Once Taken

Chapter 9

Alford drew his gun and charged out of the warehouse. Riley and Lucy followed with their hands on their own weapons. Outside, something was hovering in circles around the pole where the body was hanging. It made a steady buzzing sound.

Young Officer Boyden had his pistol drawn. He had just taken a shot at the small drone that was circling the body and was getting ready to take another.

“Boyden, put that damned gun away!” Alford shouted. He holstered his own weapon.

Boyden turned toward Alford with surprise. Just as he was putting away his weapon, the drone rose higher and flew away.

The chief was fuming.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, firing your weapon like that?” he snarled at Boyden.

“Protecting the scene,” Boyden said. “It’s probably some blogger taking pictures.”

“Probably,” Alford said. “And I don’t like that any more than you do. But it’s illegal to shoot those things down. Besides, this is a populated area. You ought to know better.”

Boyden hung his head sheepishly.

“Sorry, sir,” he said.

Alford turned toward Riley.

“Drones, hell!” he said. “I sure do hate the twenty-first century. Agent Paige, please tell me we can take that body down now.”

“Have you got more pictures than the ones I saw?” Riley asked.

“Lots of them, showing every little detail,” Alford said. “You can look at them in my office.”

Riley nodded. “I’ve seen what I needed to see here. And you’ve done a good job keeping the scene under control. Go ahead and cut her down.”

Alford said to Boyden, “Call the county coroner. Tell him he can stop waiting around twiddling his thumbs.”

“Got it, Chief,” Boyden said, taking out his cell phone.

“Come on,” Alford said to Riley and Lucy. He led them to his police car. When they got in and were on their way, a cop waved the car past the barricade onto the main street.

Riley took careful note of the route. The killer would have brought his vehicle in and out along this same route that both Boyden and Alford used. There was no other way into the area between the warehouse and the train tracks. It seemed likely that someone would have seen the killer’s vehicle, although they might not have thought it unusual.

The Reedsport Police Department was nothing more than a little brick storefront right on the town’s main street. Alford, Riley, and Lucy went inside and sat down in the chief’s office.

Alford placed a stack of folders on his desk.

“Here’s everything we’ve got,” he said. “The complete file on the old case from five years ago, and everything so far on last night’s murder.”

Riley and Lucy each took a folder and began to browse through it. Riley’s attention was drawn to the photos of the first case.

The two women were similar in age. The first one worked in a prison, which put her at some degree of risk for possible victimization. But the second one would be considered a lower risk victim. And there was no indication that either of them frequented bars or other places that would make them especially vulnerable. In both cases, those who knew the women had described them as friendly, helpful, and conventional. And yet, there had to be some factor that drew the killer to these particular women.

“Did you make any headway on Marla Blainey’s murder?” Riley asked Alford.

“It was under the jurisdiction of the Eubanks police. Captain Lawson. But I worked with him on it. We found out nothing useful. The chains were perfectly ordinary. The killer could have picked them up at any hardware store.”

Lucy leaned toward Riley to look at the same pictures.

“Still, he did buy a lot of them,” Lucy said. “You’d think some clerk would have noticed someone buying so many chains.”

Alford nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, that’s what we thought at the time. But we contacted hardware stores all around these parts. None of the clerks picked up on any unusual sales like that. He must have bought a few at a time, here and there, without attracting a lot of attention. By the time he got around to the murder, he had big pile of them handy. Maybe he still does.”

Riley peered closely at the straitjacket the woman was wearing. It looked identical to the one used to bind last night’s victim.

“What about the straitjacket?” Riley asked.

Alford shrugged. “You’d think something like that would be easy to track. But we got nothing. It’s standard issue in psychiatric hospitals. We checked all the hospitals throughout the state, including one real close by. Nobody noticed any straitjackets missing or stolen.”

A silence fell as Riley and Lucy continued looking at reports and photos. The bodies had been left within ten miles of each other. That indicated that the killer probably didn’t live too far away. But the first woman’s corpse had been dumped unceremoniously on a riverbank. Over the five years between murders, the killer’s attitude had changed in some way.

“So what do you make of this guy?” Alford asked. “Why the straitjacket and all the chains? Doesn’t that seem like overkill?”

Riley thought for a moment.

“Not in his mind,” she said. “It’s about power. He wants to restrict his victims not just physically but symbolically. It goes way beyond the practical. It’s about taking away the victim’s power. The killer wants to make a real point of that.”

“But why women?” Lucy asked. “If he wants to disempower his victims, wouldn’t it be more dramatic with men?”

“It’s a good question,” Riley replied. She thought back to the crime scene – how the body had been so carefully counterbalanced.

