The chair was comfortable and the surroundings were elegant, but the soft lighting in Mike Nevins's office did nothing to raise Riley's spirits. Cindy was still missing. God only knew what was happening to her right now. Was she being tortured? The way Riley had been?
The agents sweeping the neighborhood still hadn't found her, not even after twenty-four hours. That came as no surprise to Riley. She knew they were looking in the wrong area. The problem was that neither she nor anyone else had any clues to the right area. She didn't want to wonder how far away the killer had taken her—or if she was still alive.
"We're losing her, Mike," Riley said. "With every minute that goes by, she's in more pain. She's closer to death."
"What makes you so sure they've got the wrong man?" forensic psychiatrist Michael Nevins asked her.
Always immaculately groomed and wearing an expensive shirt with a vest, Nevins had a meticulous, fussy persona. Riley liked him all the more because of it. She found him refreshing. They had first met over a decade ago, when he was a consultant on a high-profile FBI case that she worked on. His office was in D.C., so they didn't get together often. But over the years they'd often found that weaving together her instincts and his deep background knowledge gave them a unique insight into devious minds. She'd driven to see him first thing this morning.
"Where do I begin?" Riley replied with a shudder.
"Take your time," he said.
She sipped at a mug of the delicious hot tea he had given her.
"I saw him," she said. "I asked him some questions, but Walder wouldn't let me spend any time with him."
"And he doesn't fit your profile?"
"Mike, this Darrell Gumm guy is a wannabe," she continued. "He's got some kind of fanboy fantasy about psychopaths. He wants to be one. He wants to be famous for it. But he doesn't have what it takes. He's creepy, but he's not a killer. It's just that right now he gets to act out his fantasy to the hilt. It's his dream come true."
Mike stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And you don't think the real killer wants fame?"
She said, "He might be interested in fame, and he might even want it, but it's not what makes him tick. He's driven by something else, something more personal. The victims represent something to him, and he enjoys their pain because of who or what they stand for. They're not chosen randomly."
"Then how?
Riley shook her head. She wished she could put it into words better than she could.
"It's got something to do with dolls, Mike. The guy's obsessed with them. And dolls have something to do with how he targets the women."
Then she sighed. At this point, this didn't even sound very convincing to her. And yet she was sure that was the right track.
Mike was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I know that you have a talent for recognizing the nature of evil. I've always trusted your instincts. But if you're right, this suspect they're holding has got everybody else fooled. And not all FBI agents are fools."
"But some of them are," Riley said. "I can't get the woman he took yesterday out of my mind. I keep thinking about what she's going through right now." Then she blurted out the point of her visit with the psychiatrist. "Mike, could you question Darrell Gumm? You'd see through him in a second."
Mike looked startled. "They haven't called me in on this one," he said. "I checked on the case this morning and I was told that Dr. Ralston interviewed him yesterday. Apparently he agrees that Gumm's the killer. He even got Gumm to sign a written confession. The case is closed as far as the Bureau is concerned. They think that now they just need to find the woman. They're sure they'll get Gumm to talk."
Riley rolled her eyes with exasperation.
"But Ralston's a quack," she said. "He's Walder's toady. He'll come to any conclusion Walder wants."
Mike didn't say anything. He just smiled at Riley. Riley was pretty sure that Mike held Ralston in the same contempt as she did. But he was too professional to say so.
"I haven't been able to figure this one out," Riley said. "Will you at least read the files and tell me what you think?"
Mike seemed deep in thought. Then he said, "Let's talk about you a little. How long have you been back on the job?"
Riley had to think about that. This case had consumed her but it was still new.
"About a week," she said.
He tilted his head with concern. "You're pushing very hard. You always do."
"The man has killed one woman in that time and taken another. I should have stayed on the case since I first saw his work six months ago. I should never have dropped out on it."
"You were interrupted."
She knew he was referring to her own capture and torture. She had spent hours describing that to Mike and he had helped her through it.
"I'm back now. And another woman is in trouble."
"Who are you working with now?"
"Bill Jeffreys again. He's terrific but his imagination isn't as active as mine is. He hasn't come up with anything either,"
"How is that working for you? Being with Jeffreys every day?"
"Fine. Why wouldn't it be?"
Mike gazed quietly at her for a moment, then leaned toward her with an expression of concern.
"I mean, are you sure your head is clear? Are you sure you're in this game? I guess what I'm asking is—which criminal are you really after?"
