CHAPTER ELEVEN

As they walked toward the car, Riley was worried, but not about the man they had just interviewed. She had no idea whether or not he could be the killer, and that’s what disturbed her.

Why were her instincts floundering right now?

What was she going to do about it?

She was grateful for the distraction when Bill’s cell phone buzzed.

Bill took out the phone and looked at it, then said, “It’s a text from Bull Cullen. He says he’s put the three railroad men up in a local motel, and he’s made a reservation for us as well. He wants us to meet him there.”

Riley was about to protest, but she realized she had no alternate course of action in mind. The day had slipped away quickly and there didn’t seem to be anything more they could look into tonight. Uncertainty was all they had to show for their efforts.

Her spirits sank further as she got into the driver’s seat and drove the short distance to the motel. It didn’t help to see Bull Cullen waiting for them when she pulled the car up to the motel office. With a wide smile, he directed them to the parking spot outside a numbered door.

Riley thought that Cullen looked positively gleeful as they got out of the car and followed him into the room he had rented for them. Then she understood why he was so pleased with himself.

The room was small, with two single beds and a sofa that had been opened up to make a third bed. There was small desk with a chair, a shabby cabinet with an old TV, and very little space left to walk around in. It had to be the cheapest room available.

Not that Riley cared especially, and she knew that Bill didn’t either. Over the years they’d shared much sparser lodgings and had even slept overnight in cars and vans when it had been necessary. Of course she was sure that these meager lodgings weren’t a matter of necessity.

This was nothing short of a deliberate slight.

She could see that Bill was trying to control his amusement, but Jenn looked thoroughly disgusted.

Trying to sound nonchalant, Cullen asked, “How did your interview go with Chase Fisher? I don’t assume you learned anything new.”

Riley gave him a sharp look.

“Actually, we did,” she said. “He thinks his wife was having an affair with a man in Chicago. We don’t know who her lover is yet, or if he had anything to do with her death. Or for that matter whether Chase Fisher is a viable suspect. But …”

She paused, then asked, “Or did you find all that out yourself? I just don’t remember seeing it in any of the reports.”

Looking stunned, Cullen just shook his head.

Riley commented mildly, “I guess your interview skills need some work.”

Cullen looked stung.

Riley added, “You’d better put a few plainclothes cops to work watching Fisher’s every move. Starting tonight. Starting right now.”

“I’ll do that,” Cullen said curtly. His face twisted with anger, but he got it under control and asked, “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”

“It depends,” Riley said. “Did the other victim, Fern Bruder, have any relatives in Allardt, Indiana?”

“Yeah,” Cullen said. “She lived at home with her family.”

“Did you interview them?”

“I did. The day after Fern Bruder died.”

Riley didn’t like being petty, but she couldn’t help twisting the knife.

“Well, then,” she said. “I guess Agents Jeffreys and Roston and I will need to go there and interview them again. Send me the notes you took, and also the contact information for the police chief there. I’ll want to let him know we’re coming. We’ll drive to Allardt first thing tomorrow morning.”

Cullen’s face turned red, but he still managed to hold his temper.

“Great,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then I’ll see you later tomorrow.”

As he turned to walk out of the room, Jenn said, “Wait a minute. Are those railroad guys we talked with today staying in this same motel?”

“They are,” Cullen replied.

“What kind of room did they get?”

Cullen seemed to be surprised by the question.

“One that’s pretty much the same as this,” he said.

Jenn crossed her arms.

“Huh-uh,” she said. “No way you’re going to stick those poor guys in a coop like this. Go right to the front desk and get them the nicest rooms you can get.”

“They’re traumatized,” Cullen said. “Maybe they don’t want to be isolated. Maybe they want to be together.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jenn said. “Did you ask them?”

Cullen didn’t reply, but his face was reddening again.

“Ask them and find out,” Jenn demanded. “Even if they do want to be together, get them some kind of suite with adjoining rooms or something. Something that’s a hell of a lot better than this, anyway. If this motel doesn’t have a place nice enough, take them someplace else. Get on it right now. Or else I will.”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He left the room without another word.

Riley could see that Jenn was seething again.

“That man!” Jenn said, pacing back and forth. “He’s really got some nerve. I don’t care if he wants to stick us in a little hole like this. But disrespecting those poor guys after what they’ve been through? What a bastard!”

Riley shook her head and said, “Jenn …”

“What?” Jenn said. “Was I wrong? Tell me.”

