by Blake Pierce
No. Riley sensed that he regretted what happened last time. He was haunted and troubled by it. He sincerely hoped that this tryst was going to go well.
Riley’s eyes fell upon an ashtray full of matchbooks with the bar’s logo.
It seemed eerie to see it here, after all these years.
Just as the killer had done on that fateful night, she picked up a matchbook and put it in her pocket.
But before she could get deeper into her reverie, she heard a man shout from a booth.
“Pete, who’re you talking to?”
“None of your business,” Pete called back.
Jake squinted toward the booth.
“Hey, is that Roger?” he asked Pete.
“Sure is.”
“Wow,” Jake said. “I never figured I’d see him again. Kind of surprised he’s still around.”
The bartender chuckled.
“Oh, there’s no killing off old Roger. Although to hear him talk, the whole world’s trying to do him in. The government especially.”
The man in the booth yelled again at Pete.
“It’s the Feds, ain’t it? Isn’t that old Jake what’s-his-name? I thought I’d seen the last of that nosy government bastard long ago. Tell all of them to get the hell out of here. They give me too much trouble as it is without actually showing up in this joint.”
“Just ignore him,” Pete said.
Jake chuckled in agreement.
Riley vaguely recalled …
Roger—where have I heard that name?
Then she remembered—the ex-sheriff in Greybull had mentioned someone named Roger Duffy.
Riley turned away from the others and started to walk toward the booth where the man was sitting.
“Hey, where are you going, Riley?” Jake said. “I remember that guy. He’s certifiably crazy.”
Maybe he is, Riley thought.
But she had a hunch that she ought to find out for herself.
As she neared the man, she saw a half-empty glass of beer and a row of empty shot glasses on the table in front of him. He looked very old and very ill, with fingers knotted up from rheumatism or gout or both.
Riley sat down across the table from him. She winced at the stench of alcohol and body odor. Aside from being drunk and crazy, it seemed that Roger seldom if ever bathed.
Riley showed him her badge.
“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI,” she said. “I take it that you’re Roger Duffy.”
“Leave me the hell alone,” the man growled.
“Have you got something on your mind, Roger?” Riley asked in a pleasant voice.
Roger Duffy’s voice broke out into a snarl.
“Maybe you should tell me. You Feds have been monitoring my thoughts for years. You folks probably know what I’m thinking better than I do.”
“We can’t read your mind, Roger,” Riley said.
The man chuckled grimly and raised his glass of beer.
“No? Well, the booze must be working. That’s why I keep on drinking—to keep my brainwaves from being too easy to read.”
He pointed to his head.
“You’ve got no business inside here,” he said. “Stay the hell out.”
Riley studied the man’s tortured face. She had no doubt that he was a full-blown paranoid schizophrenic. He might well be on medication, but it probably didn’t do much good, not with all the alcohol in his system.
Riley studied his haggard face carefully.
She remembered what Jake had called him earlier:
“Only the least reliable witness in the whole history of law enforcement.”
Jake had also said that his description of the killer had been “rather colorful.”
Now that she sat face to face with him, Riley found herself curious about what he’d seen—or thought he had seen.
She said, “Roger, twenty-five years ago you said you saw the man who killed Portia Quinn.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“That’s what I’m hoping you can do for me,” Riley said.
Again she brought up the composite sketch of the dark-haired, dark-eyed suspect and pushed it across the table so Roger could see it.
“We think he might look something like this now,” she said.
Roger shuddered and looked away.
“I don’t want to see it,” he said.
“Why not?”
“For one thing, he didn’t really look like that. For another thing …”
Roger’s voice trailed off. But Riley understood what he was leaving unsaid. The man had terrified him deeply.
“Tell me what you saw,” Riley said.
“You know all that already,” Roger said, still looking away.
As a matter of fact, Riley didn’t know—at least not much. Roger’s description seemed to have been deemed too bizarre to put into the official record.
“Tell me anyway,” Riley said.
Roger turned slowly toward the bar and pointed.
“He was sitting over there, right where you were a minute ago, chatting up Portia. Then he walked right toward me. He looked at me. His eyes weren’t human. Streaming blue light was coming out of them.”
He sounds crazy, all right, Riley thought.
But she tried not to let her skepticism get the best of her.
She said, “The other witnesses said that his eyes were dark like his hair—hazel-colored.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t see him like I did. He looked straight inside me. I couldn’t look away. I know what I saw. Then he went into the restroom. I sat here too scared to move. Finally he came out and he looked at me again. This time his eyes were normal—dark like everybody said. Then he went back to the bar and picked up Portia.”
Roger leaned across the table.
“Those dark eyes—it was just a disguise. I saw who he really was. And I’m telling you for a fact—he was not of this world.”
He let out a grunt of cynical laughter.
