CHAPTER NINE

The railroad’s deputy police chief looked thoroughly annoyed by Riley’s request to re-interview Reese Fisher’s husband. But Riley was in no mood to back down.

Bull Cullen said, “When I asked you FBI guys to come out here, I didn’t expect you to waste my time.”

Feeling her temper escalate, Riley pressed her lips together to prevent snapping back at the man. She heard Bill let out a low grumble beside her.

Before Riley could think of a civil response, Jenn spoke up. The young agent sounded just as condescending and patronizing as Cullen had been toward her back at the crime scene.

“Oh, we won’t interfere with your excellent work, sir. Just give us a car and we’ll go see Mr. Fisher on our own. We’ll get out of your way for a while. You and your team can keep right on doing the really important stuff. You might start by booking a comfortable place for those three men back in the interview room to stay the night.”

Cullen grimaced at Jenn’s obvious contempt for him.

“I’ll do that,” he said, puffing up his considerable physique in an attempt to exert male authority. “And I’ll book a place for the three of you as well. Meanwhile, Chief Powell here will show you to a vehicle.”

Powell’s heavy, bloodhound-like jowls hung in an expression of bewilderment as he watched Cullen stalk away. Riley knew what Powell must be thinking. Surely he was worried that an FBI team and the railroad police were starting to look like a bad mix, and he was going to get caught in the middle of an ugly situation.

Finally Powell shook his head and led Riley and her team outside to a parked vehicle. He gave them the keys and directions to the Fisher home.

As Riley drove, she said, “Jenn, I don’t blame you for not liking Deputy Chief Cullen, but—”

Jenn interrupted, “Huh-uh, that’s not it. I don’t like having hangovers or bronchitis. I don’t like it when my car won’t start. I don’t like TV commercials. I don’t like anchovies on my pizza. But that guy …”

She let out a slight growl, then added, “He’s a whole special kind of unlikable, if you ask me. He practically stinks of testosterone.”

Bill let out a hearty laugh, but he made no comment.

Riley couldn’t help but be impressed by how vividly Jenn expressed her dislike.

But still …

Riley said, “Well, you’re going to have to work with him. We all will. So get used to him—for as long as it takes to solve this case, anyway.”

In her rearview mirror, Riley saw Jenn cross her arms in a gesture of silent annoyance.

Riley hoped Jenn was listening to what she’d just said and would take it seriously. On the other hand, she guessed that there might be an upside to Jenn’s hostility toward Cullen. Maybe it would give her something to think about besides whatever might be going on between her and the mysterious Aunt Cora.

Anyway, Riley couldn’t complain about Jenn’s work so far today. In the past, she’d always felt that Jenn could be like the proverbial bull in the china shop. But she’d handled the situation with the engineer—the “hogger”—surprisingly well.

And it was no small accomplishment as far as Riley concerned. The ability to show empathy toward victims really was an important item in a BAU agent’s toolbox. That didn’t seem to come naturally to Jenn, but she was learning it well.

It was only a short drive across town to the address they were looking for. As Riley parked in front of the place, she noticed that it was of a familiar design—a cluster of clean new apartment buildings with pitched roofs, arched windows, and balconies. Based on similar places she’d seen before, she felt pretty sure the buildings surrounded an open area that included a large swimming pool.

Riley, Bill, and Jenn took the elevator to the third floor, then knocked on the apartment door.

Riley was startled when the door first opened. Due to some trick of the light, she almost mistook the man inside for Ryan. They were of similar height and build and complexion. His blond hair was barely touched with gray.

But the resemblance quickly faded, at least somewhat, and Riley felt herself relax a little.

“May I help you?” the man asked.

“Are you Chase Fisher?” Riley asked.

“I am.”

Riley and her colleagues showed their badges and introduced themselves.

The man looked somewhat distressed.

“The police were here this morning,” he said. “I answered a lot of questions. This is a really hard time for me.”