Riley sighed.

“No, but I keep telling you—we’ve got to work with him. Try not to let him push your buttons. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a tough enough case as it is.”

She tested one of the beds and sat down on it.

She said, “We haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. Let’s order some food and talk about where things stand.”

Bill made a call for some pizza and beer. Then the three of them settled into their crowded quarters and went over the case. The topic of discussion, of course, was the victim’s husband they had just interviewed and what little they had learned from him.

“One thing bothers me,” Jenn said. “He didn’t cry. Was it because he was still in shock, or crying just isn’t in his nature? Or was it because he’s as guilty as hell?”

Riley gave Jenn a cautioning look.

“Be careful not to jump to conclusions on account of that,” she said. “People process grief in very different ways. I can’t say for sure that he wasn’t acting, but he seemed deeply shaken to me.”

“Yeah, but marital jealousy is a classic motive,” Jenn said. “Alibi or no alibi, he could have hired somebody to do it.”

Jenn thought for a moment, then added, “Of course, there’s still the first victim in Indiana to account for. I’m not sure how she fits into that theory.”

Riley suppressed a discouraged sigh.

“Oh, she fits your theory, all right,” she said. “Reese Fisher’s death might just be a copycat murder. Her husband seems like a smart enough guy. He might have read about the earlier killing and seen it as an opportunity to make his wife’s murder look like the second in a series of serial murders. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened.”

Bill let out a grunt of dismay.

“Or,” he said, “Chase Fisher might be innocent, and Reese’s lover might be the killer, using the same copycat scenario you just mentioned.”

“But we don’t know who her lover is,” Jenn added.

“Or if he exists at all,” Riley added, shaking her head. “I don’t like any of these possibilities. If either Chase Fisher or his wife’s lover committed the second murder, we probably have two killers to deal with—one of whom might be planning another murder right now. If neither Fisher nor the lover is the murderer, we’re wasting valuable time even thinking about them. There’s a serial killer at large, and we’re nowhere near stopping him.”

There seemed to be nothing more to say. The group finished their pizza and beer in silence.

Finally Riley said, “Well, maybe we’ll learn more tomorrow when we talk to Fern Bruder’s family. If we can just find a connection between the two victims, that would be progress. Meanwhile, we’d all better get a good night’s rest.”

Riley called the front desk to schedule a wakeup call. The three agents took turns taking showers, then agreed on sleeping arrangements. Bill and Jenn got the two beds, while Riley took the sofa bed. It wasn’t very comfortable, but Riley had slept in far worse.

In a matter of minutes, Riley could hear Bill’s noisy snoring, followed by Jenn snoring more quietly.

Riley couldn’t help but envy them. She was having trouble keeping her eyes closed, to say nothing of falling asleep. She kept thinking about Chase Fisher and the impressions she’d gotten of him during their visit.

Why had he kept reminding her of Ryan?

She found herself thinking about something Fisher had said about his wife’s affair.

“I feel like it was all my fault.”

Why did those words keep resonating in Riley’s mind?

As she lay there staring into the darkness, it started to occur to her …

Maybe Fisher didn’t remind Riley so much of Ryan as he reminded her …

Of myself.

She shuddered at the thought.

Fisher felt guilty—or at least claimed to feel guilty—about Reese Fisher’s life of gnawing, bitter boredom that had driven her to wander away from her marriage.

Did Riley feel the same way toward Ryan?

Did she harbor some feeling that she’d been in some way responsible for his failings and infidelities?

No, she thought. It doesn’t make sense.

At the same time, she knew perfectly well that making sense was beside the point. Irrational, unfounded, unconscious guilt could eat away at her as deeply as guilt that was based on any real wrongs she had committed.

All the logical thinking in the world wasn’t going to help.

She felt a lump of despair form in her throat.

I can’t let myself feel this way, she said.

But despairing thoughts started crowding in from all directions, and she found herself obsessing again about the last couple of days—over Liam’s departure, April’s hopes to follow in her footsteps, and whether she had any business trying to be a mother and an FBI agent at the same time.

It was a feeling of awful and senseless futility. Riley had to swallow down a sob of despair.

Don’t cry, she told herself.

The last thing she wanted to do right now was wake up Bill and Jenn.

Little by little, she felt sleep creeping up on her, but she took no comfort from it.

Soon, she realized, the nightmares would start.