“But why am I telling you this stuff? You know it all already. No, that’s all I’m going to say to you.”
He swallowed down some more of his beer.
At that moment, Riley heard Bill’s voice.
“Come on, Riley. We think we’re through here.”
Bill and Jake were headed for the front door.
Riley hesitated, still trying to decide what to make of what Roger had said.
It was certainly crazy.
But it had also been completely sincere.
She took out her card and reached across the table with it.
“If you think of anything, I’d like you to—”
“Huh-uh,” he interrupted, with an angry wave of his hand. “I’ve already been too cozy with you. You won’t get another word from me. If you want to find out anything else from me, just keep using your damned radio waves. But I’ll do everything I can to scramble the signal, believe me.”
Riley knew there was nothing else she could do.
She got up from the table and followed Bill and Jake out the front door.
“That was a bust,” Bill said. “The bartender meant well, but he didn’t give us anything helpful. I guess it’s time to head back to Quantico.”
With a chuckle, Jake said to Riley, “I guess you got to know old Roger.”
“Yeah,” Riley said.
“Crazy story, huh?”
Riley didn’t reply as they got into the car. The truth was, she had a weird hunch. She didn’t understand why, but her gut told her that there was a germ of truth in what Roger Duffy had told her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was dark by the time Riley drove up to her house, and she felt distinctly uneasy. She more than half wished she weren’t getting the weekend off. With the spare time, she was sure to obsess about Shane Hatcher’s riddle and she still had no idea what to make of the Shakespearean line he had texted her.
She probably wouldn’t be able to solve the thing. That would be the worst of it.
>
I’d be better off working, she thought.
When she opened her front door and stepped inside, the first thing she saw was April rushing toward her, jumping up and down. Her daughter’s eyes were wild with alarm.
“Mom! Oh my God! You’re home! I thought you’d never get home!”
Riley was startled. Had there been some catastrophe since she’d been gone?
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“You’re late!”
“Late for what?”
April yelled, waving her arms.
“Dinner!”
For a moment, Riley didn’t know what her daughter was talking about. She knew that she was too late for dinner, but Gabriela would have already fed the girls. Riley had planned to just make herself a sandwich. She was looking forward to soaking in a hot tub and going to bed early.
Then certain words played back in her mind …
“I’ll pick you up at eight if that suits you,” he’d said.
Blaine! Yesterday he had phoned and after chatting for a while, they decided to get together for dinner; not the family dinner they had talked about earlier, but just the two of them this time.
Riley looked at her watch. It was now 7:45.
“Oh, my God!” she said.
“Don’t tell me you forgot,” April said, pacing with agitation. “I’ve been texting you for a half hour now.”
Riley had been tired and not expecting any essential calls.
“I was driving. My phone was off.”
“So what are you going to do?”
She felt a flash of panic.
“I can’t get ready in time,” she said.
“Well, you can’t cancel, either,” April said. “Not at the last minute like this.”
Riley took out her cell phone. She saw the thread of anxious texts that April had sent. Then she sent a text to Blaine.
So sorry. I just got home. Give me a half hour?
She waited for just a few seconds. Then she got a reply …
OK.
April was peering around her, looking at the phone.
“He sounds mad,” April said.
“He doesn’t sound anything. He just said OK. It’ll be all right.”
April stepped back and looked her mother over, up and down.
“No, it won’t be all right,” April said. “You look awful. You look like you’ve been on the road all day.”
“I have been on the road all day.”
April grabbed her by the hand.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s see if we can pull off some kind of a miracle. We’ve got to work fast.”
As April dragged her toward the stairs, Riley noticed that Jilly was sitting in the living room.
“Hi, Jilly,” Riley said. “How was your day?”
Jilly didn’t reply. She just crossed her arms and glared at Riley.
On the way up the stairs, Riley whispered to April.
“I don’t think Jilly’s happy that I’m going on a date.”
“Yeah, I know,” April said. “I’ve been trying to tell her Blaine’s a really good guy. But something else is bothering her too. She’s tried calling Dad several times and he won’t call back.”
Riley felt a prickle of anger.
That bastard! she thought.
But she realized that she shouldn’t be shocked. Ryan was just being his old self. She only wished she hadn’t built up Jilly’s hopes by trying to bring him back into their lives. April might be disappointed, but she was accustomed to her father fading in and out of their lives. Jilly, badly in need of a father figure, had attached herself to Ryan.
April ushered Riley into her bedroom.
“You get cleaned up,” April said. “I’ll find something for you to wear.”
Riley went into the bathroom, took off her clothes, and got into the shower. The hot water reminded her that she was aching all over from so much traveling. The water felt good, but she couldn’t take time to enjoy it.
She got out of the shower and turned a dryer onto her hair, combing it to hang free around her face. She kept looking in the mirror, reminding herself of what April had said.
