”
Riley added, “The women seem to have gone to the motels with him willingly. But he apparently couldn’t perform.”
Riley could tell by Bill’s expression that he was getting interested.
“So the murders were acts of rage,” he said.
“The first one definitely was,” Jake said. “Probably the first two.”
“The last one was different,” Riley said. “Her body was found fully clothed, so it seems that he didn’t really try to have sex with her, even if that had been his original intention. And she wasn’t strangled like the other two. She was smothered, probably with a pillow.”
“At the time we thought that was really odd,” Jake said. “It flew in the face of the assumption that serial killers always increase their violence with each victim.”
He grinned and nodded when Riley added, “Which was one of those old notions that BAU research has found was wrong.”
“It also suggests an element of remorse,” Bill added.
“That’s what Jake and I think,” Riley said. “We also think he’s still in the area somewhere.”
“Is there a reason why?” Bill asked.
After a moment, Jake replied, “Just call it a strong hunch.”
“Well, both of you are famous for your hunches,” Bill said. “And if he’s there, we’ll find him,”
I sure hope so, Riley thought, remembering her last sad conversation with Paula Steen.
Justice was much too long overdue.
*
When they pulled into Greybull, Riley watched Jake as he gazed around at the sleepy little town.
“I guess it’s been a while since you were here,” she said.
“Doesn’t look like this place has changed all that much over the years,” Jake replied. “I don’t figure they’ve had any more unsolved murder sprees since I was last here. What’s our first order of business?”
“We’re going to talk to the former sheriff, Woody Grinnell,” Riley said.
“Good old Woody,” Jake said. “Hell of a nice guy. Not much of a cop, though. He wasn’t ready to handle a case like that, but I liked him. What’s he doing these days?”
“He retired as sheriff a long time ago,” Riley said. “Now he owns a local diner.”
Within minutes, they parked in front of Woody’s Diner. It was a long, retro-looking diner with a stainless steel exterior. They walked inside and introduced themselves to the hostess, who went back to the kitchen. A moment later, a tall, smiling man came out through the swinging doors, wiping his hands on his apron. Riley knew he was about Jake’s age, but Grinnell looked older and softer.
He hurried to Jake and eagerly shook his hand.
“Why, Jake Crivaro, as I live and breathe. How the hell are you?”
“Still living and breathing,” Jake said with a hearty laugh.
“I got a call that somebody from the BAU was going to come by today,” Grinnell said to Jake. “But I sure wasn’t expecting you. Last I’d heard, you’d retired down to Florida.”
“You heard right,” Jake said. “I got bored finally. Decided to come back and see what’s been going on in the bustling metropolis of Greybull.”
Both men laughed some more. Riley and Bill introduced themselves, and Grinnell escorted them to an oversized
empty booth. A waitress brought coffee for all of them.
Grinnell said, “I don’t know if you folks have had breakfast, but as long as you’re here, you’ve got to try my famous omelets. On the house, of course.”
The group agreed, and Grinnell gave the waitress the order. “One for me too,” he added. “And tell the cook to make ’em good.”
Grinnell slid into the booth beside Jake, and the two of them chatted, catching each other up on their lives and what their grown children were doing. The omelets soon arrived and the group started eating.
“So what brings the BAU here?” Grinnell asked. “Things have been quiet, as far as I know.”
Riley sensed that Jake was hesitating.
Finally Jake said, “Woody, these folks are reopening the Matchbook Killer case.”
The man’s perpetual smile disappeared. Riley sensed that this was about the last news he wanted to hear.
“I thought that was all in the past,” he said. “After all these years, I figured the killer would be long gone and probably dead. He didn’t kill again, after all. That’s pretty rare for serial killers, isn’t it? As I understand it, they usually don’t stop until they’re caught or dead.”
Bill said, “Actually, that’s something of a myth. Some serials actually do stop altogether.”
Riley added, “We think the Matchbook Killer might have been that type of serial. And we’ve got a hunch that he’s still in this area.”
“A hunch, huh?” Grinnell said.
His voice now sounded sad and grim.
“That was an awful thing. Hell, a sheriff of a town like this doesn’t expect something like that. Law enforcement here is all about expired fishing licenses, hunting out of season, parking tickets, the occasional rowdy drunk. Premeditated murder was a whole lot more than I signed up for.”
Riley remembered what Jake had said.
“Hell of a nice guy. Not much of a cop, though.”
Now she understood that Jake hadn’t meant to be critical. The poor man had simply been out of his depth, grappling with a terrifying case that even a seasoned pro like Jake Crivaro hadn’t been able to crack.
Riley spoke in a gentle tone.
“Mr. Grinnell, we’re hoping to revisit some places and witnesses here in Greybull. What about Patom Lounge, where the killer picked up Tilda Steen?”
Grinnell shook his head.
“That place closed years ago. Got turned into a video rental store until that went out of business, what with streaming and all. The building’s standing empty now. The guy who owned the bar left the area, and so did the bartender who was working that night.”
Riley asked, “What about the motel where the murder took place?”
“It got bulldozed, it’s now a parking lot. The man who owned it and was working the front desk that night was Nolden Rich. He died just two years ago. No, there’s not a trace of that whole business left here in Greybull. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.”
Grinnell thought for a moment.
“If you want to check out places and witnesses, you need to go over to Brinkley. McLaughlin’s Pub is still there, although I don’t know who owns it now. So is the Baylord Inn, where Melody Yanovich was killed.”
Grinnell’s finger drew an invisible map on the tabletop.