“I know, and I’m very sorry,” Riley said. “But we’ve just joined the case, and we’re looking for a fresh perspective. We’re extremely anxious to catch your wife’s killer. We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

She recognized that this man was of a different temperament from Ryan. Her ex-husband would be annoyed, but Chase Fisher just sounded tired.

He nodded and led them inside. It was a fair-sized apartment with lush rugs and a balcony. Riley guessed that it had three bedrooms, and that at least one of them was used as an office. She remembered hearing that Chase Fisher was a chiropractor, and his wife had been a librarian. Riley guessed that his practice must be elsewhere. And it must have been a reasonably prosperous practice for him and his wife to live in a place like this.

There were no family portraits, and Riley sensed right away that the couple had had no children. There were a few tasteful paintings on the wall, and a glass case was filled with golf and bowling trophies.

Overall, the place seemed studiously respectable and pleasant. Even so, Riley caught a scent of melancholy in the air. Her instincts told her that this hadn’t been an entirely happy household even before Reese Fisher’s murder.

The group sat down on the comfortable furniture.

Riley said, “Mr. Fisher, I know you’ve been asked this before. But where were you at the time of your wife’s murder?”

“I was in my office in town,” Fisher said.

“And can anyone account for your whereabouts?”

“Certainly. My receptionist, and at least a couple of my morning patients. I guess you already know that I’m a chiropractor.”

Riley was still paying close attention to his demeanor. She was sure that that his alibi checked out. Bull Cullen might be obnoxious, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have overlooked a detail like that. But at this point, Riley was more interested in how Fisher answered her questions than in what he actually said.

“Did you see your wife at all this morning?” Riley asked.

“No,” he said. “She’d spent the night in Chicago, visiting her mother who is in a nursing home there. She came in on the morning train. As far as I know, she never got home.”

Riley felt an odd tingle, a feeling that Fisher was leaving something important unsaid.

Probe gently, she told herself.

She asked, “Has her mother been told what happened?”

Fisher shifted slightly in his chair.

“Yes, I talked to Nadine as soon as I could. The poor woman—she’s not very coherent anymore, and she had a hard time grasping it. She was very upset, and the call didn’t go well. I hope the people who take care of her can help her understand and cope with it. She’s in no condition to come down for the funeral. I’ll have to pay her a visit soon.”

A silence fell. Riley let it settle for a moment.

Then she nodded toward the trophies and said, “I see you’re a golfer. And a bowler too.”

He looked surprised at the comment. Of course, Riley knew that it seemed like a strange thing for a detective to mention at such a moment. But Riley had her reasons.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Just an amateur at both. I do OK, I guess. A pretty good golfer. I’m not the best bowler in our local team, but we do pretty well.”

Riley noticed an odd shift in his tone. He was being modest, of course, judging by the trophies. But she also sensed something else.

Shame? she wondered.

Why would anybody be ashamed of playing recreational sports? Especially somebody who was pretty good at them? Ryan bragged about his golfing scores at every opportunity.

She said slowly, “Did your wife like golf and bowling, Mr. Fisher?”

Fisher looked at her with a curious expression.

“Well, she didn’t play, but …”

Riley added, “I mean, was she at all interested in the games? As a spectator or a fan or anything? Or in how well you were doing?”

Fisher shook his head.

“No,” he said. “She wasn’t interested in sports at all. Why do you ask?”

Riley didn’t reply. But she knew that this little fact was more important than it seemed. After all, sports trophies were the most prominent objects in this living room. And yet Reese Fisher had had no interest in sports.

Riley asked gently, “Mr. Fisher, were you and your wife happy together?”

Fisher looked into Riley’s eyes and blinked a few times.

“Of course we were,” he said.

Again, Riley let a silence settle in the room.

She was sure that either Bull Cullen or Chief Powell had asked that same question, and Fisher had given them the same answer. But Cullen and Powell had brushed it aside too easily.

Riley held Fisher’s gaze.

She didn’t say so aloud, but with her eyes she said to him …

You’re lying.

He nodded ever so slightly in reply to her unspoken observation.

She sat waiting for him to tell her the truth.