“You look like you’ve been on the road all day.”
Was she going to be able fix that in less than half an hour?
Riley came out of the bathroom and saw that April had spread out three dresses on her bed. For a moment Riley wondered—when was the last time she’d worn a dress? Then she remembered that it had been at a funeral last month. Dresses simply weren’t the best attire for chasing killers.
She frowned at the selection of attire. They all seemed a bit low-cut or short-skirted for tonight.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Mo-om! You don’t have time get all wishy-washy about this.”
Riley ignored April and walked over to her closet. She took out a basic black dress with sleeves.
“How about this one?” she asked.
“Mom, that looks matronly. This is your first real date with him. You’ve got to look sexy.”
“I don’t want to look like a vamp.”
“Well, you’d sure better not look boring.”
Riley probed around in the closet some more. She knew that Blaine’s restaurant was a nice place. Customers there wore clothing that ranged from casual to classy. Could she find something in that in-between area?
April pushed past her and rummaged around in the closet until she found another dress.
“This one’s perfect,” April said.
“It’s red,” Riley said.
“Well, dark red. It’s not too flashy.”
April handed the dress to Riley. She looked it over. It really wasn’t bad. She figured that the sweetheart neckline wasn’t too low. And she knew that the simple lines would look good on her.
“OK, we’ll go with this,” she said to April. “Now shoo. Get out of here. I can take things from here.”
April looked at her watch.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” she said. “Don’t blow it.”
“Shoo, I said!”
April left the bedroom. Riley put on the red dress and high heels. She looked at herself in the mirror, surprised at what she saw.
She really did look quite attractive.
For a second, it didn’t quite feel real, as if she were wearing a costume.
Who would ever guess that she was an FBI agent?
Is this the real me? she asked herself.
She decided it was one version of the real her—a version she hadn’t glimpsed in quite a while. Maybe it was time she got reacquainted with the woman she was looking at right now.
She walked out of her bedroom. April was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hurry!” April said. “Blaine just pulled up in the driveway.”
April helped Riley into her nicest jacket. As Riley walked outside, Blaine got out of the car. Smiling, he walked around and opened the passenger door for Riley.
She wondered—how long had it been since a man had gotten out of a car to open a door for her?
A long time, she thought.
It was a weird feeling. She wondered if she could get used to it.
But as she got into the car, Hatcher’s message went through her head again.
“Deny thy father and refuse thy name.”
Riley sighed. She couldn’t help but obsess about what the riddle meant. Was she going to be able to enjoy this date at all?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Over dinner with Riley, Blaine found it hard to ignore the images that kept flickering through his mind. Riley seemed to be enjoying herself, and he certainly liked being with her again.
But he was haunted by darker times.
He still felt pain in his ribs that were broken on that awful day back in January, when he’d tried to stop a brutal monster from killing Riley’s daughter. Then he reminded himself of another terrible day, when Riley had rescued his daughter from the wrath of his ex-wife. Phoebe ha
d come to his house drunk and dangerous when he wasn’t home, but Riley had charged in and stopped Phoebe from attacking poor Crystal.
He thought that Riley seemed to attract danger, but she also handled it well. Better than he ever could, he was sure. And he’d never expected to date an FBI agent, especially someone as forceful as this. But he found both her strength and absolutely genuineness exciting. Of course, she was also very good-looking, and in that red dress she was stunning tonight.
He was glad to see that Riley seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling and cheerful, and saying all kinds of good things about her grilled salmon.
Blaine also remembered a bittersweet moment months ago when he and Riley had commiserated about the trials and tribulations of parenthood—and for a lovely few seconds, Riley had taken his hand and he had squeezed hers back. That one was a good memory.
More than once, there had been a spark between them. Events and family considerations had separated them, but might that spark still be there?
Was he going to find out this evening?
Right now they were just finishing dessert—raspberry cheesecake prepared in his own Blaine’s Grill kitchen. Riley had been telling him all about the cold case she was working on. Despite his distracting memories, Blaine found it fascinating to hear how Riley was applying her mind to murders that had taken place a quarter of a century before.
Brilliance—that was another attribute that Blaine discovered he liked very much.
“How many cold cases have you worked on?” he asked.
“This is my first,” Riley said.
“How does it feel? In comparison to other cases, I mean.”
Riley seemed to mull over the question.
“It feels—strange. When we got started, I couldn’t shake a feeling of futility. Everything about it seemed so far away, hard to get hold of. The evidence seemed stale somehow, like it didn’t mean as much anymore. But before long …”
Blaine noticed that Riley shuddered a little.
“It feels like it all happened yesterday. Like it’s not a cold case at all. It’s just as urgent and pressing as any new case.”
She shrugged a little and added, “Justice is justice, I guess. And it’s better late than never.”
Blaine realized how much he’d missed having her as a neighbor.