“But remember, he’s not very strong,” Riley said. “It might be partly a matter of choosing easier targets. Middle-aged women like these would probably put up less of a fight. But they also probably stand for something in his mind. They weren’t selected as individuals, but as women– and whatever it is that women represent to him.”

Alford let out a cynical growl.

“So you’re saying it was nothing personal,” he said. “It’s not like these women did anything to get captured and killed. It’s not like the killer even thought they especially deserved it.”

“That’s often how it goes,” Riley said. “In my last case, the killer targeted women who bought dolls. He didn’t care who they were. All that mattered is that he saw them buy a doll.”

Another silence fell. Alford looked at his watch.

“I’ve got a press conference in about a half hour,” he said. “Is there anything else we need to discuss before then?”

Riley said, “Well, the sooner Agent Vargas and I can interview the victim’s immediate family, the better. This evening, if that’s possible.”

Alford knitted his brow with concern.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Her husband died young, maybe fifteen years ago. All she’s got is a couple of grown-up kids, a son and a daughter, both with families of their own. They live right in town. My people have been interviewing them all day. They’re really worn out and distraught. Let’s give them till tomorrow before we put them through any more of that.”

Riley saw that Lucy was about to object, so she stopped her with a silent gesture. It was smart of Lucy to want to interview the family immediately. But Riley also knew better than to make waves with the local force, especially if they seemed to be as competent as Alford and his team.

“I understand,” Riley said. “Let’s try for tomorrow morning. What about the family of the first victim?”

“I think there might still be some relatives down in Eubanks,” Alford said. “I’ll check into it. Let’s just not rush anything. The killer’s in no hurry, after all. His last murder was five years ago, and he’s not liable to act again soon. Let’s take time to do things right.”

Alford got up from his chair.

“I’d better get ready for the press conference,” he said. “Do you two want to be part of it? Have you got any kind of statement to make?”

Riley mulled it over.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s best if the FBI keeps a low profile for the time being. We don’t want the killer to feel like he’s getting a lot of publicity. He might be more likely to show himself if he doesn’t think he’s getting the attention he deserves. Right now, it’s better for you to be the face people see.”

“Well then, you can get settled in,” Alford said. “I’ve got a couple of rooms at a local B&B reserved for you. There’s also a car out front you can use.”

He slid the room reservation form and a set of car keys across his desk to Riley. She and Lucy left the station.

Later that evening, Riley sat on a bay window seat looking out over Reedsport’s main street. Dusk had fallen, and streetlights were coming on. The night air was warm and pleasant and all was quiet, with no reporters in sight.

Alford had reserved two lovely second-story rooms in the B&B for Riley and Lucy. The woman who owned the place had served a delicious supper. Then Riley and Lucy had spent an hour or so in the main room downstairs making plans for tomorrow.

Reedsport truly was a quaint and lovely town. Under different circumstances, it would be nice place for a vacation. But now that Riley was away from all talk of yesterday’s murder, her mind turned toward more familiar concerns.

She hadn’t thought about Peterson all day until now. He was out there, and she knew it, but nobody else believed it. Had she been wise to leave things like that? Should she have tried harder to convince somebody?

It gave her a chill to think that two murderers – Peterson and whoever had killed two women here – were at this very moment going about their lives however they pleased. How many more were out there, somewhere in the state, somewhere in the country? Why was our culture plagued with these warped human beings?

What might they be doing? Were they plotting somewhere in isolation, or were they comfortably passing their time with friends and family – unsuspecting, innocent people who had no idea of the evil in their midst?

At the moment, Riley had no way to know. But it was her job to find out.

She also found herself thinking anxiously about April. It hadn’t felt right to simply leave her with her father. But what else was she to do? Riley knew that even if she had not taken this case, another one would come along soon. She was simply too involved in her work to deal with an unruly teenager. She wasn’t home enough.

On an impulse, Riley took out her cell phone and sent a text message.

Hey April. How are U?

After a few seconds, the reply came.

I’m fine Mom. How are U? Have U solved it yet?

It took Riley a moment to realize that April meant the new case.

Not yet, she typed.

April replied, U’ll solve it soon.

Riley smiled at what sounded almost like a vote of confidence.

She typed, Do U want to talk? I could call U now.

She waited a few moments for April’s reply.

Not right now. I’m good.

Riley didn’t know exactly what that meant. Her heart sank a little.

OK, she typed. Goodnight. Love U.

She ended the chat and sat there, looking out into the deepening night. She smiled wistfully as she remembered April’s question …

“Have U solved it yet?”