Riley squinted, a little surprised by this apparent change of topic.
"What do you mean, which?" she asked.
"The new one, or the old one?"
A silence fell between them.
"I think that maybe you're actually here to talk about you," Mike said softly. "I know that you've always had trouble believing that Peterson died in that explosion."
Riley didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected this; she hadn't expected the tables to turn on her.
"That's beside the point," Riley said.
"What about your meds, Riley?" Mike asked.
Again, Riley didn't reply. She hadn't taken her prescribed tranquilizer for days. She didn't want to blunt her concentration.
"I'm not sure I like where you're going with this," Riley said.
Mike took a long sip from his mug of tea.
"You're carrying a lot of emotional baggage," he said. "You got divorced this year, and I'm aware that your feelings about that are conflicted. And of course, you lost your mother in such a horrible, tragic way all those years ago."
Riley's face flushed with irritation. She didn't want to get into this.
"We've talked about the circumstances of your own abduction," Mike went on. "You pushed the limits. You took a huge risk. Your actions were really pretty foolhardy."
"I got Marie out," she said.
"At great cost to yourself."
Riley took a long, deep breath.
"You're saying maybe I brought it on myself," she said. "Because my marriage fell apart, because of how my mother got killed. You're saying maybe I think I deserved it. So I attracted this to myself. I put myself in this situation."
Mike smiled back with a sympathetic smile.
"I'm just saying you need to take a good hard look at yourself right now. Ask yourself what's really going on inside."
Riley struggled for breath, fighting back tears. Mike was right. She had been wondering all these things. That's why his words were hitting her so hard. But she'd been ignoring those half-submerged thoughts. And it was high time she figured out if any of it was true.
"I was doing my job, Mike," she said in a choked voice.
"I know," he said. "None of it was your fault. Do you know that? It's the self-blame I worry about. You attract what you feel you deserve. You create your own life circumstances."
Riley stood, unable to hear any more.
"I wasn't taken, Doctor, because I attracted it," she said. "I was taken because there are psychos out there."
*
Riley hurried to the nearest exit, into the open courtyard. It was a beautiful summer day. She took several long, slow breaths, calming herself a little. Then she sat down on a bench and buried her head in her hands.
At that moment her cell phone buzzed.
Marie.
Her gut told her right away that the call was urgent.
Riley answered and heard nothing but convulsive gasps.
"Marie," Riley asked, concerned, "what is it?"
For a moment, Riley only heard sobs. Marie was obviously in an even worse state than she was.
"Riley," Marie finally gasped, "have you found him? Have you been looking for him? Has anybody been looking for him?"
Riley's spirits sank. Of course Marie was talking about Peterson. She wanted to assure her that he was really dead, killed in that explosion. But how could she say so positively when she harbored doubts herself? She remembered what forensics tech agent Betty Richter had told her a few days ago about the odds that Peterson was really dead.
I'd say ninety-nine percent.
That figure hadn't given Riley any comfort. And it was the last thing Marie wanted or needed to hear right now.
"Marie," Riley said miserably, "there's nothing I can do."
Marie let out a wail of despair that chilled Riley to the bone.
"Oh, God, then it is him!" she cried. "It can't be anybody else."
Riley's nerves quickened. "What are you talking about, Marie? What's happened?"
Marie's words poured out in a frantic rush.
"I told you he'd been calling me. I cut off my landline, but somehow he's got my cell phone number. He keeps calling all the time. He doesn't say anything, he just calls and breathes, but I know it's him. Who else can it be? And he's been here, Riley. He's been to my house."
Riley's alarm mounted by the second.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I hear noises at night. He throws things at the door and my bedroom window. Pebbles, I think."
Riley's heart jumped as she remembered the pebbles on her own front stoop. Was it possible that Peterson was really alive? Were both she and Marie in danger all over again?
She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Marie was clearly teetering on an extremely dangerous brink.
"I'm coming to you right now, Marie," she said. "And I'll get the Bureau to look into this."
Marie let out a harsh, desperate, and bitter laugh.
"Look into it?" she echoed. "Forget it, Riley. You said it already. There's nothing you can do. You're not going to do anything. Nobody's going to do anything. Nobody can do anything."
Riley got in her car and put the phone on speaker so she could talk and drive.
"Stay on the phone," she said, as she started her car and headed for Georgetown. "I'm coming for you."