“You’ll want to go to Denison, too, way across the interstate. Let me tell you, that town’s seen better days. But nobody comes or goes there, so you should find everything pretty much like it was back then. The motel where the body was found is gone, but the bar where he picked the woman up is still there.”
He added with a dark laugh, “Who knows? You might even be able to track down old Roger Duffy in Denison.”
Jake chuckled.
“Roger Duffy! I haven’t thought about him in years!”
Riley didn’t remember that name from the police reports.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Jake said, “Oh, only the least reliable witness in the whole history of law enforcement. He was drinking in the Waveland Tap when Portia Quinn got picked up there. Gave a rather colorful description of the killer. Said he was an alien from outer space.”
Grinnell shook his head with a smile.
“The last I heard, he was still hanging out at the Waveland—and as certifiably nuts as ever. Still harmless, though.”
Grinnell thought for a moment, then said, “Hey, have you still got that old composite sketch?”
“Better than that,” Riley said. “We’ve got a sketch that might show how the killer looks now.”
She brought up the image she’d chosen on her tablet. Grinnell looked at it and shook his head.
“I don’t recognize the face any more than I ever did. But somebody else might. Send it to me attached to an email and I’ll print it out. I’ll put on the bulletin board, distribute it as a flyer.”
Riley and her companions agreed that it was a good idea. She sent him the image then and there.
Riley, Jake, and Bill finished eating. They thanked Grinnell for the omelets and the advice. As they left the diner, Riley turned and saw Grinnell waving in the doorway. He was still smiling—but it wasn’t the same hearty smile as when they’d arrived.
Now he looked sad and somehow broken.
It was the same expression she’d seen in Gloria Corley’s eyes at the flower shop yesterday.
As she got into the car with Jake and Bill, Riley felt a pang of sorrow at having reawakened such ugly memories for Woody Grinnell and Gloria Corley.
She knew that they would soon stir up the same memories in others.
Was it the right thing to do?
Only if we catch the killer, Riley thought.
Now she felt as though they had no choice.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Riley felt a flash of discouragement as Bill drove the FBI car into Brinkley. She and Jake and Bill were all here to follow up on the cold case. But Brinkley didn’t look like she had expected it to.
Can this really be the right town? she wondered.
It hardly seemed possible that Melody Yanovich had actually been murdered here so many years ago. Everything was so different from sleepy little Greybull. Brinkley was all bustling and new, with strip malls and apartment complexes and office buildings. Even the older buildings were heavily remodeled and held what looked like new, thriving businesses.
She said to Bill and Jake, “I don’t think I see anything here that could possibly be twenty-five years old.”
Jake said, “Yeah, it sure looks different from when I was last here. But it’s a college town, you know. Brinkley College was a women’s school back then, and now it’s coed and much larger than it used to be. Brinkley’s seen a lot of changes. It’s grown in all directions. But don’t worry, there’s still some trace of that old crime around here somewhere. We’ll find it.”
Riley hoped Jake was right. But nothing she saw seemed very encouraging, least of all the sight of McLaughlin’s Pub when they pulled into its parking lot. It, too, looked like it had been put here very recently.
Still, a matchbook from this pub had been found with Melody Yanovich’s body—a matchbook most likely picked up as a souvenir of a good time but then left in anger and remorse.
Riley and her companions walked inside and looked around. Everything looked shiny and polished, with huge mirrors and simple but tasteful furniture.
“Wow, this place is completely different,” Jake said. “I hardly recognize anything. It used to be a lot smaller, but they’ve added on a lot. This used to be a simple neighborhood bar—nothing fancy but pleasant. Now it’s as much a restaurant as a bar, and a pretty high-class joint at that.”
Riley looked all around. The place was starting to fill up with lunchtime business. All the customers and staff looked alarmingly young. McLaughlin’s Pub had obviously become a hangout for well-to-do college students.
She and her companions walked over to the bar with its huge bank of TV screens, some playing sports and others with news
channels. A tall young man wearing a white shirt and a black necktie stood cleaning glasses. Riley thought he looked too good-looking by half, like a male fashion model.
“What can I get for you folks?” the bartender asked with a perfect smile.
Riley and Bill showed their badges and introduced themselves, then introduced Jake.
“I’m Terence Oster,” the bartender said. “But everybody calls me Terry.”
Jake asked him, “Does the owner of this place still work here—Bill McLaughlin?”
Terry shook his head.
“I never even met him. I don’t think anyone else here did either. He sold this place a long time ago. I hear he died a few years back.”
Riley pulled up the composite sketch on her tablet.
“Do you remember ever seeing this man?” she asked.
Terry looked at the sketch carefully.
“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
“He’s wanted in connection with a murder,” she said.
When Terry looked alarmed, Bill added, “An old cold case. But we want to find him if he’s still around.”
“If I send it to you with an email, could you print it out?” Riley asked. “Post it up somewhere where people can see it? Maybe make copies and pass them around?”
“Be glad to help in any way I can,” Terry said.
Riley took down his email address right away and sent him the image. As she and her companions walked out of the bar, Riley felt a different kind of strangeness surrounding her. Elsewhere she had had to stir up dark memories among people who would rather have forgotten the murders. But coming into McLaughlin’s pub was like entering a more innocent world where the murders had never happened.
Either way, she felt like an unwelcome intruder bringing darkness into people’s lives.
“That was a bust,” Riley said as they walked toward the car.
“We’ll get lucky,” Jake said. “You’ll see.”
Riley knew that in some ways Jake’s gut instincts were better than her own. Even so, she was beginning to doubt his optimism.