“It” could mean any of a huge number of things in Riley’s life. And she felt a long, long way from solving any of them.

Riley stared out into the night again. Looking down at the main street, she pictured the killer driving straight through town on the way to the railroad tracks. It had been a bold move. But not nearly as bold as taking the time to hang the body from a power pole where it would be visible in the light from the warehouse.

That part of his MO had changed drastically over the last five years, from sloppily dumping a body by the river to hanging this one up for the world to see. He didn’t strike Riley as particularly organized, but he was becoming more obsessive. Something in his life must have changed. What was it?

Riley knew that this kind of boldness often represented an escalating desire for publicity, for fame. That was certainly true of the last killer she had tracked down. But it felt wrong for this case. Something told Riley that this killer was not only small and rather weak, but also self-effacing, even humble.

He didn’t like to kill; Riley felt pretty sure of it. And it wasn’t fame that spurred him to this new level of boldness. It was sheer despair. Perhaps even remorse, a half-conscious desire to get caught.

Riley knew from personal experience that killers were never more dangerous than when they started turning against themselves.

Riley thought about something Chief Alford had said earlier.

“The killer’s in no hurry, after all.”

Riley felt sure that the chief was wrong.

Chapter 10

Riley felt sorry for the county coroner, a middle-aged and overweight man, as he spread out the photos on Chief Alford’s desk. They displayed every gruesome detail of Rosemary Pickens’s autopsy. The coroner, Ben Tooley, looked slightly ill. He was undoubtedly more accustomed to examining corpses of people who had died from strokes and heart attacks. He looked as he if he hadn’t slept, and she realized he’d surely been up late last night. And Riley guessed that he hadn’t slept soundly whenever he had gotten to bed.

It was morning, and Riley felt remarkably rested herself. Her bed had been soft and comfortable, and neither nightmares nor real intruders had disturbed her sleep. She had badly needed a night like that. Lucy and Chief Alford also looked alert – but the coroner was another story.

“This is as bad as Marla Blainey’s murder five years ago,” Tooley said. “Worse, maybe. Lord, after that one, I’d hoped we’d put this kind of awful thing behind us. No such luck.”

Tooley showed the group a close-up of the back of the woman’s head. A large, deep wound was visible, and the surrounding hair was matted with blood.

“She sustained a sharp blow to the left parietal bone,” he said. “It was hard enough to crack the skull slightly. Probably caused concussion, maybe even a short interval of unconsciousness.”

“What kind of object was used?” Riley asked.

“Judging from the pulled hair and scraping, I’d say it was a blow from a heavy chain. Marla Blainey had the same kind of wound in about the same place.”

Alford shook his head. “This guy is all about chains,” he said. “Reporters are already calling him the ‘chain killer.’”

Lucy pointed to some tight close-ups of the woman’s abdomen.

“Do you think she was beaten generally, over time?” she asked. “Those bruises look bad.”

“They’re bad, all right, but they’re not from being beaten,” Tooley said. “She’s got contusions like that all over from being chained so tightly. Between the chains and how tight the straitjacket was, she spent a lot of time in severe pain. Same with Marla Blainey.”

The group fell silent for a moment, mulling over the significance of this information.

Finally Lucy said, “We know that he’s small and not very strong – and we’re assuming that it really is a ‘he.’ So it looks like he must’ve subdued each of the women with a single sharp blow to the head. When they were dazed or unconscious, he lugged them into a nearby vehicle.”

Riley nodded with approval. It struck her as a good guess.

“So how was she treated during her captivity?” Alford asked.

Tooley shuffled the photos to reveal images of the dissected body.

“Pretty badly,” he said. “I found almost no stomach contents. Not much in her intestines either. He must have kept her alive on water alone. But he probably wasn’t trying to starve her to death. That would have taken much longer. Maybe he was just trying to weaken her. Again, it was the same with Marla Blainey. The slashed throats were the decisive and fatal blows.”

Another silence fell. There was little left for anyone to say, but much to think about. Riley’s head was abuzz with too many questions to ask. Why did the killer hold these women captive? The usual motives didn’t apply here. He didn’t torture or rape them. If he’d always intended to kill them, why had he taken his time about it? Did it take time for him to build up the will to do that?

Obviously, she thought, the killer was obsessed with rendering his victims helpless. That gave him some kind of satisfaction. He’d probably suffered similar helplessness himself, maybe in childhood. She also suspected that he’d starved the victims for other reasons than simply to weaken them. Had the killer been starved himself at one time or another?

Riley stifled a sigh. There were so many questions. There always were this early in a case. Meanwhile, there was a lot of work to do.

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